I Need A Clone Machine

Got one?

It's been a whole week since I wrote my last fluff for you. You really deserve better. That post blew. (Yes, that pun WAS intended. Bada Ba Ching. Thanks folks, I'll be here all week.)

I've been running around lately like a chicken with no head. I'm ALWAYS busy doing something, yet I feel like I get NOTHING accomplished.

I need to duplicate myself.

Clone #1 can clean the house. I mean actually CLEAN it. Not just de-clutter and hope that people don't see the mounds of dust and dirt. And definitely not the pee on the toilet seat because if my boys don't learn how to aim....I'm gonna.....

Clone #2 can work on the PTA chance auction. It's tomorrow night and this week has been nuts with trying to finalize details.

Clone #3 can sift through the mounds of paperwork and bills on my desk. They can actually pay some of the bills too, perhaps BEFORE the due date.

Clone #4 can go out and get a job to pay said bills.

Clone #5 can start a boot camp for my disruptive and disrespectful spawn.

Clone #6 can um.....take care of the hubs.

Clone #7 can take the dog out every two seconds because that's how often she scratches on the door. And because the backyard is now a mound of dirt and grass seed, she needs to actually be walked, not just thrown out the door.

Clone #8 can answer the phone calls from mom, my mother-in-law, and solicitors.

Clone #9 can do all the miscellaneous stuff like; paint all of the rooms, pull up the rugs, sand and stain the hardwood floors, plant a vegetable garden, plant flowers, paint the railing, power wash the fence, vacuum out my car, wash my car, organize a garage sale, organize the summer block party, grocery shop, oh and get me a pedicure.

Clone #10 can write on this blog. She'd better be funny too because the REAL me, well, kinda sucks right now.

Maybe I'll check Craigslist for that machine. Now that they caught that guy and all.

I Guess In This Economy....Sex Is The First Thing To Go

When I sign on to AOL in the mornings, to check my email, I always take a quick glance at the news headlines. Usually the news is grim. This morning was no different. There was talk of the Craigslist Killer, of Solar Storms, and of TWO American Idol hopefuls going home.

There was also talk about the economy of the world. The reality of the matter finally hit me. The world is in dire straits. People are cutting back on their money-for-sex habits! Say it isn't so!!

In Germany, where prostitution is legal, brothels have had to create their own stimulus packages to lure customers back.

Here are some of the highlights of the article (with a few of my own thoughts thrown in for good measure):

Some brothels have cut prices or added free promotions (All you can eat Tuesdays?) while others have introduced all-inclusive (Exactly what does all-inclusive..well, INCLUDE?) flat-rate fees. Free shuttle buses (that's a plus), discounts for seniors (I'd like the Senior Citizen discount, please) and taxi drivers (how did they decide on taxi drivers as opposed to say, trash collectors?), as well as "day passes" (do they get their hand stamped if they leave so they can get back "in"?) are among marketing strategies designed to keep business going.

Berlin's "Pussy Club" has attracted media attention with its headline-grabbing "flat rate" -- a 70-euro admission charge for unlimited food, drink and sex between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m (Isn't that when most people work? Maybe that's the problem, they need some night hours for the ones with the money!). "Our offer might sound like it's too good to be true, but it's real. You can eat as much as you want (giggle), drink as much as you want and have as much sex as you want." (WHAT A DEAL!) said club manager Stefan, who requested his surname not be published (Of course, he wouldn't want you to think poorly of him).

The manager of the "GeizHaus," said the effects of the economic crisis were clear. "The regular customers who used to come by two or three times a week are only coming by once or twice a week now." (Oh those poor men, they've had to resort to DIY!)

A prostitute in Berlin said "Just about every one's turning to advertising in one form or another,". (Maybe they can start blogging and run ads on their sites!) "If the consumer electronics shop and the optician come out with rebates and special promotions, why shouldn't we try the same thing?" (YOU GO GIRL!) She is worried, however, that the crisis has led to "price dumping". (How immoral!) "You'll find a lot of customers trying to negotiate prices down now, a 30-year-old came up to me and said 'I lost my job so will you give me a discount?'." (How dare he! Listen guy, she works hard for the money! So hard for it honey!)

Some are alarmed that amateur prostitutes -- mostly women with low-paid careers (you know, those lower class people)-- were increasingly turning to prostitution to make ends meet. "More and more women are moonlighting on the weekends," one said. (What about the prostitutes? How do they supplement their dwindling incomes? How do they moonlight?)

Well, AOL can help you there ladies! I think it's no coincidence that they also highlighted the article "7 Great Side Jobs for Extra Cash" today.

1. Dog Walker- (I'm not touching that subject)
2. Handy(wo)man- (Don't forget your tools)
3. Medical Transcription- (Just be prepared to take a skills test)
4. Wills/Medical Power of Attorney- (For all of you Lawyer/Prostitutes)
5. Income Tax Preparer- (Do prostitutes PAY taxes?)
6. Teach a Hobby- (You could have a class for all of those amateurs!)
7. Babysitting- (Most kids have dads...this could be a win-win situation!)

Now, I don't promote selling yourself for money, but I am a true believer in "to each her own". If it works for you, so be it. I hope the economy turns around....for every one's sake.

There'll Be NO Centerfolds In Her Future!

Yesterday morning I spent most of my time on the telephone. I was putting the finishing touches on the Ad Journal for the Elementary School's Chance Auction. I was getting bombarded with phone calls for additions, corrections, and changes.

Before I knew it, it was less than an hour before T. and R. had to be to school. I still needed to give them baths and lunch. I also needed a shower for myself. I told them they were going to have to get into the tub together and that I was going to wash them up because we didn't have a lot of time.

Just then the phone rang....AGAIN. I directed the kids toward the downstairs bathroom and asked them to get undressed. I grabbed the phone and ran up to their bedrooms to pull together some of their school clothes.

I talked and piled items in my arms. When the call was done, I hung up and ran back downstairs. In my office, next to the bathroom, my two naked children were running wild. The had brought out R.'s easel from the playroom and they were dancing around it laughing their heads off.

I looked at the chalkboard and saw a drawing.

"Mom, I drew that picture of R." stated T., my young artist, who was beaming with pride.

"I'm neeekiiiid!" Exclaimed R.

"Had my son drawn his first nude portrait?" I laughed to myself.



The moment of cuteness, however, was cut short as R. proceeded to drop to the floor, lie on her side, throw her hands up behind her head, and inform me, "That's my sexy pose!"

I guess she wasn't going for nude model....but perhaps, Playboy Bunny?

Sorry, Hef, I'm locking her up until she's forty.

Call Me Overprotective

But I don't care.

I find it difficult to cut the cord with my kids. I'm a self-proclaimed worrywart. I wholeheartedly admit it. I don't watch the news and I don't read the paper often; hearing about children being abducted or harmed does me in. I can't stomach it.

I try not to wig my kids out too much. I don't want them growing up into paranoid adults. But I do emphasize caution in letting them too far out of my sight. Sorry, if you don't agree, and think I'm smothering them. I'd rather my child be safe.

Lately, Mr. Schmitty and I have been stretching that cord a bit where W. is concerned. We have been letting him venture out, further than our block, on his bike. There are rules to abide by; boundaries have been discussed, he must be with a friend, and he must have his cell phone turned on.

I MUST be able to contact him.

Our cell phones are equipped with the Chaperone application. We can log on and locate him within seconds. It does a lot to ease my mind.

On Saturday he was with his friend Morgan and they were riding to and from our house, to hers, to the local park. About mid-afternoon, I gave him a call to see what he was up to and to tell him what time to be home for dinner. His phone went right to voicemail. I logged on to the GPS system and was told it was unavailable.

As he isn't the greatest at making sure his phone is charged, the logical answer was that his battery was dead. Or he simply forgot to turn it on. Neither would be a surprise.

Yet, I still had that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I grabbed my keys and drove the few blocks towards the park. "It was a gorgeous day," I told myself, "I'm sure they are there having fun."

I glanced up and down the streets as I drove, looking for children riding their bikes. I arrived at the park and saw my friend Stephanie. I asked her if she had seen W. She shook her head and asked if I was checking up on him. She laughed because she was doing the same with her girls.

I guess I'm not alone.

I continued on to Morgan's house. There on the front lawn, tangled with others, was W.'s red bike. I knocked on the door and he came out.

"Um, W., your cell phone only works if you have it ON," I said to him.

"It is on!" He exclaimed.

"Could you check it, please," I said more as a statement than a question.

He pulled it out of his pocket and grinned, "Ooooppsss!"

I gave him "the look" and told him that with more privileges came more responsibility. He apologized and promised he wouldn't forget again.

"I hope so!" I said as I walked back to the car. I was proud of myself. I hadn't yelled, I hadn't lectured, I hadn't freaked out.

I took a deep breath and let out a huge sigh of relief. This parenting gig was SO MUCH easier when they were babies.

And yet, I have only just begun.

Vengeance Is Mine!

Our house has a tendency to get quite warm when we are entertaining. The main floor of our split-level home has an open floor plan with the living room, dining room, and kitchen all adjoining. Once I begin cooking, the place heats up very quickly. That being said, I make sure to keep the house pretty cool during the earlier part of the day, before guests arrive and the oven gets turned on.

Easter Sunday, as I was spot cleaning the bathrooms, I reminded Mr. Schmitty about the temperature issue. I'm not sure exactly WHY I needed to remind him, he does live here too, but considering the fact that he is male, I always find the need to cover my bases.

I then began to get myself ready for the festivities. I showered, dried my hair, and applied some make-up. I began to sweat. Heat radiated from the middle of my back and throughout my body. I suffer from PMDD and PCOS so I get hot flashes periodically, but THIS was definitely more than my wacky hormones.

I looked at the thermostat, it had been turned up a few degrees. "You've got to be kidding me," I thought and then I yelled, "WHO.TURNED.UP.THE.DAMNED.HEAT?!"

"I did, I'm cold!" replied Mr. Schmitty.

GRRRRRRRR!

"I specifically asked you NOT to. I have to cook and you know how hot this house gets when we have company!! I'm going to sweat my ass off!!"

blink. blink.

He just stared at me and then continued on his way.

Okay, if that's the way he wants it. I'll just bide my time. I can wait, buddy.

About thirty minutes later Mr. Schmitty took his turn in the shower. I listened outside of the door for the curtain to be pulled over. I unlocked the door with my fingernail, crept into the bathroom, grabbed his towel, and all of his clothes. I placed a small washcloth on the sink. It was designed with a cartoon image of a dinosaur.

I then flushed the toilet and ran out, closing the door behind me.

"UUUUUUGGGGHHH!" I heard him cry as he got blasted with cold water.

I then placed his clothing in front of the window in the next room, making sure the shade was rolled all the way up. He'd just have to use that cute little dinosaur to cover the family jewels.

I then went into the laundry room, which is right next to the downstairs bathroom, and put on a load.

More moans and groans from the shower as he was once again assaulted with an icy spray. I thought of George Costanza and shrinkage. BWAAAAHHHAAAA!

Then I waited. I should have made popcorn.

I heard the water turn off. Then I heard mumbling and the sound of the hairdryer. He was drying his body!!! I couldn't contain myself.

"Are you warm enough NOW?" I inquired through fits of laughter. I believe I was cackling at this point.

After about ten minutes, the hairdryer turned off, I again heard mumbling. He must have realized I had taken all of his clothes. I heard the door open, he peeked out and called to T. to get his clothes.

"NOPE!" My favorite child in the world told him.

My husband then noticed the front window. He smirked at me and I just glared back. He darted his naked arse back into the laundry room. He emerged wearing a pair of underwear.

DAMMIT! Where did they come from?!

He then crawled on the floor to retrieve the rest of his clothing at the front of the house while I laughed at his expense.

Ahhhh....I feel so much better now.

Rest In Peace Little One

Do Think AFV Would Award Us Ten Grand For This Video?

No matter....I think it's hilarious and I die laughing EVERY time I watch it. Though I must say, a few thousand dollars would be spent in a few nano-seconds nice!

So, without further ado, this is what happens when my daughter, R., gets a hold of a hard to open plastic Easter Egg.

Maddie (Update)

Heather Spohr's website The Spohrs Are Multiplying is up and running again, after the outpouring of love, crashed the server.

Sam from Temporarily Me has been hard at work and has gotten March for Maddie live. This site will showcase The March of Dimes walks that are being put together by bloggers across the country. There will be links so people can easily find a walk close to where they live. They will have access to needed information and details.

A service in celebration of Maddie’s life has been scheduled for 2:30 pm (Pacific Time) on Tuesday, April 14th, 2009. It will be held at the Old North Chapel at Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Hollywood Hills. For more information on the site, go here. Again, Heather and Mike have asked that everyone wear purple in honor of Maddie. There will also be a reception that will follow the service.

I of course, being from the opposite end of the country, will not be able to attend. I will, however, be posting a memorial to her on my blog at precisely the time the service begins. If you would like to do the same, please click here to copy the image for yourself.

Madeline Alice Spohr November 11, 2007 - April 7, 2009

I'm sure many of you have already heard the devastating news. The Internets are rocked to their cores. Two days ago, that sweet child Maddie, left this earth. She sprouted her wings and took flight.

I sit here typing; trying to find the right words. I complete a sentence. I pause. I press the backspace key. I start again. I erase again.

There are no words.

Though I do not know Heather or Mike Spohr, my heart goes out to them. I can not imagine the pain they are feeling. My chest is tight; there is a knot of fear, of sadness. Becoming a mom does that. It makes you sense the loss of another mother. It stays with you. It haunts you.

My son, W., saw a picture of Maddie on my laptop last night. He asked who the cute little girl was. I explained what had happened, in terms he could understand. My boy, my sweet, caring, compassionate boy turned to me, his face somber, "Mom, that's so sad."

So sad, indeed.

And then I thought for a moment. I have always donated to the March of Dimes. Ever since W. was born, I wanted to help sponsor this cause. No parent should have to watch their child fight for their life, as we had.

We were blessed. W. survived his congenital heart defect. We should do more, to honor Maddie.

I asked him if he wanted to start our own team to walk for her. For other babies. He jumped at the idea.

The "Jersey Shore Families For Maddie" team is walking on April 26th in Belmar, NJ. Please, if you can, join us. Sign up here and be a part of our team.

Of Maddie's team.

If you can't walk, won't you please sponsor either W. or myself? No parent should endure the Spohr's heartache.

Sponsor Me:

Sponsor My Son:



*If you don't live nearby, please visit Lotus Carroll's blog Sarcastic Mom. She is listing other teams across the country.

My Klutz

Recently, T. went to a gymnastics party to celebrate a classmate's birthday. The local place does a really great job with the young kids. They start off with warm-ups and then an obstacle course is set up for them to maneuver.

The kids line up and follow each other through tunnels, over mats, and across balance beams. The instructors teach them how to do somersaults and bounce up from their butts on the trampoline. The grand finale is to hang from the rings; only to drop, laughing hysterically, into a pit of foam blocks.

As the party-goers have their fun, parents can watch from a loft on one side of the gym. As I watch T. scurry about, I am amazed at how agile he seems to be. I mean, this is a child who, since his first steps, has repeatedly tripped over his own two feet. He is completely accident prone and falls at least once or twice a day. He falls up stairs. He falls down stairs. He runs into walls. He bumps his head on his bunk bed. He's clumsy and knows it.

So, imagine my surprise when I was leaving the party and was stopped by one of the moms at the front desk.

"Yes, this is T.'s mom!" She enthusiastically said to the instructor who had run the party.

"Hi! Has T. ever taken gymnastics before?" He asked me.

"No, never, why?" I questioned, totally curious to where the conversation was going.

"Wow. I'd LOVE to have him on my boy's team. He's very talented!"

"Um--really?!" I said with a giggle.

"Absolutely, please think about it."

I was dumbfounded because I worry every time he goes out to play. I always want to wrap him in bubble wrap or dress him like this:


I guess you just never know!

Forever THAT Little Girl

I saw the number on the caller ID as I was picking up the telephone. "Not now," I thought to myself as I put the portable back in the dock.

I continued with my day and didn't give the call another thought. I pushed it into the depths of my brain. When I returned home that evening the house was dark. I walked into the kitchen and saw the blinking yellow light that let me know I had a voicemail. A familiar voice asked me to call him. He needed to ask me something.

"Shit."

Maybe he'll forget and that will be that. But twice in one day? So out of character. Was something wrong? Self-reproach set in. The knot in my stomach twisted a little tighter.

I went to bed and hoped that my anxiety didn't shape my dreams. Peaceful sleep was all I needed. It was all I asked for.

I awoke, well rested. My angst was gone. My mind must have protected me by slamming shut a door. I gave no thought to the phone calls of the day before.

That next day was like every other; busy with motherly duties. As the usual dinner time chaos was ensuing, I tried to get my children seated and fed. I was a bit frazzled when the phone rang and I grabbed it in a rush.

"Hello?" I said breathlessly into the phone. I was trying to plate macaroni and cheese and not drop the phone that was pinned between my ear and my shoulder.

"Hey!" I heard the voice. The one that always stopped me dead in my tracks.

The door in my mind suddenly flew open.

"FUCK!" My head screamed. I handed Mr. Schmitty the pot and serving spoon. I rolled my eyes and headed up the stairs to my room.

"Hey dad. Sorry I didn't call you back. Kind of a crazy day." I told him, making excuses and explaining myself. I hated the words as they tumbled out of my mouth. I hated myself for feeling as though I HAD to say them.

"Yea--listen," he spoke over me, as he usually did, not even hearing my lame rationalizations. "Could you send me a postcard with directions to your house?"

"Um---sure." Thinking to myself that he had to be kidding me. He lives not thirty minutes from me, in an area he has lived in for more than fifty years.

"I'd like to come see the Grandkids before they are old enough to vote!" He said with a laugh.

Funny. My children know that their Grandpa is in heaven, unfortunately for them, the one that truly loves them can no longer be with them.

"Okay. Yea, sure. Stop by," I said but was really thinking, "Yea, sure. That will never happen."

We spoke for a few more minutes. I grew increasingly agitated. The tightness in my chest increased. I knew the conversation would be over soon, it never lasted long. But it always felt like an eternity.

"So, you'll send me that postcard, right? I love you baby." He said and I knew he had filled his guilt card for the time being. Because I KNOW that guilt is what prompts his sudden need for kinship.

"I love you too, dad." I answered back as I ended the call. I fell back on my bed and let the phone drop from my hand.

I love you too. My eyes welled up. I balled both of my hands into fists and slammed them down on the mattress like so many times I've done in my life. But this time they stay unharmed. They did not swell or bruise as they had when I was a teenager and it was a wall I was punching instead. It was no longer necessary to inflict pain to release the suffering.

Why can't he just stay away? It's so much easier for me when I don't hear from him. I'm too weak to escape for myself.

But my children---they will be spared.

Don't You All Love Me Anymore?

Yesterday my Feedburner stats went from 137 to 99. I gasped. I am VERY proud of that 137 and get very sad when I lose just one reader. So to lose 38? WOW. I smelled my armpits. Was it me?

Today I logged on and saw that I am now down to 39 subscribers. That's minus 60 more of, what I thought, were LOYAL *sniff* followers. And what will I see tomorrow? A big goose egg?

I think my heart has stopped. I can't breathe. I need a paper bag. QUICK! DOES ANYONE HAVE A FUCKING PAPER BAG?!!!

What have I done? Did I say something wrong? How could I lose 98 of you beautiful people in two days?

Did you conspire against me? Have you all started a Facebook group entitled, "Let's screw around with Mrs. Schmitty's emotions?"

SAY.IT.ISN'T SO!!

Ahem. Sorry.

Just a few minutes ago I was searching for that group on Facebook and saw a status update from Miss Britt. I stalk love Miss Britt. Apparently Feedburner is displaying a loss of 800 readers on her widget. Now mind you, she is AWE.SOME, so she still has more than I even started with.

BUT 800?!!

Where did everyone go? Did aliens swoop down and beam them all up? Perhaps instead it was a worm invasion! Did Conficker really emerge on Wednesday? Or maybe it was Barry!

If any of my old friends are still on earth or not the victims of an invertebrate. I implore you. Come back to me. PLLLLLLEEEASSEE?!

Oh, and bring your friends.

I'll Save $276!

My son, T., wants to be a veterinarian when he grows up. I do believe, however, that he may just become a fashion designer. He like clothes....waaaaaay too much.

He has a tendency to pick out his sister's clothing when it's time to get ready for school. He also is very particular when it comes time to purchase new items for his wardrobe.

And he's only six.

Today the new Lands' End Kids catalog arrived in the mail. The younger Schmitty kids usually attack me at the front door as I empty the mailbox. They love to open my junk mail and search for mock credit cards. Much to T.'s disappointment, as well as my own, there were only bills and that summer clothing catalog.

"Here T., why don't you circle the things you like in here?" I said, as I handed him a red pen.

"Okay! Can I get some new stuff?" He asked.

"We'll see what you come up with and what you might need for the summer, okay?" I replied.

He set to work as I viewed some email.

"All done!" He shouted, not fifteen minutes later.

"Great! Show me what you circled."

I should have said, "Show me what you DIDN'T circle." For every pair of pants, shorts, or swim trunks he chose, there was a coordinating shirt or rash guard, a hat, and a pair of shoes to go along with it. He even picked matching beach towels for some of his ensembles.

I wanted him to see how crazy expensive his wish list was, so I turned on my desk calculator. I began adding up the pages of red, circled items.

The total came to $1510.50. Wow.

"Um, T.? I think you went a bit overboard. Do you really need twelve rash guards?"

"Sure. They match the bathing suits I want."

"But we can't even fit rash guards over your head, remember? They get stuck."

I have no idea why but it's the same thing with turtlenecks. His head doesn't LOOK that big, but he just can't wear them.

"Oh yea. But some of them are tie-dye. I love tie-dye. But they do hurt coming off. Okay, cross those off my list."

I subtracted the price of the twelve rash guards.

$1234.50.

"Cool mom! It says 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -5! But that zero should be a 6!"

Yeah cool T. and there's free shipping too!

Happy April Fool's Day!

I usually set up a whole slew of things for my kids on April 1st. I love me some tomfoolery, but most of all I love their reactions to my gags.

But due to T.'s stomach bug, I have been a tad preoccupied. I've been running between him and the toilet with buckets. I've been disinfecting the bathroom and any surface he may have touched. I've got Clorox wipes in one hand and Lysol in the other. I've opened windows and doors.

I am NOT going to be going through this again, come hell or high water.

We have a fun, busy weekend coming up. I am determined to keep the rest of the household healthy. R. has a birthday tea party on Friday night. We have an Easter Egg Hunt, that we go to every year, on Saturday. The kids would be devastated if we missed that. And Mr. Schmitty and I are going to a local theater to see the Broadway Tour of "Movin' Out" on Sunday.

So beware Mr. Stomach Bug, I've got chemicals and I'm not afraid to use them!

And as far as April Fool's goes...well, it's not all a loss, I've gotten my joke for the day. Poor T. keeps pooping his drawers....I guess washing shit filled underpants is my prank for this year.

Yea Me.