Domestic Goddess

Earlier this week, in a fit of insanity, I made my way into the kitchen and actually baked something. Three somethings, for that matter. That may not sound very impressive to some people, but to those who know me, preheating the oven was a Big Deal.

I'd like to say that I was baking for the sheer joy of it. That I finally realized what I've been missing all these years and decided to take on some domestic chores. That I have become a girl. Sadly, I would be lying through my clenched little teeth.

It all started at the beginning of the school year. Spanky's teacher is a nice lady, and I realized that none of the other 24 moms in the class had signed up to be Room Mom. I figured it couldn't be that difficult, so I signed on the dotted line. That was my first mistake.

I figured I'd host a few parties. For 5th graders. They're pretty easy to please, right? Well, in all honesty, they've been great. And the parties have been relatively fun. And even though this particular class is big on hugs and "I love you's," it hasn't killed me. Until this week.

This week has been Teacher Appreciation Week. And apparently I'm not the brightest crayon in the box, because I still wasn't aware that I should be in panic mode. Until Monday, that is.

First, you're supposed to collect money from all the other parents to buy a gift for your teacher. Yeah, right. These people didn't sign up for Room Mom duties, and they certainly haven't helped with any of the other parties (160 at last count, but there's 2 more months of school left), so why on earth would I think they would send in cold hard cash for a teacher gift? Nope, nothing, nada. Not good.

On top of that, some wizard at the school decided it would be easiest if each class made lunch for all the teachers in that particular grade for one day of the week. Of course, they used to have the parents bring in lunch just for their teacher every day, so I agree, this is probably a better idea. Unfortunately, I don't cook. Luckily, I have a co-Room Mom and she does. Sorta.

So co-Mom made a crock pot deal and I was responsible for dessert. I decided on brownies and cookies. I've done brownies before and was pretty confident, but I've never done cookies, so I left those for last. SuperHubby wasn't home so I was flying blind. But I had Spanky to help.

We made the brownies. Things went pretty well. Nothing blew up and the mix tasted pretty good. My confidence grew. I thought we should make them something for breakfast too.

I made an apple struedel loaf. More confidence. I made cornbread. There is such a thing as too much confidence. The cornbread didn't look so hot and now it was time for cookies. Thankfully, SH got home right as I was prepping for the cookies.

The great thing is, the teacher's loved the stuff. Not the cornbread, but everything else. And no one died. Which is cool, because I've baked before and it hasn't turned out so tasty. There was the banana bread incident when SH and I were dating...

Now, everything I made came from a box mix. I understand that is just one small step up from pre-made, frozen, shove-it-in-the-oven-and-you're-done baking. But I did it. And I might do it again.

Next year.

SuperStud...or SuperDork?

A few weeks back, SuperHubby had to test for his black belt in Tang Soo Do. For those keeping track, that would be his second black belt. He's so hard to please.

Anyway, he spent several weeks prior to the test fretting about it. The tension was pretty high in our house. It would have been one thing if it were just the physical test. But there was also an oral portion. And a written portion. And it was supposed to take 8 hours. And the Big Cheese was coming to make them all sweat through it.

Turns out the Big Cheese is a pretty funny guy. First thing he did was tell them there wasn't going to be a written test. And the oral part was only 4-5 questions per student. So that was a breeze. But the actual physical part was pretty grueling.

SuperHubby has asthma. Not wow-I'm-wheezing-a-bit asthma, but darn-I-think-I'm-dying asthma. He also has a tremendously stubborn streak. So while he couldn't breathe worth a lick, to the point where his wonderful and beloved wife had to literally leave the building because she was so broken up over the fact that he was killing himself, SH decided to keep pushing on. Okay, so that's one of the things I really love about him; he doesn't give up. But that's also one of the things I really hate ... sometimes my life would be easier if he did.

It wasn't pretty. I spent most of the time trying to figure out how I was going to get SH, his mom AND the boys to the hospital - since the suppository was still out of commission and I was driving SH's StudMobile. I didn't enjoy the day much at all. But he did fine and ended up living through it.

Turns out he passed. Not that I had any doubt he would. So now he's got 2 black belts. And a wife who's a nervous wreck. I guess he's a stud after all ... with severe dork-like tendencies.

Things I Don't Understand

• Why, when you see middle-aged people driving really old cars, do you think they just like classics, but when you see old people driving the same cars, you figure they're just pitiful and don't realize there's newer models out there?
• How can glass replacement companies get away with advertising they will fix your broken windshield for free? If you have insurance, it's free. It's not like the glass company is doing you a favor.
• Why is it they can make phones with caller ID, call waiting, call blocking, and even cell phones with cameras, but they can't make a phone that doesn't make my 7-year-old son sound like a 2-year-old little girl?
• Why do they call it "cheesecake"? Isn't it actually in the pie family?
• Why would anyone eat potted meat?
• Why aren't words just spelled like they sound? Are we trying to confuse small children and foreigners? Do we really ever need a silent "e"? And why would you have more than one word that sounds (or looks) the same, but means something entirely different from the other meanings?
• Why don't they just change the name of TNT to "The Law & Order Network"?
• Michael Jackson.

Happiness Defined

Last week, I had to go to MUSC several times. Now, for those who know me, let me begin by saying this was NOT for SuperHubby. I was there with a friend. A boneheaded friend, who rode his motorcycle without a helmet, but a friend nonetheless.

So one day I take his children up to see him. Oh, did I mention The Suppository was dead for almost 2 weeks? Yepper. So...I take these children to see their dad, and I drop them off. And I'm driving SuperHubby's sporty little Nissan Sentra. Here's where it gets good.

I go to leave the parking lot. Lot G. I'm very familiar with Lot G ... I park there whenever I go to MUSC. It's the best place to park. But I digress.

So I'm leaving Lot G. And the guy in the toll booth, who has been there for years (literally), looks and me square in the eye and says - wait for it - "Oh, are you a student?"

Glory. I understand the mistake. I'm extraordinarily adorable, and I was have a terrific hair day (okay, that goes without saying). But that doesn't happen when I'm driving the suppository.

I beamed at the guy. I told him no, thank you, but he had just made my night. He insisted that he really, truly thought I was a student. I told him I was 35, married and the mother of 2 young boys....but if he kept it up, I was giving him my phone number.

People started honking. I didn't care. I realized halfway home that I was grinning like a doofus and singing at the top of my lungs (okay, I do both of those things a lot, but not usually at the same time).

I love this guy. It may have been dark out, he may have been drinking heavily during his breaks, but he made my day.

Crazy Daze

Last week was an unusually crazy, hectic week. One of my best friend's husband was in a motorcycle accident, FrogBoy was sick (not feel funky sick, but up every night sick) and SuperHubby was tested for his black belt on Saturday (which made him TESTY the whole week prior).

So towards the end of the week, I had this dream. I dreamed about my hair. Now, this is not entirely unheard of because (1) I always have bizarro dreams when I'm overtired, and (2) I do have fantastic hair.

But it struck me, that in the middle of this nutty week, that I was actually dreaming about how great my hair is. With background music and everything. Men adored me. Women envied me. Small children worshipped me. (Okay, so it was a lot like real life)

I thought this week would be better. It was .... for about 4 hours yesterday. Then it all started up again. Wonder what it will be this time? Probably a purse dream.