June 16, 2012 · 12:12 pm

I Used to Bake a Lot of Cookies… And Then I Had Kids

Back in 1993 when I was a 31-year old newlywed, I used to cook all the time. I received many extravagant wedding gifts and I loved to use all the kitchen appliances: bread maker; pasta maker; juicer; waffler; Cuisinart with all the gadgets. I prepared an amazing bruschetta with fresh roma tomatoes, basil and garlic, and the more often I made it, the more immune I became to garlic. I made my last big batch when Emily was just a few months old and it reeked of so much garlic it would have scared away the cast of Twilight, and I was forced to pump & dump because Emily refused to breastfeed my stinky milk for a day.

These days, I’m not much of a cook. I try to spice up a box of Hamburger Helper by replacing pork chunks for ground beef or adding a pack of frozen peas, but that’s the extent of my culinary creativity.

We don’t have the budget to eat out or buy take out. If we did, my family would be regular customers at every eatery within a 3-mile radius. Because I’m usually overbooked, I tend to stock up on Costco or Trader-Joe’s ready-made meals. Unfortunately, the rest of the family is sick of them and are now boycotting anything that comes in a 2-quart plastic container.

But before I had kids, I was one heck of a baker, which seems backwards since you’d think I’d be baking more with my kids. Back then I owned a home with a spacious gourmet kitchen and a double oven, and I had the luxury of actually getting the baking dishes washed while my treats were cooking instead of spending that time pouring apple juice, pulling out the bin of Barbies and grabbing Neosporin and a Bandaid. Now I have a trampoline that is bigger than my whole kitchen, my oven temperature has a mind of its own, and my collection of baking utensils has dwindled down to one cracked mixing bowl and a four-quart measuring cup.

Back in the 1980’s and early ‘90’s I used to be a quiet co-dependant and created lavish cheesecakes and birthday cakes and spent the holidays frantically baking up a storm for all my co-workers as an effort to make them like me. It turns out they liked me without me having to kiss their stomachs, and they showed me their gratitude by taking up a collection and buying me a Kitchen Aide mixer. I paid them back by getting pregnant shortly thereafter and rarely baking again.

One Christmas I baked four different kinds of bar cookies, rice krispie squares, peanut butter fudge, 10 dozen cupcakes, 6 batches of brownies, and 100 dozen cookies. It took me from Friday through Sunday night with very little sleep in between, and I packed up the variety in large baskets for each department at work. I have a picture somewhere and I wish I could find it. My arms are outstretched in front of row after row of cardboard boxes piled high with baked goods. It’s the only proof I have that I’m not exaggerating, because personally, I wouldn’t believe me either.

I’m not quiet or co-dependent any more, but the main reason I don’t bake like Mrs. Fields is because I’m just too busy. I always donate something to the school bake sales, but in most cases they’re the slice & bake cookies, or brownies or cupcakes that just need eggs, oil and water added. My kids love the latter because they get to lick the cracked bowl and wooden spoon. Unfortunately I tend to find time to bake hours after they’ve gone to bed, so the licking of utensils is a rare treat.

Tom is definitely the chef of the family. He’ll make a big pot of jambalaya or chili, and I will continue to eat the leftovers for lunch day after day and never get sick of them. I make a complete fool of myself at potlucks because I am not too proud to take home all the leftovers. I figure it’s saving me over $100 in food and about 5 hours of cooking/cleaning time for the week. I have no idea what kind of reputation I have when I’m out of earshot. Are people making oinking sounds? Do they think I’m the porker at the all-you-can-eat buffet? It really doesn’t matter because as I said, I’m not too proud.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been creating vlogs (video blogs) for YouTube’s MomPulse Network for their Question of the Week. Since this week asks What is your favorite recipe? I decided that it was a great excuse to make the time to bake something with my kids, and also buy a much-needed measuring cup. Together we prepared the dessert that used to tempt even the most hardcore Weight Watchers member: Monster Cookies.

If you have three minutes, please follow this link to watch me and my kids make this delectable treat. I dare you not to drool.

And if you’re reading this, I invite you to come over for an extravagant dinner party in which I serve freshly made pasta, homemade baked bread, and a few side dishes that take me hours to prepare. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait until all the kids have left for college.

 

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June 7, 2012 · 11:27 am

Vacationing Around the World Via Green Screen

Our family enjoying Splashtopia while we vacation at Rancho Las Palmas in Rancho Mirage.

I’m not much of a world traveler. My last passport expired in 1988 and I haven’t even been on a plane since before 9/11. But last Saturday at the Colfax World Fair, photographer Craig Damon gave me and my kids the opportunity to travel throughout the world without paying for airport parking or experiencing a minute of jetlag.

Jake and I walked over 5,000 miles along the Great Wall of China, but on the way back he said he was too tired, so I had to carry him.

Here Jake and I are at the Taj Mahal. I stopped him just in time before he drew a picture of SpongeBob in Sharpie on the mausoleum.

Mary and I traveled to Egypt to see the pyramids. She was very disappointed that there was no casino with an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Now we’re swimming with the fishes in the beautiful Caribbean. Pretty cool that our clothes never got wet.

Mary and I were amazed at the height of the Eiffel Tower. We tasted about 50 different kids of cheese and then the next day we were completely constipated.

Jake was really excited about visiting Mount Rushmore because he learned about it on an episode of Phineas and Ferb. Jake figured that they were the ones who took away the presidents’ bodies.

Being the teenager that she is, Emily didn’t really want to travel the world with her uncool mom, so I convinced her to join me on a trip to Titus – Saturn’s largest moon. Unfortunately Emily forgot to pack the lower half of her body. Either that or Phineas and Ferb stole it too, and are hiding it somewhere near Mount Rushmore.

You would think that with all this traveling I would have thought to bring a change of clothes.

Next year at the Colfax World Fair I’m hoping that Craig takes me on a trip to Tahiti. Maybe for that vacation I’ll take my husband and leave the kids at the fair.

 

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May 26, 2012 · 4:07 pm

My Husband Loves Me More Than Your Husband Loves You

I love my husband and I know he loves me.

I’ve met a lot of women who like to have their husband’s love proved to them on a regular basis in the form of flowers, gifts, and jewelry. However, these are not my preferred forms of affection.

Although I appreciate flowers, I know within days the petals will drop, the pollen will cause my daughter Emily to be sneezing up a storm, and in a week, I will be the one hauling the dead bouquet to the green bin and having to wash a vase filled with skunk water.

In lieu of gifts, I would much prefer a gift certificate for “Free lawn mowing without the prompting of subtle hints” and “Complimentary kitchen cleaning – including wiping down the stove.”

And although I love admiring the glittery jewels other women wear, I just couldn’t appreciate showing off a chunk of bling when we’re still up to our eyeballs in credit card debt.

My husband Tom shows me he loves me in subtle ways. He’ll fill up the Keurig coffee maker with water when the light is flashing, even though he is already done with his own caffeine fix. If he’s making a root beer float for himself, he’ll offer to make one for me. And if I order a meal that turns out to be to the left of “just ok,” he’ll offer half of his meal, even if he’s starving and his dish is delectable.

We moved in together in May of 2005 and weren’t married until October, and there was still a lot I didn’t know about him. I volunteered Tom to man the grill for the annual Hartsook Street Block Party, which took place on the hottest day of the year. The temperature soared to 110 degrees and the humidity was so thick neighbors were sweating more liquid than they were ingesting. Tom lamented that the grill actually felt cooler than the air. He perched himself in front of that charcoal-induced sauna for four hours. Later he told me to never NEVER volunteer him for anything ever again without his permission.

Why does this scenario make him a more loving husband than the rest of the men out there? Because he wasn’t a dick the entire time he was grilling, he told me the “no volunteering” request without raising his voice, and he didn’t hold a grudge about it for weeks. How about it, Ladies? Would your hubbies have that reaction?

But the Grand Finale of Best Humbandrycame last night, just after 4:00 am. The previous day, our dogs found a bin in our pantry filled with Special K bars and ingested about a dozen of them.

Devil Dogs

Tom came home to crumbs, wrappers, and two very guilty-looking dogs. Then he cleaned up the mess before I could take a picture for my blog (more Best Husband kudos!).

In the middle of the night I awoke to a fearsome stench. I got up and started to walk toward the switch to turn on the light when I felt squish squish squish – the unexpected feeling of stepping on gooey wetness.

I turned on the light and started screaming.

“Tom! Tom!” He had gone out to the couch about an hour earlier because he couldn’t sleep. Tom ran in like he was ready to fend off a home intruder and we both stared down at the bedroom carpet.

It was completely covered in runny diarrhea. It looked like someone had unloaded a paintball gun filled with caramel-colored pellets. The mess was sprayed all over the doors, the walls, and the mirrored closet doors. I was actually standing in the middle of the Feces Forest and had no idea how to get out of it.

I just stood there – stunned, paralyzed, terrified. I had no idea where to even start cleaning up such a sewage spill.

I was still a motionless statue by the time Tom arrived with the pooper scooper and started cleaning up the watery excrement. He looked like he was playing a game of miniature golf, but instead of a ball, he was easing the club over stinky slime.

I performed a standing long jump into the hallway, dashed into the bathroom, and scrubbed the bottoms of my feet so hard you would have thought I was a plague victim in Contagion. Then I prepared a bucket with Mr. Clean, poured the hottest water I could stand with industrial-strength rubber gloves, and raced back to the bedroom.

“I’m done,” Tom said. ” Go sleep in the kids’ room.”

Well, his idea of “done” and my idea of “done” are two completely different things. Granted, the piles had been smeared down from two inches to two millimeters, but instead of random piles of poop, there now was a smooth ground cover of crap.

And tomorrow morning it would be a dried, crusty ground cover of crap.

I kneeled down in the hallway safe zone, rung out a soapy sponge, and started to scrub.

“Go to bed,” Tom gently ordered.

I was really beat. This was going to be the first time in over a week that I would be getting more than 6 hours of sleep, and now that plan had gone out the now-open window. The stench was truly unbearable and I was afraid I might even vomit, which would have been a nuisance since the pooper scooper was now outside.

“I’ll take care of it in the morning,” Tom said. I knew this really meant I’ll think about taking care of it in the morning, but if I wait until afternoon, I know you’ll do it anyway. But I was so tired, and the smell was so overwhelming offensive, I staggered to the kids’ room and crawled into the bottom bunk. Fortunately for me, Jake has been sleeping I the top bunk with Mary since he’s afraid of zombies (which apparently only make an appearance at his 9:00 pm bedtime).

I awoke this morning, dreading the job in front of me.

Mary woke up in the bunk above me and asked why I was in her room. She hopped out of bed the instant I told her what happened.

“Can I see?”

We headed through the hall and I plugged my nose as I opened the door, ready to be hit in the face by the noxious odor.

Instead, our carpet shampooer sat in the middle of the room and the carpet was clean.

What the…?

Tom was already holding a cup of coffee.

“I cleaned it last night.” He gulped his coffee. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Later in the day he hosed off the dozen or so piles of diarrhea scattered throughout the yard that were ejected after the dogs had been banished outside.

“I also cleaned and shaved Spike’s butt,” Tom said casually.

Apparently the constant streaming of liquid excrement had created a hefty cement-like compound, and leaves, dead flowers and weeds were caked onto our Australian Shepherd’s anus.

So for all you women who treasure the glittery bling, the dozen roses and the fancy gifts, I’d like to ask you a single question:

Would your husband let you sleep while he shampooed a shit-filled carpet and scrubbed the poopy ass of your long-haired dog?

This is why my husband loves me more than your husband loves you.

How about you? How does your spouse or significant other show you that he/she loves you?

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May 22, 2012 · 10:00 am

Dodging the Telemarketers

There are a lot of really nasty jobs out there: the fellow from the transportation department who scrapes road kill stuck to highways; Big guys who maneuver through mucky crawl spaces to clean up sewage spills; and my brother Michael, who spends 50 weeks of every year away from his family while he trains the police force in Afghanistan.

But none of these professions can hold a candle to the granddaddy of nasty jobs: telemarketing.

If I want something, I drive to the store, look at the clearly-marked price, then decide how badly I need it. I shop at places like Trader Joe’s and Costco, where I can ask the clerks where I can find the coconut milk or lima beans, and they won’t try to sell me a Buick. I can retain a feeling of power and superiority because I am in control of my destiny, or at least my own shopping choices. I avoid malls where toothy salespeople leap out from all directions and spritz me with cologne, or compliment my beauty and in the same sentence tell me that I should have a makeover. Really… how can I be both?

But if I think the mall peddlers’ tactics are hard-sell, telemarketers make them look like pushovers.

Granted, I know telemarketers are merely doing their job and trying to make an honest living. At least some of them may be honest. But just by calling me, I feel like it’s an unwanted invasion – bypassing the front door and sneaking in through the phone lines.

I don’t seek telemarketers out. They seek me. They’re stalkers who know my name and phone number and want to smooth-talk me out of my credit card number. They are incredibly persuasive, and I am putty in their hands.

My husband Tom has no problem dealing with telemarketers. I know he’s on the phone with one when the conversation consists of: “Hello?” Click. I’m not as tough as he is. I am a nice, polite person and I don’t want to hurt their feelings, even if they are calling from a warehouse in India but pretending to be down the street.

But I have a secret weapon: It’s called “Caller ID.”

I’d love to kiss the guy (or gal) who invented Caller ID. If I recognize the call, I pick up (except for my particularly chatty friends who are just going to move on to the next person anyway). If the number has a strange area code or literally “000-000-0000 NAME NOT FOUND,” the call goes to the machine, and the caller usually just hangs up.

But Telemarketers have gotten wise to the Private Caller ploy, and they stealthfully slink in through that back door. I don’t like to answer Private Callers because they’re already paranoid by discretely protecting their anonymity, and my subliminal judgment of them is not going to convince them to crawl out from their hiding space. Yet it’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black if I’m hiding from callers who are also hiding from me. My mother-in-law is a Private Caller, so I play a little game of Russian roulette when I cross my fingers and pick up the phone. About 95% of the time it’s the dreaded Telemarketer.

I can already hear the theme from Jaws playing in my head: Da-dum. Da-dum-da-dum.

The ironic thing is, last year we really did need to buy something and I thought it might be helpful to talk to one of these phone predators. We had a tarp the size of a football field on top of our house, which means we were in the market for a new roof. So when a telemarketer from a roofing company called, I decided to champ it out and hear his pitch.

Telemarketer: “Mrs. Flynn?”

Me: “This is she.” (Two things – “Mrs. Flynn” was my grandmother who resembled Mrs. Santa Claus. “This is she” makes me sound so erudite, it’s hard to resist).

Telemarketer: “We’re working in your neighborhood this week, and we were wondering if you needed any home repairs.”

Me: Uhhh… (Maybe this one will be “the one.”) We actually do need a quote for a new roof.

Telemarketer: “What time will both you and your husband be at home?”

Me: “Huh?” (So much for my erudite act).

Telemarketer: “We need both you and your husband to be there when our contractor comes out.

Me: (What are we – Siamese Twins?) “Why?”

Telemarketer: “It’s our policy.”

Me: (I’m getting a little scared) “Uh…4 o’clock?”

Telemarketer: “And will you be able to commit to buy at that time?”

Me: “Uhhhh….” (Why the heck didn’t I let it go to the machine?) “Uhhhh…”

Telemarketer: “May I speak to Mr. Flynn?”

Since I kept my maiden name, and my husband isn’t one of those wimpy-boys who takes his wife’s name (no offense to the wimpy-boys who do that sort of thing), “Mr. Flynn” leaves my long-dead dad, or my brother Michael Flynn, who as I already mentioned, is in Afghanistan either getting heatstroke or frostbite, depending on the season. My answer?

Me: “I’m sorry. We’re not interested.”

Click.

At least I said, “I’m sorry.”

I told you I was polite.

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May 18, 2012 · 10:07 pm

20 Predictions for Season 2 of “Once Upon a Time”

The networks’ fall lineup has just been announced, and it was no surprise to anyone that Once Upon a Time, this year’s #1 new drama, has been picked up for Season 2.

In this week’s season finale, all the townspeople of Storybrooke have just been struck by a virtual bolt of lightning and now remember who they truly are – Fairy Tale Land characters. Mr. Gold (Rumplestiltskin) has poured true love – the most powerful potion in all the realms – into the magical well that can “return that which is lost.” Suddenly a huge wave of pink smoke reminiscent of something you’d find in a Victoria’s Secret ad starts rolling through Storybrooke, terrifying all the townspeople with the exception of Mayor Regina Mills (The Evil Queen) who slowly starts to smile.

Why is she smiling?

We won’t know that answer until sometime in September when Once Upon a Time returns.

As the dialogue editor of Once Upon a Time, my job is the second to the last step before the show airs, so I am definitely not privy to the story lines that are created by the above-the-line mucky mucks many months before. However, being a huge big fan of the show, I enjoy speculating what might happen during Season 2.

Here are my predictions:

Regina Mills – Mayor of Storybrooke

1. In the Season 2 opener, we find that Regina (The Evil Queen) now inhabits the body of Jamie Dimon, JPMorgan Chase CEO and Chairman of the Board, who received a $23 million pay package, lost $2 billion and still remains untouchable. (Isn’t it amazing when truth is stranger than fiction?).

Jamie Dimon – King of JPMorgan Chase

2. Mr. Gold’s (Rumplestiltskin) gets his wish to have his son Baelfire returned to him, prompting his 20-something-year old to live in true present-day style by moving in with his dad and spending his days playing video games, watching raunchy reality shows, and filling Mr. Gold’s home with empty beer cans and Dominoes Pizza boxes.

3. Belle marries Mr. Gold (Rumplestiltskin), but after a week living with his prodigal slacker son, she hightails it back to the loony bin where she had been imprisoned for the previous 28 years.

4. Mary Margaret (Snow White) and David (Prince Charming) seek relationship advice from therapist Archie (Jiminy Cricket) when she’s laid off from her teaching job due to school budget cuts and he starts bringing home stray mutts and feral cats from his job at the animal shelter.

5. For season 2, Emma finally trades in her boots for some practical running shoes. She also has a fling with Ruby (Red Riding Hood) and Once Upon a Time’s ratings explode with a loyal lesbian fan base.

6. Real life actor Jared Gilmore (Henry) has a growth spurt over the summer and his voice changes. In an effort to keep him short and cute, he is recast and replaced by one of the background dwarfs.

7. August Wayne Booth (grown Pinocchio) is reanimated as a real man with the exception of one body part that makes him very popular with the small town girls. I’ll give you a hint on that particular body part: his new nickname is “Woody.”

8. Storybrooke therapist Archie Hopper (Jiminy Cricket) vanishes into thin air when Regina (The Evil Queen) returns to Fairy Tale Land with a can of Raid.

9. Present Day Snow White, Belle, and Cinderella nearly kill each other in a catfight when they are all featured as contestants in Storybrooke’s version of The Bachelor.

10.  After the Blue Fairy has trouble flying due to the excess weight caused by her ginormous boobs, she inhabits her Storybrooke Mother Superior body to have a breast reduction. However, once in Storybrooke, she changes her mind and leaves the convent after realizing that her breast endowment makes her extremely popular among the men in town, most notably the more plentiful than average population of short men in Storybrooke whose faces are directly at eye level with her chest.

11. An evil clown arrives in Storybrooke, forces Granny out of her diner and installs a pair of Golden Arches over the entrance.

12. We find out how Mr. Gold (Rumplestiltskin) got his limp. As OUAT fans know, Rumplestiltskin’s favorite line is “All magic comes with a price.” Apparently he tried to sneak into a David Copperfield show at a Mafia-run night club without paying, and the boss’s thugs broke Mr. Gold’s kneecap. Hence as retribution, Mr. Gold has made himself the Godfather of Storybrooke.

13. Jefferson (The Mad Hatter) gets his tween daughter Grace/Paige back, but returns her to her Storybrooke parents after he’s disgusted to realize that she’s addicted to The Disney Channel and spends all day texting.

14. We find that Dr. Whale is actually Monstro, the giant whale that swallowed Geppetto (Marco) and Pinocchio (August) in Fairy Tale Land.

He starts having regular therapy sessions with Archie (Jiminy Cricket) when it is revealed that after upchucking the old Italian guy and his wooden puppet, Dr. Whale now suffers from bulimia.

15. Kathryn Nolan (Abigail – Prince Charming’s intended wife and his Present Day actual wife) remembers that her true love is Frederick, who is now the Storybrooke High School head coach. She takes a job beside him coaching the Storybrooke cheerleaders who were Fairy Tale Land Fairies, and they all end up in a zany 2013-2014 season spinoff called Once Up On a Grind.

16. In the season finale, when the pink cloud rolls in, former Daily Mirror editor Sidney Glass is reverted to his Fairy Tale form (the Evil Queen’s Mirror). Regina sells him at an auction to the highest bidder – Oprah Winfrey – and Sidney spends his days telling her how thin she is.

17. It is revealed that the Once Upon a Time book was actually penned by Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob of Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous fame. When Regina (The Evil Queen) sets out to destroy the true authors, instead of whipping up a sleeping potion, she gives them each a bottle of Colt 45 malt liquor.

18. We find out that Henry’s father is the rabbit from The Tortoise and the Hare.

Like any true rabbit, he reproduced at will, then scurried away as soon as he found out Emma was pregnant. When we meet Baby Daddy sometime in season 4 we’ll know he’s changed because he’ll be bald (hare-less).

19. Leroy (Grumpy) and perpetually-pleasant Sister Astrid (Nova the Fairy)

get married and have a slew of bi-polar children.

20. Love-stuck female fans start an email campaign to return deceased Sheriff Graham (Huntsman) whose heart was ripped out from his chest by Regina (The Evil Queen).

Once Upon a Time’s parent company ABC Television holds a contest offering to bring back the hunky Irishman if 100 fans decide to donate their own body parts to charity.

If you have no clue what I’m talking about, catch “Once Upon a Time” in reruns this summer and you’ll be up to date when the show returns this fall.

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May 14, 2012 · 12:43 am

A Visit From the Ghost of Mother’s Day Past

Today was Mother’s Day. I woke up at 10:15 am and my first thought was, “God, I slept in late.” Then came a second sudden thought: “I’m going back to sleep!”

I rolled over and threw the pillow over my face, then heard a loud throat-clearing sound in front of me. A plump elderly woman resembling Mrs. Santa Claus was floating in front of my bed.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” the woman said. I realized that it was Grandma Flynn, my paternal grandmother, looking remarkably spry despite being dead for nearly 40 years. I jolted awake in an instant.

“Grandma! What are you doing here?”

“Why I’m the ghost of Mother’s Day Past,” she told me. “You looked like you were about to sleep away Mother’s Day, so I decided to take you on a little trip.”

In an instant, we were both hovering over my childhood home, circa 1969.  The kitchen looked like a tornado struck, with pots, pans, dishes, food and stickiness everywhere. A 7-year old me was carrying a tray of food into my mom’s bedroom, along with my siblings Tammie (6), Michael (5), and Teri (4).

“Happy Mother’s Day!” we shouted in semi-unison.

My 27-year old mom shot up and glanced at her alarm clock: 6:00 am. She stared at our breakfast: cold burnt toast, charcoal-colored bacon, runny eggs, and unstirred orange juice made from concentrate. A clump of frozen pulp spilled on the bedspread as the younger me set the tray down.

“Breakfast in bed?” my mother gushed. She took a big bite of the black toast and smiled a truly genuine smile.

“This is the best Mother’s Day ever!” she declared as she pulled us in for an enormous group hug.

My floating Present Day self turned to Grandma Flynn. “Wow. She actually ate it. Yuck.”

“Your mom was a good woman,” my grandmother said.

“She still is,” I replied.

Then Grandma Flynn brought me back to Present Day and I saw that it was still 10:15 am. No time had gone by.

“Why are you showing me this, Grandma?” I asked.

“Because it’s Mother’s Day and you just want to sleep in rather than let your children fix you breakfast in bed.”

“But I hate crumbs in my bed,” I said. “And even though the kids tell me they’re going to clean up the mess, I know I’m the one who’s going to end up mopping the kitchen. I just want to sleep in and go out to breakfast.”

Grandma Flynn shook her head sadly and started to float away.

“Wait, Grandma!” I called after her. “Why are you leaving?”

“You are about to be visited by the Ghost of Mother’s Day Future,” she answered. And then she disappeared.

A moment later, an animated Jane Jetson appeared in my bedroom and transported me in her futuristic hovercraft. We flew to a nursing home. And there I was, lying in a bed wearing really ugly pajamas. And if I thought I looked flabby and wrinkly at 49, it was nothing compared to what I’ll look like at 85.

A nurse walked into the room with a tray of cold oatmeal. “Happy Mother’s Day,” she greeted me. The nurse started to feed me as oatmeal dribbled down my chin.

“No! No!” I cried. “Please don’t let this be my future, Jane Jetson! Let me go back to present day Mother’s Day! I can change. Let me eat the burnt toast!”

A second later, a grown Emily and Mary walked through the door of the nursing home.

“Mom! You’re not dressed yet?” Mary asked, shoving me out of bed.

Emily pulled a sweatshirt over my head. “Our reservation is in half an hour!”

A moment later we were at a huge brunch buffet, joined by a grown-up Jake and a bunch of my grandkids. Jane Jetson rolled her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh.

“Oh. You’re one of those.”

“One of what?” The Present Day Me asked.

“BTR’s.”

I stared at Jane cluelessly.

“Burnt Toast Reformers,” she clarified. “One of those moms who convinces her kids that she’d rather sleep in and go out to breakfast than wake up at the crack of dawn and eat burnt toast.”

Jane Jetson guided me back to the hovercraft and flew me back to Present Day.

Then, like Grandma Flynn, she too disappeared.

I glanced at the clock. It was still 10:15 am.

So I rolled over and went back to sleep until 10:45 am.

And then I pulled on a sweatshirt and ate breakfast with my kids.

At Marie Callender’s. Where there is no burnt toast, and no mess to clean up.

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May 11, 2012 · 2:28 pm

Volunteerism – It’s Not Just a Job; It’s a Job Without a Paycheck.

At about 3:45 pm on Tuesday, I dropped by the dubbing stage on the Disney lot, where Erik the recordist downloaded my conformed dialogue tracks. By 4:00 pm I was waving goodbye to my supervisor, my boss, the mixers and the producer of “Once Upon a Time.” I probably won’t see any of them again until season 2 begins next September.

I love my job as the dialogue editor on the show, but with only 22 episodes a year, it leaves a very long hiatus.

So on Wednesday morning I woke up and started my new job. I love this job too – probably even more than I love working on a hit show. And my new job pays nothing.

When I say “nothing,” I don’t mean that it’s something close to nothing like minimum wage at McDonald’s. My new job pays nothing because for the next month I’ll be working as a volunteer.

Since 2001 I have been a parent at Colfax Charter Elementary School in Valley Village. Back then, most families in the neighborhood sent their kids to private schools. They didn’t really know much about our little public school. So in 1998 when my daughter turned 2, I started volunteering at Colfax in an effort to infiltrate the school and see first hand what it was like.

They placed me in a 1st grade class with a teacher named Paige Gage, and I fell in love. Besides having a name that rhymed (something every 1st grade teacher should have) she was engaging, fun, and she genuinely seemed to enjoy being there everyday with the kids. It turns out she was a parent there years ago and became a teacher later. Her children are now grown and she’s still at Colfax and teaching 2nd grade now. And I’m still in love with her.

There are countless parents and members of the community who consistently devote a truckload of time to help this little gem of a school. Throughout the work season I participate in little ways as a room parent and in PTA, but when I’m on hiatus, I have the opportunity to really dive in. It is an incredibly rewarding experience to work with other volunteers to make our wonderful school even better and be able to interact with the kids. Here are some of the really fun things I can look forward to doing for the next 6 weeks of the school year:

Kindergarten violins

On Mondays and Wednesdays at 12:30 I get to help my son Jake and his classmates place their feet correctly on the Arthur Murray-like foot positions on the floor and keep the boys from having sword fights with the bows. The kindergarten recital is May 24. For that day I’ll probably work as a kid wrangler and try to keep them from messing up their white button-down shirts. Good thing the recital is first thing in the morning or after recess I’d be racing home and washing a large load of white button-down shirts.

Helping in the classroom

Today I helped the kids paint sunflowers. I let a girl named Emma make a second one after I totally screwed hers up by suggesting she fix a part of it. She was doing way better without my help.

Beautification

This Saturday, May 12th we’re all bringing our gardening gloves, rakes and creaking backs to the campus to sweep, clean and plant. It’s scheduled right between Jake’s baseball game and my niece’s baby shower in Yucaipa, so I can just spare an hour. That’s how long it should take to clean up 10 square yards of an area covered in juice box straw wrappers. Damn Juicy Juice.

PTA/PACE Elections

May 17th I get to see who’s going to be Co-VP of Communications with me. The term will be up for my current partner Joanne, which is really scary since she’s the one who takes the great photos and sends out the Constant Contact email messages to the whole school. I’m crossing my fingers that the new Co-VP is artistic and tech-savvy. Otherwise I’ll need to learn how to take photos where people actually have their eyes open.

Restaurant Fundraisers

Lisa and Abbe are a couple of energetic go-getters, and I work with them on Restaurant Fundraisers where Colfax gets 20% back. I have the task of counting out the exact number of flyers for each classroom and placing them in the teachers’ boxes so they’ll go home in the students’ backpacks. We have fundraisers at Menchie’s on May 18th and a combo Cold Stone Creamery / Green Apple China Bistro on June 5th. The teachers scoop the ice cream at Cold Stone, and there’s always a line out the door of students who ask, “Mrs. Tepper…  can I have another sample?”

Teacher Appreciation Lunch

I’ve signed up to bring lasagna. I used to make an amazing lasagna before I had kids.  Now every year I sign up to bring a lasagna to the Teacher Appreciation Lunch with the intention of making a homemade one, and every year I realize that an amazing lasagna takes about half a day to prepare. I’m thinking of just cooking a Stouffer’s in one of my Corningware trays so it looks like I actually spent more time on it than merely turning an oven dial.

Vaudeville

Every year, that same teacher I volunteered for back in 1998 puts on a Vaudeville Show. Starting in January, Paige Gage has rehearsals every Wednesday afternoon not only for her 2nd grade class, but she also offers it to every 2nd grader in the school and any older student who wants to help with the show. I’m the gal who gets to press “play” on the iPod. The kids sing songs like Jimmy Durante’s Inka Dinka Doo, perform magic tricks, and tell really corny jokes. I’ll hear the words “knock knock… who’s there?” more than any sane person should hear in a lifetime.

School Site Council

There’s a governance meeting once a month where we get to discuss the school charter, curriculum, budgets, and other topics that would make a kindergartner’s eyes glaze over. This is the time I get to act like a grownup and try to act like I really understand all that “I second it” and “I’d like to make a motion” stuff. Because it’s elementary school, I’d love to call it “Me too” and “Whatcha think if…?”

Career Day

I have the opportunity to make three 20-30 minute presentations on what a sound editor does for a living. After I explain that I work from home and wear headphones all day, the kids who will decide to pursue this career when they grow up will either be sound aficionados or anti-social shut-ins.

Tribute Songs

During the very last PTA/PACE meeting of the year we have a presentation to say goodbye to all the 5th grade parents who have gone above and beyond in volunteering for the school. I have the dream-of-a-lifetime job of writing a bunch of parodies and having some of the 5th graders perform it that night. My goal is to make the parents simultaneously roar with laughter and weep like babies. (Have some fun and check out last year’s karaoke version at Colfax 5th Grade Tribute 2011 on Youtube).

Colfax World Fair Marketing

This is the Big Kahuna of my volunteer activities, which is fitting since one of the things I get to hype is the Big Kahuna – a huge water slide at the Colfax World Fair on June 2nd. Last year about 7,000 guests attended this event which made $140,000 in a single day. My job is to get the news out about the fair by any means possible and to make enough money to keep all of Colfax’s extracurricular (and curricular) programs alive. I have a great team of volunteers working with me this year who will be spreading the word with Facebook, Twitter, Patch, emails, banners, posters, car magnets, flyers, postcards, lawn signs, newspapers, magazines, radio, online or just good old fashioned word of mouth. By June 2nd, if you haven’t heard of the Colfax World Fair, it means you’ve been in a coma under a rock on a desert island.

Finally…

Tuesday, June 19th is the last day of the 2011-2012 year for this little LAUSD school. So at 1:30 pm I’ll be clocking out.

By then I’ll need a nap.

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Filed under Family, Humor, Kids, Multitasking, Music, Parenting, Public Education, Public Schools, Volunteering

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May 7, 2012 · 12:07 am

RIP 1998 Toyota Sienna XLE

I got the call three weeks ago that one of my best friends of the last 15 years had died. She had been in an accident, and her injuries were just too severe to save her. Personally, I don’t think they tried very hard. I know it’s because of her age. When you’re old, you’re expendable. I disagree. I think she still had a lot of good years left in her.

My kids hung out with her every day, and all their friends knew her well. My companion and I spent an insane amount of time together and we never tired of each other. She was attractive, yet low-maintenance. She was dependable. And until her tragic, untimely death, I knew I could always count on her.

She was my 1998 Toyota Sienna XLE Minivan.

On Friday the 13th of April I was trying to parallel park on a residential street two blocks from my home when another car struck the front of my car and sped away. The collision tore the front bumper completely off my minivan and broke the axel. Still, the damage looked repairable, so it was a real shock when the auto body shop told me it a total loss.

When I got the news, I just started sobbing, and I’ve been continuously crying ever since. This was the car that I was going to pass on to my daughter Emily when she starts driving this summer. However, I already knew that I was going to be an Indian giver. I loved my Toyota Sienna XLE and even though she was already 15 years old, I wanted to keep her a little longer.

Toyota came out with the Sienna as a minivan substitute for the discontinued Previa. We bought one of the first off the assembly line in the summer of 1997. It had a sliding sunroof, leather interior, dual air conditioning, power windows, radio/cassette/CD and a power driver’s seat. Coming directly from a Mustang convertible, it was nice to step into the lap of luxury rather than some sticky, soiled kidmobile.

I eventually got a couple of dings on my minivan, but by that time the car was so old that didn’t bother me much. There was a scrape along the passenger side from a Trader Joe’s shopping cart, and the paint was starting to fade from the repair done in 2004 from the time I was backing out of a parking spot at Warner Bros. and didn’t see a pole in my blind spot. But the engine was pristine. I performed regular tune ups and oil changes, and in 15 years there was not one single engine breakdown or malfunction. Remember when I mentioned that she was dependable? I would be hard pressed to find any human as trustworthy as my Sienna.

Jake loved to have the sun roof open. Emily enjoyed sitting in the front seat and propping her boots on the dash. Mary – always the social butterfly – would have a carload of her friends coming home with her, their heavy backpacks piled in the back. It was roomy enough to transport the whole family plus my mother-in-law to the Inland Empire for holidays with my family. It felt like first class seating in an airplane, and my Sienna probably got us there faster than flight + check in time.

Since all the back seats were removable, I have probably helped move 30 people into new homes, and loaned my car out as a free U-Haul to a wide variety of friends. I had just purchased custom leatherette seat covers to hide the rips and cracked upholstery on the driver’s seat, and only the day before the accident the odometer clicked past the milestone 150,000 miles. My Sienna should certainly have been placed alongside the Energizer Bunny and the Timex watch as a product that takes a licking and keeps on ticking.

I loved this car the way many people love their animals. I’ll probably get some nasty comments by saying that, but it’s true. Granted, it was a one-sided love, because it’s not like a car can love you back. But it’s certainly better than most one-sided relationships where your love is not reciprocated. At least my object of love made me exceedingly happy.

A week after the accident, I turned over my keys, signed away my rights, and cleared my belongings out my minivan. It felt like I was packing up keepsakes after a death, yet the death seemed like my own. Emily was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes in 1999, and I found old stashes of glucose tabs, blood testing strips, glucagon and insulin that had expired years ago. Finding all those supplies brought back the flood of fear that engulfed me when Emily received the diagnosis just two weeks after her 3rd birthday. We had to keep emergency supplies with us wherever we went, and those first few years we’d grab them from the glove compartment. Now Emily carries diabetic supplies herself. I never thought there’d be a day when I wouldn’t obsess about her disease, yet at some point it happened.

I cleared out CDs I hadn’t heard in years – Steve Winwood, Phil Collins and the recently departed Whitney Houston. These CDs had long since taken a back burner to NPR and iTunes while I was driving solo, Adele when Mary was with me, and everything from David Bowie to Ozzy Osborne to My Chemical Romance to the soundtrack to the musical Spring Awakening for my daughter Emily.

The seat pockets held headshots and resumes of my daughters from their commercial auditions stint years ago; about 50 Bed Bath & Beyond coupons (they take expired coupons if you didn’t know); baby wipes that were bone dry; my daughters’ ID cards and fingerprints that were issued back in 2003; makeup that had solidified, faded, or otherwise been rendered unusable; and bandaids and sunblock in a variety of car cubbies. Despite my LASIK surgery last summer, I found two pairs glasses and contact solution that expired in 2002.

By now the vehicle is probably being dismantled and sold as used parts for other 1998 Toyota Sienna XLE owners who want to keep their trusty friends around just a little bit longer. I can’t blame them. That’s what I would have done if I had a choice.

As a tribute to my dearly departed friend, here are some of the posts I wrote on Very VERY Busy Mom that featured my beloved minivan.  Please join me on a trip down Memory Lane:

There is Nothing Sexy about Washing My Filthy Minivan

Celebrating My Vanity With My Vanity License Plates

 ($ ÷ Gallon) x (Miles ÷ Gallon) = LA Gasoline Anxiety

Road Trip with Kids – 40 Years Ago and Today

That New Car Smell Has Left My Minivan

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April 29, 2012 · 12:31 am

Automated Responses for Ridiculous Requests

I’m a little territorial. Although I have had requests from people who wanted to guest blog on very VERY busy mom, I’ve always turned them down. A lot of it has to do with being selfish. It’s my blog, dammit, and I want to cling to it as tightly as the $100,000 bars I refused to trade with my brother and sisters when negotiating Halloween candy.

But a lot of it has to do with ego. Once a week I try to write something funny – so funny in fact that you laugh out loud. I don’t want to cause a pileup on the 405, but if you happen to be in line for coffee at Marie et Cie, I want the people around you to stare, wonder what you’re reading on your iPhone, then say ala When Harry Met Sally “I’ll have what he’s having.” As for a guest blogger, anyone who has ever watched too much stand up comedy knows that even though the writer thinks it’s funny, it ain’t necessarily funny. Your friends don’t want to be the one to get the short straw to tell you, but sometimes comedians just suck.

However I’m about to renigg on my no guest post rule – partly because I just have too much work this week to write something, but mostly because I found someone truly worthy of a guest blog. I have to admit there’s a certain amount of nepotism here.  It comes from my husband Tom, who many of you know from his witty, typo-ridden responses to my blog posts. He’s also father to one of my children – spazzy 5-year old Jake, and stepfather to my daughters Mary and Emily. And even though Tom is usually the one who plays the bad cop in our parenting scenarios, I suspect the girls like him more than they like me.

Tom is the Library Building Officer at UCLA’s Charles E. Young Research Library. He’s the guy everybody calls if there’s a problem. If the elevator is stuck, if the temperature is too cold, if someone is sneaking a cigarette too close to the entrance or if some homeless guy is parking himself all day and watching porn, Tom’s the one who fields the complaints. He also oversees new construction and remodeling, so he’s the bad guy who has to move people out of their cubicles or tell employees: “No, you can’t take a short cut through the yellow caution tape.”

On Friday Tom posted the following update to his Facebook page, and I think it is worthy of posting for my blog:

It has been a long week and I had to be at work 4am yesterday and 5am today. I am a little tired and surly. Sitting at my desk on my lunch break I have decided to work on my customer service procedures. Most of the problems that I received come via e-mail. Therefore, I have come up with some automated responses that I can send out depending on the problem.

  • Wow, that sucks. I hate to be you.
  • Please ignore that problem like everyone else does so I don’t have to do anything.
  • That is an easy problem to solve. Even you can solve it.
  • Your problem may be interesting to you, but I could care less.
  • That problem is far too complicated for me to solve right now. Please send it again next month and maybe then I can deal with it. No promises.
  • I am on my lunch break right now. My new lunch hour is 7:00 am to 4:00 pm. (yes, that is my normal working hours)
  • I can’t be bothered right now. I am trying to beat my 5 year old’s Angry Bird score.
  • I have tried to get that fixed several times. I no longer care. Please adjust accordingly.
  • I know the temperature is not what you would like it to be, but it is wrong everywhere else in the building. Find the spot you like and move your desk there.
  • No I won’t help you move.If you have other suggestions feel free to add them.

The funniest line so far was from his virtual friend Ileata (they’ve never met, but Tom and she play massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) Dark Age of Camelot. on Saturdays).  Ileata asked if he works for the DMV.

And like the other person who wears the pants in this family just said, if you have other suggestions feel free to add them… so please give me your comments.

Just don’t send me your complaints or I’ll have to use one of these.

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April 21, 2012 · 12:01 am

10 Exciting Things I Can Now Do After Being Featured on “Freshly Pressed”

Imagine opening up your email and instead of just the standard Groupons, spammers, and loads of subjects starting with “Re:” (even though you were sick of reading the original email the first time around), you – Joe Shmoe – see page after page of:

[Joe Shmoe] everybody likes you…

[Joe Shmoe] everybody wants to follow you…

[Joe Shmoe] everybody is commenting about you you YOU…

This exact thing happened to me last Friday. Well, the exact same thing except that instead of “Joe Shmoe” it was for my blog very VERY busy mom. And of course it didn’t actually say “everybody.” I just said that to provide myself a little ego boost.

But I kid you not. I was getting a new email practically every minute.

Apparently a post I wrote last month about obsessing over the high price of gas entitled “($ ÷ Gallon) x (Miles ÷ Gallon) = LA Gasoline Anxiety” was featured on WordPress.com’s Freshly Pressed, a Webpage that offers between 11 and 19 picks of the day chosen from their nearly half a million bloggers.

Typically I’ll get 80 to 160 hits when I post a new blog, and then it’ll dwindle down to about 20 to 50 hits until I post another new one the next week.

But after appearing on Freshly Pressed’s hit list, I had an astounding 1757 hits!

Let me repeat that: 1757 hits!

I don’t even know 1757 people. Even virtual people.

More readers visited in subsequent days. 1647 on Saturday. 1438 on Sunday. 1443 on Monday. By Tuesday it dropped down to just 442, which was still more than double my all-time record of 174 hits in one day.

I received 181 comments on that article alone, mostly from people reprimanding me for driving my pokey 5-year old son 1300 feet to school in the morning. I guess you can’t explain the humiliation of a tardy slip to people who want to save the planet from greenhouse gases.

I must have logged onto my blog a hundred times between Friday and Monday just to watch my hits graph move up. And to answer the obvious question… no, it wasn’t just me visiting my own site 1757, 1647, 1438, and 1443 times in four days. WordPress actually counts unique visitor per day. And if I am anything, I am certainly unique.

So, to celebrate my good fortune, I now present:

10 Exciting Things I Can Now Do After Being Featured on Freshly Pressed

1. I can wear a sash in the Valley Village 4th of July Parade that says “Miss Freshly Pressed.” Or maybe not, since I hate ironing.

2. I’ll have virtual conversations with well-known bloggers, and they still won’t know or care who the heck I am, but I have the opportunity to feel smug anyway.

3. I’m finally getting more regular comments from people besides my mom and my husband.

4. I get to experience what it’s like to have 5 minutes of fame without claiming to be impregnated by a pop star.

5. Because I now have more Twitter followers, I’d better start posting more newsworthy tweets than “Another Wednesday. Another Humpday.”

6. I now have readers in countries I not only have never heard of, I also can’t pronounce their names. (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya… anyone?)

7. My Klout score has risen to an impressive 46! I still don’t really know what a Klout score is, or if 46 really is impressive, but it sounds good, and most of my readers probably don’t know the difference.

8. I can brag that both Indians (Native Americans) and Indians (from Asia) read my blog, except at opposite times of the day.

9. I now know a lot of people in Europe who want to move to LA for the cheap gas.

10. I have to figure out who at Freshly Pressed I need to bribe to get featured again. This has been fun!

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Filed under Humor, Husband, Kids, Top 10 List

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