Our elf Nelson

I'm sure most of you know about "Elf on the Shelf." We have had our elf Nelson for a couple years. Definitely before they hit Target. (I like to think we were ahead of the trend.) So Nelson, our elf, is really a lazy ass elf. He doesn't like to move every night much like me when I get my ass comfy on the couch the way he is supposed to.

And forget those fancy antics his brother and sister elves are up to.

At least until this year.

Nelson and I had a little chat the other night. I called him on his laziness. And boring habits. I mean really, just how many time can he sit on the book case?

Well, I guess Nelson took me seriously, because yesterday morning we found him sliding down the pole in Kiel's fire station.

The boys thought that was awesome!

Then this morning we woke up to this!

and this

I think Nelson has been sneaking onto my laptop and checking out Pinterest!

Our ten year wedding anniversary - part deux

We spent the rest of our anniversary day working, taking Noah to the attachment therapist, and then getting the boys to bed.

And then we met on the couch to enjoy some wine and cheese and watch a movie.

Here were some of the options for movies that we entertained and snippets of the commentary we amused ourselves with:

A Perfect Getaway - after the morning we had we could have used one.

Don't Let Me Drown - well then don't piss me off

Disaster Movie- 'nuff said


Ghosts of Girlfriends Past - never a good thing to discuss, especially on your anniversary

I Love You, Man - As long as I'm the one saying it.


Jennifer's Body - who's Jennifer?


Summer Catch - I was, wasn't I?


We ended up settling on The Time Travelers Wife (which dude, I somehow never read the book, so the ending? Not exactly what I was hoping for.)

Rich filled our wine glasses from the bottle of Mommy's Time Out my boss bought me several weeks ago (how's that for awesome?) and then he uncovered the cheese plate before he went to grab the bread he had warming.

And as he walked away this nasty odor hit me and I was all "geeze, did you seriously just fart and walk away? You couldn't have waited? So romantic."

Rich vehemently denied doing any such thing, which I of course didn't believe, because the evidence was in the air! And my nose. And past history people - ten plus years of living with the guy. I know what he is capable of.

He continued to deny it though, and at that point I had to believe him, because really, what man denies producing a nose burner like I was smelling? It was the kind that you brag about to your guy friends at work the next day (at least I assume they do that, right?). So for him to deny it made no sense at all.

Well the smell didn't dissipate. I was a bit perplexed until I realized it was coming from the general area of the coffee table. Where the cheese plate was.

For our anniversary? My husband bought us fart cheese.

OMG, this was the worst smelling cheese I have ever encountered.

And not only did it smell like fart, it tasted like fart.

Don't ask me how I know what a fart tastes like, because until then I had no idea. I do now though, and it is not one bit pleasant. Just trust me on that.

And I was all "Dude, you have got to take this back and tell them something is wrong with it. Just tell them it tastes like farts. Like maybe the cow is sick. Maybe it's serious? The entire herd could be dying or something. It could be a fatal disease. A prion disease. But maybe we could stop it in time, before it is transferred to humans! We could save humanity if you would only take it back and tell them they sold us fart cheese!"


Even after ten years I have the power to make him speechless.

And that my friends is how we spent the evening of our ten-year wedding anniversary.

It's all in the timing. And the ability to hide behind the pillows!

Amazingly this morning the stars aligned and Rich and I were able to celebrate Noah's first day of 2nd grade with a few minutes of alone time. And when I say the stars aligned I mean both boys were watching TV downstairs and Rich managed to actually lock and latch the bedroom door.

After our little celebration we talking about the logistics of the week and my pre-op appointment tomorrow with the surgeon that is going to be repairing the ol' frankenvulva in a few weeks.

Rich is very much a "I'll deal with the details when I absolutely need to" kind of guy. I'm more the "need to know everything that is going to be happening a week month year from now" kind of gal. When I don't let it irritate the absolute crap out of me it kind of balances us out fairly well.

So Rich was asking me for oh, the third fifth tenth time in the last two days what time the appointment was. I reminded him and then said "remember, they are going to measure you tomorrow."

I heard a half choking/half coughing sound, and he said "ohhhh, really?"

"Yeah. Remember? You knew that. To make sure they get me tight enough."

"Oh, uhh, OK. Right."

"They measure you when you are erect you know." (At this point I'm practically hiding under my pillow so he can't see me trying not to laugh.)

"Huh, ummm, right. Well, I hope the nurse is hot."

Unfortunately, I couldn't hide the fact that I was laughing hysterically at this point and he was on to me. 

"Gotcha!"

The fact that I couldn't follow it through until the appointment tomorrow was almost salvaged by our next conversation.

"So, how long after the surgery do we have to wait until we can have sex?"

"Six months" I mutter as I'm brushing my teeth.

"Damn, wow." 

*toothpaste splatters the mirror as I laugh*

"Fuck, you got me again."

Man on the Run. Let me hum you a few bars.

Rich and I had date night Saturday. We saw Eclipse. He's so good to me.

Then we went shopping.

That's typically how our date nights work. We do dinner or a movie, then spend the rest of the time food shopping or doing errands. It might not sound romantic, but its a heck of a lot better than trying to do those things with kids hanging on you. Why, we occasionally get downright romantic over in the organic produce section.

One of the best parts of our relationship is that we make each other laugh, so even shopping we are making jokes that typically only one of us can understand.

Occasionally the joke is at one of our expense, but sometimes that is even funnier, because it usually means we walked right into it.

Case in point, Saturday night as we were driving I asked Rich if he didn't ever get tired of listening to the Springsteen channel all the time on satellite radio. And I really do mean all the time. 

He said "nope, never. In fact, when I die I want to be burried with all my Bruce CD's."

What about all the vinyls you still have, I asked.

Nope, just the CD's.

Well, OK then. So what song do you want me to have them play for you at the funeral, Man on the Run?

He looked at me funny, then said, Do you mean Band on the Run?

To which I said, uhh, no, that doesn't really have the same message does it? (Because at this point I'm thinking myself to be very clever to have come up with this one - because really, Man on the Run at a funeral? How appropriate right?)

He's still looking at me funny and he hums a few bars of it, and I say "yeah, exactly, that one."

Babe, it's Band on the run, not man on the run.

Really? Are you sure?

And it's not a Springsteen song, it's a Wings song.

Hmmm...and I was so sure. Wow, so all those years I've been singing it wrong. Oh well, do you at least get why I thought it was funny?

Umm, no.

An open letter to Jennifer Weiner

Dear Jen,

First let me say that I love your books. I may have been a little bit late in finding them, but that's just me. I'm typically late to the party, if I even get there at all...

Anyway...like I said, I love your books. I love the characters in your books. I love that I can relate to them.  I love how you tackle subjects like weight and body image and dysfunctional families. I love that your books are set in the Philadelphia area. I love your story lines.

And I really love your snarky sense of humor. In fact, I think we'd make great friends. If I wasn't too shy and awkward to actually meet you in person that is. So no worries there.

But this letter isn't about blowing sunshine up your tuchus. This letter is about my hair.

You see, this weekend I read Certain Girls (and yes, I know, I'm a little behind on my reading - but I paid full price for the book, so I think that makes up for it - also, see above). And you made me fucking cry. The ugly cry! The LONG ugly cry. And then my eyes were all puffy the rest of the day and my contacts got all blurry and I had to put in new ones. And I took a Xanax.  And then I went to get my hair cut and colored and had a glass of wine while the color was on. And between the ugly puffy eyes highlighting my fat, makeup-less face, the Xanax, and the wine, I told the stylist I wanted a change and she could do whatever she wanted. And she did. And now I have SHORT hair, and it totally highlights my eyes, which are still red and puffy. See how it all relates? And how it is all your fault?

So yeah, seriously bitch, you could have warned me Peter was going to die. I totally DID NOT see that one coming. At. All.

Anyway...could you give me a bit of a heads up on Best Friends Forever?  Because if I'm going to do the ugly cry while reading that one I need to schedule it a bit better.

Thanks in advance and all that,

Mommy Needs Therapy