So I had book club last night. We all loved the book! We talked about it possibly more than any other we’ve read this year. And as happens every month when I get together with this group of women, I leave refreshed and ready to face another month reassured of my network of very cool, awesome babes!! I’m sure there must be other book clubs with similarly incredible gals in the area. It would be great if we could figure out a way to hook all of these women up. Man, would we be a force to be reckoned with!!

Thanks gals! I had a great time as always!

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Enough said!

Originally this entry was to be my first Mamma HATES. The working title was “Mamma HATES Puberty,” but alas, that title just wasn’t going to work. The distinction of the first Mamma HATES must wait for another day.

As I lay down with my youngest this evening I heard a rhythmic creaking from the next room. And right there I thought…here’s the subject for tonight’s blog. My oldest is almost 10 and I am just sure that he has figured a few things out.

Can I get a collective “Eeewwww!”

Listen, my mom remarried when I was 10, I lived through the trauma once already. I was not prepared to do it again so soon (25 years later).

So I waited as long as I could and with the littlest guy soundly sleeping, I figured I could safely leave his bed. Making sure to create just enough noise so that Mr. almost 10 would hear me coming, I took extra time to put on my shoes and walk out of the room. And what did I see when I peaked in his room? (oh come on, you didn’t think I could just walk by without checking on him–he is my son, it’s in my genes to check). Did I find Mr. almost 10 with the sheets pulled up and the lights off? Oh no! There he was sitting in his bed–with the lights still on–embroiled in a war between his Spiderman and Mighty Mouse stuffed toys. He is after all still 9. And how happy I was to be wrong!!!

Apparently the four year-old set has a new insult–or at least my four year-old does. And what is this dreaded word? Parents block your childrens’ ears… members of the clergy read no further…the insult de jour is…

Toothpicker

Yes, toothpicker. We don’t know what it is. We don’t know why it’s so bad but when we asked our 4 year-old what it meant he replied quite emphatically that it means he doesn’t like that person. So you can imagine how devastated he was when his older brother referred to him as such during normal sibling bickering. Heaving sobs, snot running everywhere and there I was–trying not to laugh. Poor little guy was having a seriously sensitive moment and I couldn’t keep a straight face.

My language has improved dramatically over the past few years (my brother even noticed recently) but I’m still pretty bad. My children have certainly heard a few choice phrases from time to time. But toothpicker? They didn’t learn that from me!

I must say it is descriptive. Reminds me of mouth-breather. Now it may not garner a PG rating, but I think it’s great. Mr. 4 recovered and never sensed Mamma’s grin as she comforted his little hurt feelings. How do I know? Because two hours later he was slinging the barb right back at his big brother.

Ah toothpicker…if only this is where it would stop.

The easy answers…

her boys (all four of them!)

her family

Paulette

her book club gals (Ha-ay)

The Liberal Ladies

SHOES

margaritas