To All You Turkey Lovers Out There

Happy Thanksgiving!
Now get to cooking

Still Talking On A Wednesday

Pies I'm all about . Yes this Thanksgiving on top of the turkey and string bean casserole I will be making pies. For some reason it has become my obsession.

I went to sleep thinking about pies.

Woke up thinking about pies.

Bought more pie ingredients on the way to work

Talked about pies at work.

I'm making
sweet potato pie
pumpkin pie
pecan pie
and a Marlboro pie (its some 1812 house recipe I saw on tv)

And I'm making these pies all with my rashy gangrenous hands. I'm not even sacred about loosing a in the pie that's how much I care about the damn pie.

Try to engage me in conversation I dare you because it will somehow involve . I don't know what happened. I used to talk about a lot of things. I talked politics culture I even went galleries but none of it was as all consuming as my recent thoughts about pie.

Its Not All Roses Being Queen of The Martians

I have this weird rash between my fingers that is driving me crazy.

(Yes I've reached the age where I complain endlessly about my aging body. Just wait until I blog about my cholesterol. You guys are in for some fascinating stuff)

I looked up rash on google image and it was pretty darn gross people with the flesh falling off and blisters and for some reason about 70 crotch shots of really really scary looking problems. I thought yuck how can I do that to my bloggy friends first thing in the morning so instead I will post this

chicken fingers much better and they taste better too.

This rash showed up about a month ago and its red and itchy and I think about it all day long. I tried creams, soaks just about everything. I've even slept with socks on my hands. I'm trying S's old psoriasis cream and its seems to be working a little but the question is where did it come from. Here are some of my thoughts:

1. Its an overworked and too tired rash. My fingers have given up. They don't want to clean anymore or change diapers or make dinner. They're on strike and the rash is their protest sign. Good for them
   
2. I have leprosy (why not go for a classic)
3. After being made queen of the aliens I caught some weird outer space disease but it was totally worth it.
4. I am slowly falling apart
5. The fat comment made them really angry so they decided to get all rashy in retaliation
6. Maybe there is no rash and its all a figment of a deranged mind.
7. I have a flesh eating disease and I will be a goner by next Tuesday.
   

I'd like to end this post with a picture of some lovely finger foods because I'm hungry and it is so much nicer than a picture of a gangrenous hand.

Fatty Fat Fat Strikes Again

Did I have a good weekend....hmmmm? Well my sister in laws bridal shower was this weekend. It was lovely and she looked great and the food was wonderful. My only complaint however was when I left the table for one minute I walked in on a conversation about how much weight I had gained since I had given birth to S.

You would think they would stop and have the decency to start talking about celebrity rehab or the latest Paris Hilton scandal when they noticed me.

Nope.

They continued the conversation.

Well it is hard to loose weight while nursing. She still has such a pretty face. Shame though.

Well that just made my day. I already felt very bad about a terrible dye job I had received (Whats so hard about light brown people?) And sitting in on a weight conversation about me was just as much fun as having toddlers redecorate my new couch.


I got mad and proceeded to eat several rolls and desserts in retaliation.

That'll show em

(I am feeling pretty blue right now. I would be very pleased to receive any empty compliments you may have especially concerning my looks. I know you've never really seen me so improvising and lies are totally welcome. Thank you)

Oh Where Has She Gone?

Where is Suzie? Where has she gone? She has not responded to my sassy stories. She has not commented. She has not twittered. She has not regaled us with her wit at all. Her blog page sits silently showing a Wordless Wednesday of days gone by. What's up?

Has she been abducted by a traveling green martians who have no children or husbands and like to drive in fast cars and think tummy flab is sexy?

Has she run away and joined a troop of high flying acrobats who have made her their queen and worship her by giving her foot rubs and frozen drinks and let her sleep late every morning?

Or did she in the throws of a cleaning frenzy try to remove the huge ugly scary looking dust particles and bits of old food and grime she saw in her clear mac key board with q tips and end up smashing the thing against the trash can rendering it useless and broken ?

One can only wonder.

Never Wordless On Another Wednesday

I love my hubby I do. But why? Why?




I've asked him so many time. Pleaded, demanded but still every morning there they are. The used coffee cups with dirty napkins inside.



Its just the grossest thing. Putting my hands into that mug and pulling out that used dirty napkin. It makes me gag.



I know marriage is a give and take. The blending of two lives to create one family but if I had known it would involve taking dirty old napkins out of used coffee cups...well... I would have taken a much much longer honeymoon.

Beer Pong Dreams

This weekend I was walking with my hubby pushing my big red double stroller past a bar near our house called Porkies. In the window they were adverting a beer pong world championship. In case you (like me) have never heard of beer pong (you should totally be as ashamed as I that you do not know about this intellectually stimulating and dignified sport) here's a handy dandy definition:

Beer pong (also called beirut, lob pong, BP, etc.) is a drinking game in which players throw a ping-pong ball across a table with the intent of landing the ball in one of several cups of beer on the other end. When a ball lands in a cup, the defending team must consume all of the beer inside that cup. The game is won by eliminating all the other team's cups before all of one's own cups are eliminated. The losing team must then consume all the beer remaining in the winning team's cups.

Outside Porkies stood a young girl maybe twenty one or so. She was wearing a I'll pong for you hand made tee shirt. She had mascara smeared on her face and a big smile.

My husband taking a chance she was a beer pong finalist (he's smart like that) began to engage her in a run down of how her team was doing. As they chatted away about the awfulness of her teams ability to play beer pong and how astonished they were they were even in the illustrious beer pong finals I began to day dream.

(Que fuzzy screen and dreamy music)

I saw myself sitting in my dorm room with so much time on my hands I could hand draw my beer pong tee shirt. I saw myself gathering together my friends to practice our beer pong craft. Setting up cups and bouncing that pong pong ball. I saw my brow winkled in concentration. I saw my hand shake with determination as I ponged my ball to the waiting cups. I saw myself waking up on a lazy Sunday knowing the only thing I needed to do for the day was compete in the world beer pong finals!

For one shining moment my bills sat unopened. My children were not yet born. My hubby was just some dude I had yet to meet. I was a beer pong finalist and I rocked!

When suddenly a shout of "I gotta go potty!" shattered my pretty beer pong dream.

I was not a finalist I was a mommy and wife I had bills to pay butts to wipe and I didn't even own a ping pong ball.

Maybe next year.

A Very Very Bad Weekend

This weekend was not what I would call fun. In fact I would call it a hell fest. I trip through awful land. A peek into the land of terrible horrible. All courtesy of my son B. B was in rare form. He tackled his sister with some impressive WWF moves. He created some riveting works of art on the dresser in his room. But his most impressive feat took place Saturday afternoon when B had metamorphosed into a slobbering high pitched Helli monster.

We decided to take him to the park as we were all becoming a bit scared of the beast that used to be B. It was cold and gray but we bundled them all up and off we went. The way the weekend was going I would have taken that child out if giants were dropping boulders from the sky.

When no one could feel their fingers anymore we decided it was time to go home. We let B run ahead as Hubby and I walked behind trying to find strategies to handle our little beast when suddenly I couldn't see B anymore. Hubby set out on a quick jog to find him. As I watched I thought of which toy I could take a away as a punishment.

I saw hubby running in another direction then another. I realized B was gone. My heart rate started increasing the sweat began pouring down my face as just about every Sally Field's movie ran through my head. I began to run and scream for B. Poor S just held on to the stroller for dear life as ran like a mad woman looking for my darling little B.

Suddenly a man grabbed me. "Are you looking for a little boy in a yellow and blue hoody?" I nodded choking back the tears. He ran with me to a park bench outside of the park on a street facing a huge intersection. There was B curled up in a ball. The minute I saw him I burst into tears. Yelling "What did you do?"

"Why are you crying mommy?" He asked. His Daddy ran up a second later resisting the very huge impulse to throttle him. And echoed my "What did you do?" question.

B got very quiet realizing just how much trouble he was in. "You have no idea how lucky you are!" I yelled and sobbed. "You could have gotten hit by a car! Someone could have taken you! You could have died and never seen your mommy and daddy again! You have done a very very bad thing! Very very bad!"

Ive never been so happy to hold that little beast. And stroke his little monster hair.

And I don't think Ive ever been so happy to see a Monday morning in my life. Hooray for Mondays!

Our Olympic Sport

Everyone in my house seems to have diaper rash (kids that is I don't know about my hubby but I think he's OK).

S has a diaper rash that looks like she is just raw. It is an ugly one we had to buy a cream to cure it that was more expensive than most of my wardrobe.

B has the privacy rash. The rash that makes him close the bathroom door and pretend he has it all covered even though the boy cant wipe his bottom to save his life.

The result of these rashes are two very cranky kids and the constant need to apply lotion. I thought I knew a lot about my family but I have learned something new during this rashy time The Up The Hill Backwards family has buttocks of iron. When I go to apply these creams those kids clamp down like no body's business. The jaws of life couldn't pry those suckers apart. I wish there was a strong butt cheeks Olympic sport cause my family would get the gold.

As I write this I realize I will now be forever connected with google searches involving iron butt cheeks but hey when I get a chance to brag I go with it.

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By the way thanks so much for all your great Christmasy advice, You guys rock!

Santa Free Zone

I have a question for you. Let me start at the beginning.

Christmas is a very hard time around my house. We are Jewish and we do not celebrate Christmas at all. Not a little not a smidgen not an iota not a nano particle. On this point I will never budge.

Its not cause I'm a meany (although I may be one its completely unrelated) and I don't judge other Jews who choose to follow the red and green road. I just believe Christmas is not a secular holiday. Its like Brooklyn Day being celebrated in Manhattan its just not our thing.

Christmas is a huge holiday in the states. Christmas music plays in every store. Pictures of Santa's and chimneys are everywhere. Green trees hung with ornaments take over the streets. Even his beloved Elmo hangs antlers on his red fuzzy head and sings carols.

Its hard to be a little Jewish boy watching all of this. Poor little B wants Christmas so badly. He dreams of Christmas. He has little sugar plums dancing in his little yiddle head. He dreams of Santa sliding down our chimney (we dont really have one but a kid can dream) and stuffing his little smelly socks with candy. But alas it is not to be.

After watching a tear slide down his Jewish nose as he thought of the Christmas not to be. I decided to talk up Chanukah's reminding him of eight days of presents. I talked up Passover and getting presents when he finds the Afikoman (the hidden matzoh). I bubbled enthusiastically about the lighting the candles every Sabbath. It was exhausting but after quiet a talk up I finally finally I saw a little smile.

"Yeah I'm gonna get eight days of presents!" He bragged. I had done it I thought. I have broken Christmas magical hold on my son all will be well.

Yesterday we passed another store all decked out in the Christmas spirit. There were Christmas trees and reindeer it was a whole Christmas fest. B went by sighed longingly and said and said."Mommy can we celebrate Christmas this year?" Oh no I thought not again! I took a deep breath and reminded how Jews do not celebrate Christmas I launched into went into my great speech about Chanukah's Passover blah blah blah. It was exhausting.

But Mommy he said "Some Jews do celebrate Christmas." "No they don't." I snapped hoping not do another song and dance about the whole thing. "Yes they do. My teacher Ms. Deborah said some Jews celebrate Christmas. She said her friend is Jewish and she has a tree and Santa comes to her house. Can we have a tree? Can we have presents? Can we huh?"

So the question is it bad form to tell my sons teacher what she can "do" with her Jewish Christmas tree? Cause I've got a good place she can put it.

Im Off On My Quest

You my bloggy comrades you have helped arm me in my quest. Through the reading of royal bloggy comments and your wisdom I now believe my quest is possible.

If what you say is true I need only travel past the forest of horrible endless temper tantrums that seem to involve kicking ones sister with shoes on while knocking everything in ones room onto the floor. Run through the field of midnight screaming fests that wake everyone in the house up including the baby and cause the neighbors to bang on the wall with alarm. Skip over the valley of poopy accidents that caused us to go through every pair of acceptable pjs and began another temper tantrum when my young one had to wear T2's that totally didn't fit. I may eventually find the lake of 2nd and 3rd graders. A place where a screaming mommy may lay down her high pitched angry voice for a while and replace it with slightly naggy but not quiet as loud screamingness.

I hear it may take me and my royal steed another 4-5 years to achieve such a quest but I must believe it will come true.

This weekend I did not think it possible. I was tempted to jump on my royal steed and take off for Vegas or some high tower where the shrieks and refusal to do anything ever for any reason and the constant screaming for ice pops and Mikey mouse Club House from my royal son B would not make me long for a fire breathing dragon to do his worst. But I will go on. Knowing that his constant temper tantrums that last a minimum of 45 minutes each will one day end and I will find that lake and it will be good.

Unless you are all a bunch of fakers and then I will be very very upset indeed.

Where Has She Gone?

I don't know what happened. I used to be such a good mom. The type of that mom you see on that commercial where the boy accidentally sprays his mom with orange soda and instead of her yelling at him gleefully gets into a soda fight with her son. The type of mom who surveys her orange coated kitchen and hums a little tune while cleaning it up all the while singing boys will be boys doo dee doo.

I don't know what went wrong. Where that happy, gleefully, mommy went? And why has she been replaced with a very cranky, unpleasant, tired, woman who seems to yell at the drop of a hat?

I have changed.

No longer do I find delight in stories that start and I end with "Can I have 9 bananas today?" and continue on for 45 minutes.

No longer am I content to watch my son lick the bathroom mirror slowly when we are already 20 min late for school.

No longer do I clap my hands with joy as my daughter sits in the dogs water bowl and emerges soaking wet when all her other clothes are in the washer.

I don't know what happened. I still love my kids. I still love being their mom. But the woman who marveled at what an artists little B would become as I surveyed the picture B drew in poo on his bedroom wall. She is gone. Long gone.

Now Thats Commitment

Warning The following post contains discussion about "womanly" "yucky" things.


Yesterday I had a GYN appointment (see I told you). I let my boss know and left before lunch. The office was filled with pregnant ladies and I spent my 45 minute wait contemplating having another baby. I think its something in the air there that causes temporary insanity because this morning I contemplated selling the two kids I already have on Ebay. Anyway I finally get into the examination room and they give me one of those horrible paper gowns. You know the ones that don't close in the back so you end up flashing anyone who enters the room.

The doctor comes in and tells me to scoot down to the end of the table when suddenly the phone rings.

I usually turn off my phone at the doctors I do. But recently there seems to be a rash of kid trouble. Things like B having meningitis or S having seizures. Its always something scary and new so I keep it on. I jumped up to grab my phone sure that B has been stung by a killer bee or S had been eaten by a wandering mountain lion. The caller ID said my work and since my kids go to school there I prepared myself for the worst feeling slightly relieved that I was across the street from the children's hospital just in case I had to make a mad dash run to their snake bite center.

I mean why else would they call? Who would call someone at the GYN office unless it was an emergency?

I answered the phone breathless with fear. And sure enough it was my boss , "Uh Suzie..." here it comes I thought, "The Department of Health is here. They need that paper work they sent you last week."

In disbelief I stutter ,"Umm I'm at the doctors right now. Cant this wait?"

"Hold on let me put them on with you."

And sure enough he handed the phone to the Department of Health Inspector while I Suzie was umm... otherwise indisposed.

That's right I spoke to the Department of Health while having an internal exam.

I think I need a raise.

Halloween Horrors Continued

Just when you thought it was safe and Halloween was over it rears its ugly head again. Although Halloween is long gone I find I am being haunted by a four year old boy. This four year old child floats around my house moaning and chanting in a way that is so scary it chills you to the bones. The chant always seems to be the same:

I want my trick or treat candy! Do you have my trick or treat candy? Can I have it now? I want candy? Its mine why cant I have it huh?

I can be cooking in the kitchen or doing the laundry it makes no difference it come when it wants filling me with fear as it moans its terrifying demands:

I want a candy bar? Do I have any candy bars left? I want one. I like candy bars. Do you like candy bars? Is it dessert time yet? Can I go trick or treating again today PLEASE?

This morning was the scariest moment yet. I woke up switched on the light in the living room and there it was. Sitting on the couch. Clutching a bent lollipop with the wrapper still on. It squinted in the bright light and looked up at me with sleepless, haunted eyes.

Can I have this now? Is it dessert time? I want this lollipop. Its green. I love green lollipops can I have it now? Can I huh?

I've read some books on haunting I tried all the tricks tried lighting candles, sprinkling salt in a circle but it seems to have no effect.

I think I am doomed!


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Did I Ever Tell You...

My sister in law is getting married. She's great so I offered to send out the invites to her shower. As I am pretty busy I came up with the ingenious idea to do it first thing in the morning at work before my boss gets in.

I wanted to make the cards look wonderful so I bought these fancy laser labels. I tried them in the ink jet printer and they smeared. Now everyone knows You can't have a smeared label its just not done. So I had a brilliant idea to stick them in the copy machine.

Please note it was 7:30am I had just stood in line to vote for and hour and a half. I was woozy and I hadn't had any coffee yet.

So I loaded them in and waited expectantly for my beautiful labels to emerge. The first page went through no problem. I held the matt clear labels in my hand and patted myself on the back for being able to do it all.

I waited patiently for the second page to emerge.

Suddenly the machine coughed and spluttered and started to smoke. Instead of my beautiful labels one column of chard stickers where thrown violently from the machine. I opened the machine sure I could pull it out but it tore and smoldered. Little labels with fancy apple chancery font stuck on the turning wheel thing. Aunt Jesspos label stuck to the whosie whatsit.

I tried everything. I pulled I pushed. I used tweezers. I cried but the machine would not listen it just whirled and steamed as if to say you are going to be in so much TROUBLE!!!!

My boss is a nice guy but breaking his machine and doing shower invites at the job? To put it mildly he would not be happy and I knew I was doomed!

I began to panic. I tried to run through other pages with educational material on it so it wouldn't look like it was my fancy labels that had broken the $2000 copy machine. It was no use. I was sunk.

I sat against the machine and whimpered getting ready to spill the beans and tell my boss everything. Suddenly from the kitchen my knight in shining armor entered; the cook.

Step back she said. With nimble fingers coated in breadcrumbs from the chicken fingers she prodded and tinkered and finally pulled the blackened remains of my labels from the machine.

Here she said and threw them on my desk.

I gasped in awe and uttered a "Thank you!" She turned grabbed her pot holders and said "No Problem".

Who says there are no heros anymore?

I feel Yucky... Again.

I'm in a mood.

Yes believe it or not I do get moody.

Why am I moody dare you ask?

B has the runs.
S is teething and very clingy.
I had a dream I gained 60 pounds all in my stomach.
Everyone is sick at work.
Hubby and I had a little tiff last night (I was right of course).
None of my pants fit right
I stepped on a glue trap this morning and my sock is sticky
no matter how hard I try I cant keep the house clean
and I want a big fatty sandwich but I cant because and I'm always on a diet and I never loose any weight
I have a new hair cut and I hate it
I looked at my wedding alblum last night and I wish I looked like I did 10 years ago
and I've lost my blogging mojo

All in all it has put me in a funk.

Well you asked.