Child of Mine.....

I used to think that my child was special and unique with his own quirks and habits that were unlike any other.  Apparently I was mistaken.  Oh, don’t get me wrong he does have a certain something that sets him apart from the rest, for example his good looks and sense of humor.  Thank goodness he takes after his mother.

No, I’m talking about those habits and behaviors that pretty much EVERY kid falls prey to.  I try to correct, reprimand and almost-threaten him to improve these behaviors to no avail.  “Child of mine, can you please hang your jacket up on the nice hook that I have provided instead of throwing it on the floor.”  It has become glaringly apparent that most kids will whine and complain about what’s for dinner, bedtime, wearing clean clothes, having to wear shoes outside and not just their socks, not wearing the clothes they want to wear to school to bed the night before, brushing their teeth, washing their hands and the list just goes on and on.  I sound like a broken record every day….oh my goodness I sound like my mother!  (Well, that’s not entirely a bad thing.)

One thing he is good at is hugs.  I’ll take a good hug any day.  That almost makes up for the whining.  (I said almost!)

Retail Checkout Whine

Since when did checking out at a retail shop become such a hassle?  I’m not even talking about the people who still have the audacity to write checks and have to show 25 pieces of ID just to get the check approved.  I’m talking about all the information the salespeople are “required” to ask of us customers to put into their “system.”

My good friend Lori S and I were discussing this several days ago.  All we want to do is go into the store and buy the jeans that are supposed to make our ass look good and then we get hit with a list of questions before our credit card, debit card or cash is even accepted to complete the transaction.  “Name, address, zip code, phone number, list the addresses for every residence of the last five years, name of first born, family pet, garage code….”  I mean really???  All of this for a clothing purchase?  It is so ridiculous no wonder people shop online!

For pure entertainment the next time I purchase something in a store that requires any of the above information here is what my answers will be:  Name – “Ida Know” Address –“ 123 Anywhere You Aren’t Crescent” Zip Code “12345.”  I realize they won’t accept this, but what would you do?  So, I will just smile, hand over my debit card and take it like a woman.

When Eeyore Marries Tigger

I had the startling realization the other day that I have married Tigger.  Oh bother.  It’s not that I’m always “the glass is half-empty” kind of girl, I do have moments of complete positivity that would blind you if you got too close.  However, I do not always “look on the bright side” and yet that is all my husband seems capable of doing.  I don’t know whether to wring his neck in frustration or learn to let go of my pessimism and follow him to the sunny side of the street.  We have had set backs and issues that are common to any marriage or just two people trying to eke out a happy existence in our crazy world.  I think everyone is against us and my husband sees right through the issue to the potential solution and nine times out of ten he is right.  You would think I would learn by now, but there is something in my DNA that keeps me grounded in my “Eeyore mode” while he bounces around in a happy Tigger like manner.  Somehow we make this work between us and I’m very thankful for that.

 Maybe having a Tigger in my life is exactly what I need.

Confessions of a First Class Worrier

I worry.  Non-stop.  I’ve elevated it to an art form.  Some people dabble in the odd moment of uncertainty or need to reflect on a particular issue, but I have mastered this subject into a full-fledged degree.  You see, my thinking is that if I worry about something enough than I have covered all my bases and the thing I initially started worrying about never comes to fruition.  It’s the moment I let go and  exhale that all hell breaks loose.

And I worry about the dumbest things.  Will I get a good seat at the movie theatre, will I be able to get into the proper lane at the right time on my morning commute, is my house clean enough, is my cat well-adjusted, does my son have any idea how much I love him?  Excessive worrying is almost like a sport or a work out for me.  You would think I would be exhausted by now, but I seem to get a sick type of adrenaline from it.

Oh, sorry I started worrying that I was losing my audience for a moment there and started to drift off to sleep.  I think I need some caffeine and some sugar.  I hope the coffee is warm enough, I hope they didn’t run out of vanilla creamer.  I hope they have the chocolate donuts with the sprinkles, what if they ran out.....

Curse You Miss Clairol

The box said "Nice and Easy" but that was just an empty promise.  All those boxes boasted thick, luscious looking, well-colored hair.  They taunted me from the hair care aisle and I fell into the trap of thinking "Yes, I want to look like I have "striking highlights" and off to the check out lane I went.

In college we colored our hair all the time, however we were too drunk/tired/stressed to notice that we looked like hell.  I haven't colored my own hair in eons, but I figured if I can dry it, curl it and braid it why not color it?  The proof was staring at me in the mirror about 20 minutes later.

The orange shade looked particularly lovely against the pale blue backdrop of my bathroom wall.  I went from room to room checking my hair out in different lights, mirrors and various outfits.  I definitely did not have "striking highlights." I was Crayola Orange (kind of a mix between Mango Tango and Neon Carrot with bits of my yucky brown caught in between.)

$11.98 for the box, plus $36 to fix it professionally (and add the $9.99 for the bottle of Relax Riesling) and this was no bargain.

From now on only my stylist and I will know what color I truly am.

Pot Luck Paranoia

One question I know I will never be asked in casual conversation at a party is "Did you bring that delicious _________________ (insert typical pot luck fare here: dip/spread/pastry/what-have-you)?" 
This will not happen.  How do I know?  I am struck by Pot Luck Paranoia.  Oh, it's out there sister and trust me more people are afflicted by it than you know. 

During any type of gathering where people bring food there is always that one mystery dish that no one is really taking a chance on dipping their chip into or piling it on their plates.  Perhaps one daring soul has tried the mystery dish and behind a not-so-subtle backhand they tell their friend to "definitely avoid the mystery dish."  Confession:  I made the mystery dish.  I skulk around the table making conversation and subtly scooping out half of the mystery dish onto my plate so it looks like SOMEONE at this party has tried my concoction.  I normally chase this down with a good riesling (might I suggest "Relax Riesling" in the lovely navy blue bottle.)  I try not to feel like the kid on the playground that no one will play with, I mean it's just food after all.  I really want to be a part of the cool group of kids who can cook.  Everyone is "ooohing and ahhhing" over the great food and my dish looks like it's in solitary.

Back to the recipe book and stock up on another navy blue bottle.  I've got one week to the next pot luck.  If you know how to make me look like one of the cool kids at the food table, feel free to share.  There's only so much paranoia I can take people!

"I'm Bored" - Whine # 37

"I'm bored."
"There's nothing to do."

The two phrases that make every parent shudder and squeeze their eyes shut tight before they respond.
My son recently had two days off of school.  School, it's not just a good idea, it's a lifesaver!  When we were kids were were not allowed to say, "I'm bored."  If you said those two words when we were kids you quickly found yourself cleaning the house from top to bottom with a toothbrush, while our parents sat back and grinned saying "How's that for being bored?"

We had to use our, wait for it....IMAGINATIONS!  You can't buy an imagination, there's no app for one and you can't check it out of the library. We are all equipped with one (it's located right beside the sense of humor) but our "Entertain Me Every Second" world has created kids who are sorely lacking in imaginations.  I triple-dog-dare-you to hide the DS, the ipad, the wii, the Xbox etc. away for one weekend and make your kids play with other three dimensional people. Arm them with some empty boxes, sheets or what have you and let them find their imaginations.

It may not be a bad idea to arm yourself with a few extra toothbrushes.

Sadist, Thy name is Jillian

The nightmare is always the same.  She's standing above me with a six pack and arms of steel telling me to get my ass off the floor and do one more standing leg lift. She's asking me in a shrill voice if her instructions are clear.  I want to yell "Crystal!" but I can't because my heart is jammed so far up my throat, my lungs are burning and my head feels like it's wrapped in a scarf.  I wake up to the cat sitting on my head and the knowledge that I'm only halfway through my 30 Day Shred challenge with Jillian Michaels.  I silently curse and cheer on my friend Cindi G who is doing the challenge with me.  There's nothing more motivating than knowing a friend who is skinnier than you is working her butt off too.

Sadly I don't see any changes in my physical being.  Perhaps it's the over abundance of food and wine I have been enjoying.  Perhaps I am getting old *sigh*.  I used to be able to exercise away my bad eating habits and eat what I want, but those days are gone.  I guess I better put away the bisquick (it's really not doing my thighs any favors) and tuck away the wine for a special occasion. 

Then again, I can always find a special occasion!

Flour and Whine

I am no longer allowed to make pancakes.  Pancakes from scratch that is.  If it's the just add water type than that is deemed an appropriate cooking level for me to attempt, but anything fancier than that and I'm banned from the kitchen.  *Sigh*

"It's not my fault."  (Whine #1.)  I followed the directions exactly and added all the appropriate ingredients including salt.  Yep, the recipe called for a dash of salt which I must have copied down incorrectly from the web and put a tbs of salt which I whole-heartedly added with a flourish that even Paula would have applauded.

"What did you do?"  (Whine #2.) My son spit out the pancake and proceeded to scrap off his tongue under the sink it was that bad.  Down the sink went the batter, in the garbage went the steaming pile of salty, yucky pancakes.  All day I was haunted by an awful salty residue on my tongue that no amount of teethbrushing could eliminate.

"Get in the car boys, were going to IHOP."

"Why, why can't I cook like normal people?"  (Whine #3.)  I'll be buying boxes of Bisquick in bulk.

(If you have an awesome home-made pancake recipe that is "Jenn-Proof" please feel free to share!)

Wine on Wheels

I firmly believe we all have stories that remind us of the crazy, irresponsible person that lies inside all of us responsible moms, faithful partners and upstanding friends.  It's important to remember these moments and not bury them under the grind of our daily lives.  My story has left scars.  Yes, physical scars that everytime I look at them I can't help but laugh my booty off.  You see, my friend Heather and I used to get together one night of the week and have dinner and wine while watching Melrose Place.  (You remember the show, I know you do!)  I lived a few blocks away and while I was smart enough not to drive I did foolishly strap on a pair of rollarblades on the occassion with my wine bottle tucked inside my backpack.  Seemed like a good idea at the time (some of you are nodding your heads wishing you could have stopped me before the "incident", but I digress.)  There I was rollarblading down the street thinking I was all that and a bag of chips with my wine secure in its backpack until I hit a rock and wiped out in the middle of the street trying to avoid the parked cars on the side of the road.  Mayhem ensued, legs went flying, arms flailed about, a litany of curse words flew out of my mouth, but miraculously...I SAVED THE WINE!  I arrived bloody and beaten to Heather's house and to this day I still can't see a pair of rollarblades without thinking of this story.  I curse Target knowing that I can purchase both of these items in the same store.

So go on, call your girlfriends up and start your conversation with "Remember the time...." and step out of your role as the responsible person for a moment....just don't wheel and wine.

A Little Whine with Everything

One of the most common "whine's" out there can be broken down into three categories:

     1.  Morning Whine:  "What's for breakfast?"
     2.  Afternoon Whine:  "What's for lunch?"
     3.  Evening Whine:  "What's for dinner?"

If you are like me nothing sticks up in my craw more than hearing these three phrases.  My answer is usually, "Well, let me consult with our live-in Chef and I'll get right back to you."  or "Try cupboard number three and see what's there."  And despite millions of test trials opening and closing said cupboard and fridge door a thousand times will not automatically make what you want to eat appear.  Trust me, this experiment has been running in my house for sometime now with dismal results.  Scientists are still pulling valuable men and women off important medical research studies trying to solve this, but so far they keep getting distracted by the mysteries of the little light bulb inside the fridge.

So, what's for dinner?  Hmmmm....wine, wine goes with everything.



ps...if you are stuck for meal ideas I love http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes-and-cooking/index.html
      even though I can't cook, I love to watch people who can!

The Male Blindness Gene

While I'm not the first person to coin the phrase "Male Blindness Gene" I have figured out how to use this debilitating affliction that strikes males of all ages to my advantage.  Stop me if you've heard this one:  "Honey, where's my ____________ " (feel free to substitute any inanimate object here, i.e golf clubs, tie, wallet, keys, sock, superman action figure etc.  The male in this scenario is no doubt rushing around frantically "looking" (and I use the term loosely) for said object.  You may find yourself joining in the hunt for said object and I bet you usually find it in about oh, 3.2 seconds.  STOP!  Before you reveal where said object is now is your time to have a little fun.  Let them sweat it out a bit.  Don't even suggest that he pick up a few items to see if lost item is underneath because you are just wasting your breath.  Men simply do not know how to do this because of the "Male Blindness Gene."  Finally, just when you think he can't take it anymore, you can be a hero and reveal where said object is.

Now, if you are truly evil you can have a little fun with the men/boys in your life and "hide" items, but you must do this at your own risk.  Men may have the blindness gene, but they are well equipped with the "retaliation gene" and this could definitely not work in your favor.  So go ahead, be the Hero when your son loses his favorite action figure and rescue your husband from searching for items for days.  They may one day thank you for it.  (But don't hold your breath!)

The Daily Whine

And so it begins....welcome to the wonderful musings of  a self-proclaimed domestic goddess who can do pretty much anything...but cook.  You may wonder why I named this blog "The Whine and Dine Chronicles" when I have no cooking ability whatsoever.  Well, most people whine (or need wine) when they dine at my house.  I have set off more fire alarms, wasted more produce and ruined more pans than I care to share. So not only will I be posting about the "daily whine" I will also be begging Paula Deen to come to my house and teach me too cook!