The One in Which She Says "(tap, tap, tap) Is This Thing On?"

I know, I know - it's been , like, for-EVER since I've posted.  Hell, it's been like forever since I've even logged into Blogger.  Barely remembered my password.  So where've I been , you ask?  HALLOO!  Testing, testing - is this thing on?  Okay, so all 1 of you want  to know where I've been.

Well, "I been to paradise but I've never been to me."....no seriously.

Like so many of us old-timers who used this here interwebs for purposes other than trying to make a living (I know, I know - there's thousands  nay, jillions of blogs out there and only like .00002 % of them make money at it)...I started this thing in 2008 when my wonderful Dad died and I went through my own medical nightmare.  Like many of us - this blog became my catharsis.  I started writing about emotion, feelings, angst.
**yawn**.  Then I started reading other blogs, commenting on favorite blogs, entering contests, winning contests ((read:  free stuff!)), attending a few conferences...you get it.  That was the first year. 

Then I tried to put myself into a cool category.  Yeah, it's cool to blog.  But gushing about your perfectly wonderful children, and your perfectly wonderful Hubby, and how you made perfectly wonderful this or that is ...quite frankly - perfectly dull.  So I tried to spice it up a bit.  I liked to think of myself as a humor blogger.  Humor as in if blogging were a bus, I'd be sitting in the back with the cool kids sneaking a smoke and a shot of Jaegermeister cool.     I thought I had found a way to show my imperfectly wonderful children, and my imperfectly wonderful Hubby and my imperfectly wonderful sense of humor to a community of like minded folk.  Sounds perfectly wonderful, no?  That was the second year.

But, then it became a job.  And equally as non-paying as the non-paying one I already have.  I would spend hours wracking my brain, combing through notes and the backs of receipts for ideas.  2 hours begat 4 hours begat 6 hours  ...became all frickin' day.  I felt guilty if I didn't leave a comment on someone's post.  I found myself becoming envious of those whose stick-to-it-iveness paid off for them  (yes, that .0000002%). 

It became laborious rather than a labor of love. 

So I up and quit it.

And now that it's summertime - and what I like to call "the Summer of No Responsibility" - I am back poking around .  So don't be surprised if I stop in here once in a while to re-introduce myself to you all.  They say once you've ridden a horse, it's easy to get back on.  Hopefully, I am still in some your blog-rolls (which for the uneducated is a list of links to other cool internetty stuff) and you might leave me a comment, or enter me in a contest, feed me ideas, vent, rant, laugh...whatever.  Please do so or else I might actually free fall off the Western Rim of the Grand Canyon like this:

I might be a Humor Blogger - but I have a very fragile ego.

The One in Which She Did Not Go Gently into that Good Night

Swirl Girl, Sisterbestfriend, and Mom
December 2010

My Mom was a very simple woman.  A practical, no muss, no fuss kind of gal.  She was passionate to a fault about a few things:

She simply loved her games.  Of all kinds.  Bingo, casino games, Mah-jong, Canasta, puzzles of all kinds.  You name it - she played it.

She simply loved her friends.  She was fiercely loyal!  She was the "do-er"; always willing to lend a hand, give a ride, balance someone's checkbook, take you to a doctor's appointment, be good company - in good times or bad.

Mom = both A & B



My mom had the proverbial Venn-Diagram of friendship - not a simple circle as many of us have. She had her old friends, her new friends, her neighborhood friends - couples and singles .  Sadly, in the past few years since my wonderful Dad died, as is what happens when you live in South Florida  - you have lots more single lady friends than you started with..who all share a sad but common bond.  We should all be so blessed to have so many in our lives.

She simply loved planning her travel adventures:  cruises, Vegas, Biloxi, visits to the left coast to visit her kids and grandkids.  Even attending her local granddaughter's school events.  Always just back from or on the way to another adventure. 

My mom was most simply passionate about her love for her family and her grandchildren!  She always had photos of them or poorly printed copies  from her way-to-old-printer ready to show them off to anyone who was willing to look at them.  And the house - if I had to guess there had to be over 300 frames and collages adorning the hallways and countertops.  She simply loved them.  Forever and forever no matter what.

Who would have thought this would be the outcome of what was a mere blip on the radar screen of her life?

It was treatable.  It was beatable. I think for Mom, the hardest part was inactivity of it all--simply not her style.  It wasn't the illness, so much as the stillness that broke her.

With my Daddy, we had years of mental preparation that his death was eventual outcome of an over 20 year battle with two types of cancer.  And as hard and harrowing as that was for all of us, he was at peace with it.

With my Mommy, she went out literally kicking and screaming.  She was scared and for me, personally - that is the hardest part of all of this.  None of us - especially her - thought this was going to happen. 

When she couldn't fight it anymore, she waited for my brother and I to arrive from the West Coast as sisterbestfriend had been on vigil in those last hours around the clock.  And I know in some other-wordly way, she knew her children were together..and passed away. Finally at peace and pain free.

My Mom was what you'd call a black thumb.  She was known to kill even artificial plants.  In the backyard by the pool are a few orchids.  One of them I gave her years ago, that despite being completely ignored and neglected - would always bloom when I came to visit.  Mom would say "It knows you're here"  The other orchid was given to her when my Daddy passed away three years ago.  It hadn't bloomed since then.  Well, when I arrived in Florida on Valentine's Day (which would have been my Dad's 75th birthday) there was a flower spike coming out of that orchid.  And it had a few buds ready to go.  I took a picture of the flower spike and took it to the hospital to show Mom.  She said "It knows your here."  Two weeks later , the buds bloomed into delicate pinkish flowers. 

It knows your there, Mommy.

Could it have been a message from my Dad that everything was going to be okay?  That Mom wouldn't be in pain anymore?  That she could join him only days after what would have been their 54th wedding anniversary on what for sure is the biggest cruise of their lives? 

I don't know, I like to think so.

So days after the funeral and shivas, sisterbestfriends and I worked fast and furiously to clean out the house.  Now I walk around the place...staged for selling rather than furnished for living.  We turned her home into a house.  Ready for some other Grammy and Poppy to fill with their memories, their laughter and their tears.  No longer a home.  Just a house.

I love you Mom.  You finally hit the jack-pot.

Dedicated to Suzanne Keller 8/14/37 - 2/26/11



The One Where She Asks " Does My Ass Look Fat in this Shower?"

So for about a year, I've been without.  Without a shower in the master bathroom.  I know, you're all  like "Hey Swirl Girl, quitcher bitchin - there are people in Africa who bathe in the same dung infested water that the hippos and wildebeasts crawl through!"  All that being said - I don't live in the wilds of Africa - I live in the  planned urban development in the wild suburbs of Los Angeles.  And while we may have our own tribal infestations of coyotes and rabbits, we live with the promise of not having to use {ugh, perish the thought!} the downstairs bath to shower. 

So after much consternation (read: nagging to Hubby) we finally bit the bullet (read: hired someone to do the job as while Hubby can put together Ikea furniture like his name should be Sven Jorgensen he is 'ethnically challenged' when faced with plumbing and flooring because everyone knows that schtick about jewish guys and how they hire someone to screw in a lightbulb) and began the work. 

Now I am reminded of a commercial from years ago (yes, I am that old..back in the day before DVR, we watched commercials) for , Alka Seltzer Plus cold medicine , I think...when a couple is doing a kitchen renovation and interviewing contractors which is never fun and even worse when you have a cold...anyway - the contractor says "...so first we'll come and tear up the place and then inexplicably disappear for two, maybe three weeks at a time - and when I come back you'll be so happy to see me you'll kiss me full on the mouth..."  So when faced with the prospect of having to actually find someone to do this work - this commercial keeps running through my head.  I expect to be blown off about 2 hours into the first day. 

But we find a guy through a guy and he's got good references - he calls to see if he can come earlier than expected {whu?  first expectation avoided} and arrives bright and early to begin demolishon of old shower pan and tile work.   For the next 10 days, on schedule - he arrives at 8:00 am.  Does his thing - cleans up after himself, works with me on design.  Done on schedule.  Even comes back on Saturday to do the finish work.  Fan-tastic. 

I just can't wait til eveything dries and sets and I can get in there and clean the gunk and dust  - take a nice hot  shower and shave my legs.  No more one legged flamingo stance! 

So Sunday morning - I prepare.  I turn on the water and let it get nice and hot.  Hubby joins me in the bathroom for a ceremonial "Ahhhh".  I kick his ass out of there and he heads downstairs.  I soap up and lather the mohawk that has become my right calf when I hear  "Swirl Girl, turn off the frickin' water!!!" 

The pictorial*  that follows exlpains it all.

  *{artist rendering- all likenesses to actual persons are opinions only}

"Hubby, does my ass look fat in this shower?"

"Cleaning my kitchen was such a chore until I installed the Suck-tastic Shower 2010!"

I know there's a water shortage in California, but do I really want to take a shower and clean my kitchen at the same time? 

I frickin' hate Murphy and his damned law. 


** edited afterthoughts :  Looking on the bright side, I guess it's better to hear "Uh -oh " and "Ah, shit" from your contractor than your doctor!
   ***totally edited afterthough:  This week I am joining Angie at Seven Clown Circus for Wordful Wednesdays!   Pop on over to see her!

The One In Which She is Most Certainly NOT FINE.

Okay, I was FINE when the Kindergarteners' filed out of class and were introduced as 1st graders. And I was still okay when Rachel says to me "Mom, I'm not entirely comfortable being called a 1st grader. You can still call me Bubba or Dolly, please." ( and that is the actual quote)  And I was still okay when Emily came out of 5th grade all "I can't believe it's over, ...Mom." But I was still FINE.

And I was FINE when I looked at the report cards with more A's on it than an Oakland baseball team and I am beaming with pride at my brilliant progeny.

And even when I saw Emily's friend Carlitos crying , no - bawling as he left the school (only later to find out that he was very upset that he did not make Honor Roll thus affirming the theory that some kids DO care about making Honor Roll even in 5th grade and that he is a really nice boy and I shouldn't be concerned when he and my 10 year old daughter hang out.)  I was still FINE.   Then when I took the girls on their annual celebratory let's-go-out-to-lunch-then-to-Toys-May-Be-Us-But-Customer-Service-Isn't-to-shop-for-excellent-report-card-rewards and we bumped into the entire staff of our school on their annual celebratory Yeah! Day luncheon...I was still FINE.

And even when I dropped off the medical forms at the Park and Rec department so the girls could start their camp on Monday (yes, folks...{all}daycamp starts Monday ) and started to think about what I was going to do with my summer days and the fact that I hadn't written or read a blog in practically forever and that if I actually did write something for my blog which I am surprised still even exists thus affirming the theory that the internet is, indeed, forever (as if two months was even close to forever) and that I shouldn't feel guilty about taking a few days to just loll around and maybe read a book or work on my tan and play on Facebook instead of trying to solve the Gulf Crisis(es) -and by that I mean the war and the oil...  I was still FINE.

Then - I unpacked the car of the mountain of STUFF , and started thumbing through it; admiring their progress, adoring their photos and artwork it hit me.  I started crying right there over the backpacks and Academic Award certificates and portfolios; tired tears rolling down my cheeks staining the achievements.


And...I was most certainly NOT FINE. 

I was most certainly NOT FINE when I considered what is taking place around here.  My babies aren't my babies anymore.  I was never one of 'those moms' who mill their own wheat and puree their own babyfood while working on the loom.  I consider myself just above 'slacker' on the Mom-O-Meter.  I do try to buy organic when I can (because there has to be something that we are doing to our cows and chickens and veggies that are turning our 10 year olds into women sooner than nature intended), I schlepp and cook and {sic} clean and try to make the best of this stay at home-ness I've been both bless and cursed to 'enjoy'.  I have spent the past 10 months Presidenting our PTA  to the tune of an average of 25 (unpaid) hours a week (but it's for the kids, right?) and have -if I do say so myself- done a hell of a job.  I don't always use politcal correctness, curse like a sailor at inappropriate times, and do way to much demanding of perfection that I am neither willing or able to achieve myself  {in other words I yell as much as someone with a severed laryngeal nerve can yell}.  I worry about things like money, and paying bills and all the while planning a vacation and buying lottery tickets (because if someone has to win - why can't it be me?) which in and of itself seems ironic.  And the guilt---oh, the guilt that is sometimes so overwhelming I am not sure if I am experiencing a hot flash or a wave of guilt.

...and to be quite honest, the hot flashes are easier to deal with.

The One Where She Just Needs to Get Back on The Horse

They say it's the thing to do after you fall off.  I don't really have an explanation for my unexcused absence from the interwebs (yours and mine!). Oh, I've been stalking lurking and sometimes leaving a quickie here and there for some of you. But for some reason, I've had a tough time coming up with a bloggable thought.  I've left myself plenty of starters - but nothing has come together in any cohesive manner of late.  I need some blog-to-blog resuscitation, so before I crashed  and burned  and joined  the average ranks of those who have perished before me (see my blog roll..some of these haven't posted in months!) I thought it best to back off for a while.

Then it happened.  Something so pure and blissfully wonderful.

O' muse  -  thy name is laughter.

{BACKSTORY}  Rocky the bearded dragon needed a new home.  Suffice it to say  that our pet experiment was a total failure.  You see, beardies are supposed to be gentle and mellow.  That is only if they are held and stroked from birth.  But the girls never quite took to the whole reptile thing and carry the {{shudder and freak }} gene just like their mum and if he looked at them stink-eyed (which is how a beardie looks at everything) they shuddered and freaked leaving poor Rocky to live a fairly lonely existence.  In fact, the only contact he ever got was from the crickets who would crawl on him right before they became his lunch (and the big ones crunch, by the way.  Eeww.).  So I thought it only fair that we find him a new home and cut our losses and move on. 

So I put an add in Craig's List.  We're into this thing for about $700 already, and he is kind of cool looking in a if-you're-into-leathery-looking-reptiles kind of way.   I scour Craigs List and find several other postings and write mine:

Rocky The Bearded Dragon...$250 O.B.O:  and I go on about how he's healthy, and comes with all the 'stuff' that beardies need.  Then I write something snarky  like "Go on, make an offer.  Make my kid cry" 'cuz I can't resist.  I add a picture ...get misty-eyed and wait.

The ad get's flagged and removed for some reason - 'for innapropriate content'.  I look back and realize that I had misspelled Bearded as Beared...and maybe they thought I got my lizzard drunk or something, who knows.  What do they think I'm trying to sell?  Nary the mention of cock-fights or skinning.  So I re-write the ad and double check the spelling.  And the second time I leave off the snark, so as not to offend.

Again with the flagging and removal.  I guess there is just something about selling your Bearded Dragon on that is just deemed inappropriate. 

Then - it happened.  Hubby was scouring ads for some equipment and found this. (check out the highlighted part)

---------------------

Date: 2010-04-15, 3:57PM PDTReply to: sale-32pc3-1694141221@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CATERING TRUCK FOR RENT
BRAND NEW WITH L.A. COUNTY PERMITS


THIS TRUCK IS FOR "MARISCOS" EQUIPMENT ON TRUCK:


1. FREEZER


1. UNDERCUNTER REFRIGERATOR


1. PREP TABLE REFRIGERATOR


1. 3 COMP SINK


1. HAND SINK


1. PREP SINK


1. ONAN GENERATOR


2. OPEN BURNERS


1. FIRE SYSTEM




YOU CAN SEE THE TRUCK AT


6901 STANFORD AVE .....
----------------------
When you do get back on that  horse, make it a thorough-bred.



**if you care , Rocky has a new home right here in the hood.  Our neighbor , Milo , who is 6 years old loves his new friend.  The moment he saw him, he reached in the tank and picked him up with out a shudder or freak.  Rocky is much happier now.

(so am I)

The One In Which Everyone Know's It's....

' Windy'

I've been busy lately.  I know everyone says that ...but these past two or three weeks , for me?  I have been running around like the proverbial chicken with my head cut off.  And that's on a good day. 

It is Spring here on the left coast.  And Spring means greenery and warmer weather.  And wind.  And that means my girls have to mainline the Zyrtec ...We are the proverbial booger factory around here.  And the dry skin...oh the armadillo skin!  (We are not a supple people, folks- probably from years of our ancestors walking in the dessert.)

And Spring means warmer weather and that means...shorts!  I can't remember the last time I went shorts shopping.   I am more of a skort girl.  Or a coulotte.  Whatever happened to the coulotte anyway?  There was never a time when I would sport a pair of 'daisy dukes', but nowadays - I'd love to find a stylish pair of coulottes that would hide the junk in my trunk but still let my pasty white legs catch a breath.  I remember when I was a girl, they were like shorts with a flap that looked like a skirt.  Then came the gaucho in the 80's.  At this point - I am considering going full-on burka.  Modesty is not the issue.  Humiliation is.  Tu-Tu's are in for little girls this year.  Hmmmmm, how'd I look sporting one of those?

And Spring means longer daylight hours which means the cherubs get to bed a little later.  The little one says major-league adorable stuff like "I can't sleep in the daytime".  And then she sneaks out of her room for one more kiss (a nightly occurrence around here which has prompted the return of the 'ole bell on the doorknob trick so she doesn't scare the beejeezus out me when she creeps up on me at the computer or the liquor cabinet) and says wildly adorable shit like "I can't find a comfortable place to sleep.  It feels like my waist doesn't belong to my tushy"  - I have to flip her pillow over  which causes the treasure trove of crap that she puts under her pillow to fall between the bed and the wall which means I need to contort myself like a Le Cirque-us clown to retrieve the capless Sharpie, plastic coins, tinkerbell shoes,  and various and sundry flotsam and jetsam that she stores under there from being swallowed up by the Leprauchan that lives under her bed.  Botton line is that puts me behind on my American I-dull or Real Harpies of New York Shitty and that makes mommy stabbier than usual.

And if chronic tired isn't enough...it seems like every time I turn around  - there's another play, or PTA event, or meeting, or orientation , or softball practice, or game day or selling Daisy's Girl Scout Cookies (read: pimping my daughter out and teaching her how to say "Do-Si- Don't you wanna buy some Thin Mints?) or whatever.  I am the ulitmate in Mom-Taxi.  I need to put a meter on my 'dash' and start making some money at this job. 

And Spring means it's time for an invitation.  An invitation to a pity party. I really need a vacation.  Alone.  No offense to the Hubby - but I am really need a day or twelve two with no time frames to live by.  A few hours a day just doesn't seem to cut it because it's bounded by when I have to do this or that.  Alone time - where I don't have to drive, or pick-up, or prepare, or pretend, or talk or smile.  And when I am done playing the world's smallest violin at my pity party - I'll put my big girl coulotte's back on and start all over again.  (If you'd like, you can come  to come to my pity party.  Admission is one large bottle of Grey Goose, and something from the 'tos food group : chee, fri, dori or pota please and if you have pharmaceuticals, you get to pick your spot on the couch)

So I'll leave you with a little game - a sort of Caption This, if you will.

This has been making the rounds and it frickin' cracks me up!  And I need to laugh or else I will explode over this whole debacle about health care reform.  I voted for the guy - as the evil of two lessers. But don't get me started on that...it's not cocktail hour yet.

  You know what they say. "Once Barack, never back!"

An Open Letter to the Maker of Her Ruby Slippers

Dear Ruby Slippers;
Today marked the end of an era.  I know, I know - as much as you'd rather be slipped on the precious tootsies of my little one, your days were  numbered.  You've served us well, dear Ruby Slippers.  But my little one just can't have your broken -strapped , scraped - glitter, sand-filled , leather-soled goodness anymore.   Sadly, you are relegated to the land-fill of Ick after years of frolicking in the land of Oz.

She clicked your heels three times and repeated the lines "I want to go home" over and over again, but you remained tattered and tired. 

Gone are the days of innocence when mommy could just walk into Target and get another pair of you. And just so you know - you folks at Target ...they are RUBY slippers and are meant to be festooned with (if not actual rubies or)  red sequins and have real heels that make that clicky sound when you walk down the Yellow Brick Road of life.  NOT the cheezy pink glitter ballet flats with stapled elastic straps that make squishy air sounds as you run towards the combo Starbucks-Pizza Hut in the front of the super-store that you guys are trying to pass off as the real thing.  If you need a copy of the movie, go to aisle 16 and you'll find it.   Just sayin'.

She's crushed, but she'll muddle through.  I don't know about mom, though.

For more Wordful Wednesdays. Go Visit Seven Clown Circus.

The One in Which She Has Too Much Ability

When my kid had the stomach flu for two days, she didn't eat much, the poor thing. After she felt better - all she wanted was a cheeseburger. She said "It's not so much that I am craving the flavor of the cheeseburger, Mom. I can live without that. It's that I am craving the ability to eat it! That's what I can't live without!" That about sums up the past 40+ years of eating habits for me.

No will power and too much ability.

I have always craved eating.  Not the food per se, or the flavors -  but the action of the eating itself.   I crave textures and temperatures.   Sometimes I feel like eating something with my fingers. (who doesn't love licking their fingers after downing an entire bag  a handful of processed cheese-food covered Cheetos?)  Sometimes I feel like eating something with chopsticks. (sushi, really good Ramen, anyone?)  Sometimes I feel like crunching, slurping, sipping my craving, while other times I feel like noshing and grazing it.  And yes, I do crave a good chew now and then.  Sometimes I just want to masticate on a well marbled , perfectly seasoned steak.  And don't even get me going on lamb chops...Mmmm, Mmmm goooooood.

I have always said that I'd rather take 100 bites of 100 different things than 100 bites of one thing.  I love the whole concept of 'small plate' dining.  And don't be confused by that term 'small plate' - it has nothing to do with portion control.  When one goes to a Tapas restaurant like this one and eats the entire menu...there is nothing controlled about that!  You just think you are eating less because you only have a tiny little plate in front of you and maybe a little bamboo skewer to spear your teeny tiny 'papas canarias' (teeny tiny salty wrinkly potatos with a mojo verde dipping sauce) you have the air of being a dainty eater..but the ability of a Sumo wrestler carbing up before the next match.   And don't even get me started on those 'philly cheese steaks' (individual salty puffs of crunchy air bread with hot, oozy cheese inside covered in a super thin slice of just seared Wagu beef).  Texture and temperature - I'm salivating at the memory as I type.

But don't get me wrong - I am not a buffet lover.  As it would seem that I would enjoy the options that a buffet could offer; I eat with my eyes , and there is nothing appealing about seeing globs of food splayed in even even the fanciest of chafing dishes.  Not that I wouldn't eat at a buffet restaurant, but given other options, I would opt out. 

It really sucks being a good cook - and even worse being married to one.  Our children have grown up on 3 or 4 course meals.  Their favorite foods run the gamut from hot dogs to rack of lamb.  When asked "what do you want for lunch?' they have been known to shout out things like " a simple charcuterie and triple creme Brie , please!"  When (and if ) they eat chicken fingers and boxed mac and cheese, they consider it a treat.  And doing so is tantamount to eating out...since they don't get that stuff around here.  (not that I am knocking prepared foods by any means...but my damned ability to cook has spoiled my kids)

In this , the year of me going from Flabulous to Fabulous  (and so far I am living up to my end of the bargain.  What about you thighs..I mean you guys?) I have managed to stave off some of those cravings.  I am trying to prepare meals that satisfy my need to become physically involved with my food.  In fact, it is a little known fact that if you eat directly out of the refrigerator {substitute pantry, or kid's lunchbox, or grocery store bags} you will lose weight since you are expending energy with all that bending, tearing open, and devouring; thus, burning unwanted calories and satisfying the required physical exertion required in any healthy diet and exercise plan.

*definition of overboard for a family of 4?

Part of my plan is to redefine my Abilily.  Because there really is such a thing as too much for your own good. 

The One Where Nothing Would Say I Love You More

Bullshit holiday if there ever was one.  Valentine's Day was invented in a Madison Avenue hotel room during a three way between Hershey's, Hallmark and Frederick's of Hollywood after an evening of cheap cava, stale Tipparillos and all those left over marshmellow Peeps from last Easter.  Hell, even those three can't escape the afterglow of steamy hotel sex and sugar-coma.  And what's worse is they manage to spread their sappy sentiment to the rest of us who feel obligated to express to their loved one's just why they are so special. 

Just for today, not for everyday.

I don't want flowers.  Don't want the obligatory 'love note' about being soul mates or any of that bullshit.

(even though it's true -no really, its true..while I might be a bit snarky, and I am not totally heartless and wholly unsentimental..click the link, would ya?). 

You know what would tell me you loved me?

Listening to me when I talk;

really giving a shit about what you hear when you listen to me when I talk;

and responding to me when we talk so I know you're listening to me when I talk.

Follow through,

don't patronize me,

don't take me for granted,

don't take YOU for granted ,

and finishing what you start.

And not just today, but everyday. 

...okay, so a little blue box from Tiffany wouldn't suck either.  Just sayin'.

The One In Which There Is Such a Thing As A Free Lunch**

**hassle free, that is!

I have been asked to do a product review by Mom MadeThat.com,  a terrific consortium of Mom Made businesses, goods, and services, reviews, testimonials and a whole host of other good stuff.  I went on the site and registered and was contacted about two days later that there was a product right up my alley.

I pack lunch every day for my two girls.  I go through sandwich bags and snack baggies like crazy!  And if you have a child like mine who doesn't always want a sandwich, I sometimes had 3 or 4 odd sized disposable plastic containers to contend with.  And if we were lucky to get the containers back at the end of the day, I had to clean 3 or 4 lids and bottoms.  Not to mention all those baggies going to baggie landfills.

I have found a solution!!  The Easy Lunchbox System.  Each System comes with 4 three compartment bottoms and 4 snap fitting lids.  They are are big and deep enough to fit a sandwich and two sides.  And the lunch bag is big enough to fit the lunch container, a freezer pack (rectangular and under the container - I found that works best) a drink and extra snack!

Their compartmentalized lunchboxes are non-toxic, food-safe, polypropylene (PP or plastic #5). These are the top-choice safe food containers if you’re looking for BPA-free lunch boxes, phthalate-free lunch boxes and non-toxic lunch boxes.  They are dishwasher safe too!  And because each system comes with 4 containers and 4 lids - you can use two and wash two!

Their Easy Lunch Bags are vinyl free (PVC free) & lead free, with an FDA compliant PEVA lining.  They come in several colors and have a gromet on the strap to hang ID tags or clip on a hand sanitizer!

I thank MomMadeThat.com and EasyLunchboxes.com for  helping make my morning a little less harried and hassle free!

The One In Which There is Too Much Crap, Crap and More Crap

4 jewelry boxes containing various beads, plastic rings and (up)Chuckee Cheese chinese finger handcuffs;

feathers, 5 piggy banks with hand-drawn coins and bills so she knows what goes where; paper kitty ears; orange string; duct tape wallet; paper flowers and stickers; two soccer trophies; most of the Russian matryoshka dolls  hair bow 'doggy'; barbie shoes; various and sundry Littlest Pet Shop accessories and crap, crap more crap

Pens, pencils, crayons, and tons of erasers; 2 wallets; Hannah Montana pencil case; old fashioned mechanical coin bank; note cards; Ipod speakers; papers; notes; origami cranes; polished rocks; and crap, crap and more crap

*******************

And in an the All Out Effort to live up to our goals and resolutions for 2010 - while I am killing (literally killing myself which would explain my lack of posting ) myself at the gym, and trying to eat right and go from Flabulous to Fabulous in 52 weeks..I am going to ask my kids ...no, I am going to make my kids do something with the mess that is their stuff.

Look at the pictures of their stuff.  I realize that kids have their little collections of shit, but does my little one really need that half ball of orange string on her dresser and duct tape wallet??  Does my oldest really need that 7 inch cadre of stackable pencil erasers?  What's worse it that when Mommy asks them to clean up their rooms, they just rearrange the clutter instead of dispersing it. 

I am not saying that they need to go on Hoarders  or anything that drastic.  I may not always be neat and tidy...But I am organized.  In fact, I pride myself on my Ability when it comes to organization.  To the untrained- one might look at my desk and see momentary chaos.  But I know where everything is.  Over winter break I went through every drawer and cabinet in my kitchen and desk and neatened and straightened and tossed and tidied up.  My motto is and always has been , if you haven't used it ,worn it, looked at it, or missed it in a year - See ya!  Donate and Liberate!

Just ask my mom. When I was a kid, I would redecorate my room and rearrange my closets and drawers every few months.  I can't recall ever needing to told to clean my room, because it usually was.  I used to help my sisterbestfriend organize and clean her house in exchange for laundry priviledges (amongst other things...heh, heh sisterbestfriend).  I worked retail at Pier One and my favorite part of the job was setting tables and folding napkins and organizing the knick-knack bins.  So as much as my girls are messy - Mommy seems to be boarderline OCD in the neat freak department.  Not that there is anything wrong with that mind you.

Imagine my chagrin when we had our usual Thanksgiving lavish party , and I (who prides herself on everything in it's place and a place for everything) was teased by friends for being too organized?  Is there such a thing?  Nobody cleans my kitchen but me for that reason.  I don't need anyone making fun of where my coffee filters go (next to the coffee cups of course...makes perfect sense to me since you use both at the same time usually, don't you?)  I know, that was months ago- get over it, Swirl Girl.

So join me, won't you?  On my quest to rid myself and my house of Junk and Stuff.  It's only February, and we still have 10 months to #2, #6, and #9.  And if you can't find me ...I'll be the one buried under all the crap, crap and more crap sucking my thumb ..alone , hungry amd sore.

The One In Which She Shares What She Has Learned

I have learned that a week of rain in Southern California means the following:

• Never buy an umbrella from the $.99 Store.  There is a reason they are selling them for under a dollar. As soon as I opened the thing, it imploded on me.  Mary Poppins, I am not.
• My hair looks like crap all bouffy and curly.  Even though people say how great it looks - I have learned that they are just saying that because they were taught an an early age that if they didn't have anything nice to say, lie like a son-of-a-bitch.
• People who drive like asshats when the sun is shining, which is most of the time around here, are even more asshatt-ier when it's pouring out.  Slow the hell down, whizzy whizbanger - and, no... not that's not a right turn...that's a frickin' stone wall.
• Our kitchen ceiling is indeed not a ceiling - but a floor.  We have learned that what we thought was a leak in the upstairs shower is actually a leak in an eave roofline outside.  Let's see if State Farm is indeed a 'good neighbor' and 'there'...
• I have learned that although I still loathe (up)Chuckee Cheese..they have wine, albeit bad wine, but wine nonetheless.  It does make that booger factory a bit more tolerable. I met a couple of other Mom's there this week to let the kids burn off some energy.  Full body douche for each child when we got home.  Funny thing is, they somehow make good pizza.  And I think their salad bar has become the final resting place for cottage cheese and 'jello salad' and those little crispy chinese noodle things.
• Fabreeze Fabric Spray works.  My poor kid hurled all over her carpet last night.  Twice. She got the crud.  The hard part will be keeping it to herself.  Hello quarantine and Purell.

I have learned from attempt to go from Flabulous to Fabulous

• I wish I had a penis so I could pee standing up.  Like seriously, at this moment that is the only thing I could think of doing with it if I had one.  My legs and ass muscles hurt so much the squat is ridiculously painful. 
• People say there will come a time when I will look forward to going to the gym.  To feel  the 'burn'.  Nnnnope.  Don't see that happening.  Working out will always be a chore for me.  I hope 'People' prove me wrong.
• Oatmeal with raisins is mighty tasty in the morning.  I am not a breakfast eater.  I have survived on coffee in the morning for many years.  I literally have to force myself to eat breakfast.  Oatmeal is easy and satisfying.  If I keep saying that over and over again, I will start to believe it.

I have also learned that Twitter seems to have killed the Bloggio-Star.

• I think Twitter is totally fun, but I miss reading up on the lives of my Bloggy friends.  I admit to having what I consider not so interesting things to talk about lately....so sue me.  And some of my Bloggy friends who used to post every day are slowly getting sucked into the vortex and a few (dare I say?) have disappeared altogether.
• I have fallen victim to the 'instant gratification' syndrome that Twitter and Facebook seem to have spread throughout these Interwebs.  We get out lives in short spurts these days.  You'd think if societally we were so interested in headlines. America's newspapers wouldn't be going out of business.
• I think I have figured out the whole follow me/ follow you thing.  What I don't get is why some people follow me.  Do most people do what I do and read a funny or catchy Tweet and click on that person's Bio and see if their interests match mine?  I also seek out some Bloggy friends and follow who they follow (the same way I created my Blog Roll).  Or, do they just pile on the Followings to make their numbers (read:ego) more inflated?  Or are these new Followers the new wave on 'tele' marketers whose spambots find a key word in a Tweet and Follow me?   If I get Followed and don't Follow back, do people get offended?  I mean , if I don't know you or your blog or your friends - and I go to check you out and it's all coupons and marketing stuff -are you even a person?  For all I know, you could be a prison inmate who's getting paid a penny a Follow or something and the one with the most Follows at the end of the day gets to avoid the shiv in the yard or the short end of the soap on the roap.

In any case, Follow me on Twitter and Facebook and Network Blogs and Twitter Moms and....because I need validation.  Then I can share all that I have learned in multi-techno ways...because I need the insti-grat and have become too lazy to even write anything more than 140 characters long.

the one in which she thinks e.e. cummings had a personal trainer**

So it's week 2 of the 52 to Fabulous challenge.  And while others might be motivated by their loved ones and thoughts of being around for years to come - Swirl Girl is motivated by money and...dare I say it?  Abject humiliation.

I signed up for 8 personal training sessions at my gym.  I will not waste the money.  Or if I do waste the money - I will mentally and physically beat myself up about it and therefore expend calories and get some exercise (the physical beating part) and lose weight,  And if I beat myself up about while eating directly out of the fridge  (open - bend - unwrap- bend oooh feel the burn)  the fat will really start melting away.  Either way, it looks like it's a win-win for me. 

I also signed up to participate in the gym's 12 challenge which is where the abject humiliation part comes in.  Next Monday they are going to weigh me (got crane?) ) , take measurements of all my parts (got lots of time?) and here is the kicker >>photograph me in a bathing suit (got 20's style flapper suit?) The winner of the 12 week challenge is the person who shows the most improvement, not necessarily the most weight loss.  I think I am supposed to say that it's okay to gain muscle weight - but quite frankly - it isn't.

So I went to the gym for my first training session with the 'boss'.  He worked me to the point of actual sweating and genuine hurting.  Sadistic bastard.  I used muscles I didn't know I had.  I pulled a face muscle I contorted so hard.  In fact, even my finger muscles hurt...so much so that even stretching my pinky muscle to hit the *shift* key hurts.  So to that end - I will only type in lower case letters for the rest of this post.  and no numbers either.  ouch.. i also think i will be avoiding my trade mark parenthetical expressions where i think out loud sort of like the chorus of a greek tragedy... **i think  e.e. cummings must have had a personal trainer too. 

so after the beating work out we go into the office to schedule the rest of my sessions.  at that time, he tries to match me up with a trainer who best fits my personality and will be a good motivator.  and because of all my years of sitting across a desk from someone i have become quite the skilled upside-down reader. (read: paper eaves-dropper)  i see he writes next to my name ' no skinny bitches' for this one.  hence- my new sadist trainer is named matt.  hope you can take it, dude.  i can be mean.  just ask around. 





in other news - i just want to thank Jen from Jen's Voices (and for you my dear, I will use the *shift* key and the parenthetical expressions because you deserve it!) for all the wonderful awards she has bestowed upon me.   Most recently  - she gave me the Feels Like Home award.  Go read her.  Jen just started blogging and already gets more commentors than I do.  And the popular ones too.  Her blog is full of snark, reality, humor, relatable flashbacks, and honesty.  You rock Frog!  My door is always open.

The One In Which She Vows to Go From Flab to FAB !**

** alternative title could be "What I did on my winter vacation"

So we had a remarkably unremarkable winter break.  Went to the movies , a few play dates, shared some holiday celebrations with friends.  Slept in.  Wore my uniform everyday (read: stretchy pants).  Thanksfully we live in Southern California and save for two days out of 14 - our weather was play outside-able.  Mighty fine.      

But unlike a lot of you , other than the sleeping late part of winter vacation- I missed the routine of the routine and was excited to get my kids off to school this week.

This is the time of year when everyone is jumping on the Resolution Band Wagon - and Swirl Girl is no different. In fact as a family - we celebrated New Year's Eve by playing Resolution Pictionary .  We made sort of a family contract listing things we all could do to make our family successful (read: happier, less stressed = less yelling!)

In order to be successful
We want to do the following:

1. Pay attention to your surroundings  (which is a nice way of saying don't be such a klutz!)
2. Keep your room clean! (which is a nice way of saying ...mommy doesn't like the clutter!)
3. Listen to each other (which is a nice way of stop finishing other's sentences)
4. Make your bed
5. Set the table (which is a nice way of saying - help mommy out!)
6. Pick up your mess (kitchen, toys, ect.)
7. Accept responsibilities for our actions (which is a nice way of saying punishment will fit the crime)
8. Take care of our bodies (which is a nice way of saying brush your teeth without me reminding you!)
9. Put away your clothes when they are clean (which is a nice way of saying I ain't doin' it anymore)
10. Put yourself in other people’s place (= empathy!!)
11. Treat others the way you want to be treated (oh, the Golden Rule...right?)
12. Think before you speak or act (Which is a nice way of saying no more Ready, Shoot, Aim!)


 We typed it all up after the doodling - and put in an 8x10 frame and it hangs proudly in the house.
So far, a whole week into it, we are doing just so-so .  Mommy just has to say #12, or "Did you #4 today?"
We're all about code words here. 

And I have my own personal list of Wants for this new year. 

1) Exercise Daily
2) Read more for pleasure
3) Monetize her life
4) Try to fill my ubiquitous Glass Half Empty attitude (adjusting my A).  In other words - I am gonna lighten the fluck UP!

I can still be funny and snarky without being so dark and gloomy all the time.  (IthinkIcan, IthinkIcan.)
I want what everyone else seems to have.  Or if they don't have it...they just pretend better than me.  And I want to learn how to do that. 


I am joining a group of like minded women on a project spearheaded by Linda Sellers of Short Pump Preppy called 52 to Fabulous.  The key to this challenge is the support.  I started my personal training sessions at the gym yesterday.  I want to not be totally grossed out by my nekkid body.  I don't expect to be sporting a bikini this summer - not that that wouldn't suck, but when your 5 year old tells you that you look like your gonna have a baby - it's time to shift gears. 

I wonder what the next best thing is going to be? In this world of insti-grat (that's instant gratification for you tweeters who don't want to use up too many characters)because if I could invent it...Hhhhmmmmm  that would surely help me monetize my life. 

So I am giving myself a realistic 52 weeks to go from Flabulous to Fabulous!!  Who's with me?? 
Anyone?  Anyone?  Buehler??

The One In Which She Adjusts Her Just A*

*alternative title = what the heck does that mean? (please click through with the linky love...otherwise you'll be as jumbled as this post)

We were watching Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium* this week for about the 10th time. It may not be the greatest movie, but it is filled with really good messages for kids and parents alike. In one part of the movie, an accountant (played by the ever-adorable Jason Bateman who-I-have-loved-since-his-wisecracker-best-friend-of-Ricky-Shroeder-role-on-Silver-Spoons) is hired by Mr. Magorium (played by Dustin Hoffman who -looked-better-as -an-aging-soap-star-tranvestite-actor-in-Tootsie-than-a-243-year-old-magical-toy-store-owner-with-wonky-eyebrows-and- for-some-reason-that-I-am-not-sure, a-dental-appliance, causing-him-to-have-a-sibilant-'s'-as-if-all-243-year-old-magical-toy-store-owners-kind-of -lisp-and-look-like- the-Mad-Hatter-from-the-Disney-animated-version-of-Alice-in-Wonderland)....

Anyway, the accountant (or counting mutant) that the toy store owner hires to determine the value of the store is, according to Molly Mahoney, (played by the equally as adorable Natalie Portman, the -young- store- manager-who-is-sort-of-stuck-in-a-rut-and-has-beenworking -at -the-magical-toy-store-since-instead-of -pursuing-her-dreams-of -penning-a-piano-opus-which-is-what-all-23-year-old-kids-have-on-their-bucket-lists, right?)..."a Just guy". When asked by him what a Just guy is , she says "A guy just like you. Same hair, same suit, same shoes, walks around, no matter what, you think it's all just a store, it's just a bench, it's just a tree. It's just what it is, nothing more!"*



And from the rest of the evening, and still until now, the whole point of the movie was lost on me (in fact, I am not sure what the point of the movie is...but there were some visually and emotionally charming moments) I started thinking about me - and whether what I am going through lately is Just A bout of 'holiday-itis' or endemic of the fact that most of my adult life ...I have been a Just A person. I have been feeling Just Eh for many months now physically and emotionally and I think it's time for a change.


I am Just A Stay at Home Mom - and, at times, I am a pretty lame one too. I know I complain about it a lot, but I am lucky to be able to be at home with my kids while they need me. But I wonder if sometimes I am Just A Faker trying to give the impression that this is enough for me. All.Day. Everyday.


I am Just An Excuse Maker. I make excuses about everything. I Justify everything. I am Just Lazy. I am Just Impatient. Impatient with my children. Impatient with Hubby. Impatient with everyone and everything.


I am Just Resigned . Resigned to the fact that this is my life. The truth is..I am Just Scared. Scared that I am an abject failure as a mother. That my girls will grow up with the same insecurities that I have. I am supposed to lead by example, right? Shouldn't there be some kind of "I Am Woman" song playing in our proverbial background? How can I teach them to 'reach for their dreams' when, in truth, I don't 'reach' for mine (and I am not sure if I even have any that don't involve winning the lottery or being chosen to be on What Not To Wear). Combine the Just Scared with a healthy dose of Just A Bit Lazy and a few ounces of Just Hormonal you have the recipe for a not so well-balanced and what some would call a rather moody (read: Just A Bitch) mommy.


So it is almost the New Year. Wee Hoo. 2009 was a comparatively unremarkable year {{wee-hoo!}} around Swirl Girl's place. I am not one who usually goes for the ol' New Years Resolution thingy...but I think this I've got to do something really proactive for myself and my family this year.

I want to take more risks. Socially. I need to put myself out there. If my kids see me doing it, maybe they would be more likely to break out of their cacoons too.

I want to really lose this tire that has formed around my middle. I am so grossed out by my naked body..I am ashamed of myself. I have arm cellulite and armpit cleavage to boot and when I see my profile and want to cry. Can you say LifeStyle Lift?

I want to do something for my head. (and if something comes for my wallet, too - that's a bonus) but for the moment...I want - no I need to do something.  Sure , I do little things in spurts. 

I want to be nicer, more tolerant, better thought of. A better friend; A better wife.

I want to maximize all of this social technology with this blog and Twitter and all the on line groups I am in and what not so that I , too, may get what others are getting. And I don't expect to make Dooce money. I just think that the power of the purchase is right inside these monitors that we gaze in for countless hours each day. I'd love to be asked to review a product or service and do give-aways. Which by the way - not only did I win the ColorInc. wrapped gallery print from Scary Mommy...I also just won an Epson 3 in 1 Printer /Fax/Scanner from Hot Dads!!.

I need to learn how to make people (read: me) happy.

In other words ....(now here comes the part where it all ties together)

I really need to Adjust my Just A-tude.






*most of this stuff came from Imbd.com

The One In Which She Says "Ho-Ho-Humbug"*

*alternate title : Totally Random Reasons Why Swirl Girl Can't Shake the Blues.

#1) Tonight marks the 8th night of Hanukah. My kid totally blew my Hanu-karma on night #1 by telling me she was hoping for a better gift. WTF? I worked really hard on making sure that each kid had presents to open each night. That would be 16 gifts..of random excellence not including the gifts sent from relatives ...so they each go into the Hanu-closet and select one a night. Is it my fault she picked the socks and undies for night #1?? The little one was thrilled with her Hello Kitty pens and stickers.

#2) Peeled 10 pounds of potatoes and 15 pounds of apples for 100% Homemade Latkes and THE Apple Sauce. Cooked, fried, and made a general mess in the kitchen ...but boy oh boy ...lemme just tell you - it was YUMMMMMY! So I bring the homemade goodness to Kindergarten on Monday for 'share' and give the kiddles a quick lesson on Hanukah. The practice spinning dreidles with their 'teeny tiny muscle movements' while trying not to bounce them off the table too wildly. I dish out the treats and one of the little cherubs says "I only like homemade latkes" thinking his mom's - - which come frozen from a box, mind you, were better. I make sure his apple sauce has some bits of raw skin from my shredded fingers when he asks for seconds.

#3) Hanu-cookie making with the kids in Enrichment. Epic Failure. Note to self: don't try to make cookies for 35 in a toaster oven in 30 minutes.

#4) While my hormones are on the other side of menopause... the 10 year old's are going the other way. We are getting to the stage of constant sass-mouth ...to each other. It's gonna be a looooong 8 years until she goes to college. Is Head Butting a sanctioned parenting skill? I think the real reason I feel so crappy is that She.Is.Me. Poor thing.

#5) I haven't had a lot of time to blog, read blogs, comment on blogs this week. Sorry.
What's worse is that it has taken me over a week to even come up with a topic. Am I losing my edge? Nyahhhh.

#) So I was thinking about who is having a worse holiday season than me. And I thought of Tiger Woods. Oh, he'll rebound just fine when he goes public with his 'addiction' and goes to rehab...and writes a screenplay for his bio-pic. He's just a guy. A guy who plays golf. Not a politician or elected official or member of the clergy. And guys are like dogs. Dogs who are given the whole bag of kibble and eat the whole bag of kibble in one sitting. They're just dumb like that.

But what about these women? What could they possibly have to gain by ruining his wife and children? Aside from the obvious paparazzi and proverbial '15 minutes' and a few dollars for 'their story'. (and just a few dollars - not life changing money , mind you)

I wish I could just slap these women some silly. "I didn't know he was married." "I thought I was the only one." Puh-lease. He's frickin' Tiger Woods. Maybe the doctor who gave you those implants should have given you some brains to go with your balls boobs. These 'broads' give a new meaning to the whole "Ho-Ho-Ho" thing.

I bet their parents are proud. I bet their moms and dads are sitting around with the Lewinksy's bragging about their daughters. "My daughter blew the President." says Mrs. L. Well, my daughter blew Tiger's marriage!" I can see them fighting over who has the biggest scandal at the local Hooter's right now. I heard there was a slight brou-haha while they were waiting for a table since the school's choir is finishing up their wings and pitchers as it was the only restaurant that was able to seat 'large parties'.

And so I leave you with this ...by far the best Holiday card I have received this year.


"In the Old Days (better known as 'yore'), it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it Christmas and went to church ; the Jews called it Hanukah and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and got drunk. People passing each other on the street would say 'Merry Christmas!' or 'Happy Hanukah!' or (to the atheists) 'Look out for the wall!' "

~Dave Barry, from the Christmas Shopping: A Survivor's Guide

Ho-Ho-Ho , and Bah-Humbug. Oh, and look out for that wall.

The One In Which She Has To Represent - Revisited

Swirl Girl's Edit 12/7/09: While the neighborhood (real or imaginary) is swathed in Christmas Trees, twinkling lights and lawn sized sno-globes - Swirl Girl and Hubby are busy filling the 'Hanu-closet' for our 8 nights of fun, fun, FUN!! I want to be part of the SITSmas too so I am re-running an oldie but goodie from last December. So here is my SITSmas card to all of my friends (real or imaginary) and I wish you all a Happy, Healthy and Prosperous holiday season!

***************************************

Each year at some point in my life, I have had to be the one to check the calendars. The token, if you will. The wiser on the subject. The Chosen One. All eyes will look to me to whip out my handy calendar of customs and practices and see what is what and when. Whether it be a school function, a soccer practice, a PTA meeting, a meeting for work(when I actually did things and got paid for doing them) - I am the one who was the gate keeper to all things Jewish. Even here in the cyber meeting world - I have been called upon to "represent" for my peeps. And, as I am forever channeling my inner Linda Richmond - I will do so with as much seriousness as I do most things.


This was a typical conversation with me and my calendar in the days of yore...

Me: "We can't have that meeting on that Tuesday after 5:00pm in September, it's the first night day of Rosh Hashana"


n.j.. Boss* "but my calendar says it is on Wednesday.

Me: " Yes, n.j. Boss, it does - but the Jewish calendar is lunar, with each month beginning on the new moon. And the rest of the world operates by the solar calendar. This is because a Jewish "day" begins and ends at sunset, rather than at midnight. If you read the story of creation in Genesis Ch. 1, you will notice that it says, "And there was evening, and there was morning, one day." From this, we infer that a day begins with evening, that is, sunset. Holidays end at nightfall of the date specified on most calendars; that is, at the time when it becomes dark out, about an hour after sunset. And, the Jewish day begins at sunset the night before the day of the holiday. When the mathematical calendar says that a holiday starts on Wednesday, it actually means that the holiday starts on Tuesday night. So in actuality we can't have that meeting until Friday because Rosh Hashana is a two day holiday and ends Thursday night....


n.j. Boss: {{crickets}}


me: "...and don't ask me why sometimes the holidays are in September and sometimes in October...and how sometimes Christmas and Hanukah coincide and sometimes they are weeks apart. I was never very good at the Metonic system......"


n.j. Boss: oh jesus mary joseph Swirl Girl - when can we schedule the meeting?


me: ...I'll consult the Talmud and get back to you on that n.j. Bossman.



For observant Jews who work in the secular gentile world, this can be problematic in some years: if all of the non-working holidays fall on weekdays (as they sometimes do), an observant Jew would need to take 13 days off of work just to observe holidays. This is more vacation time that some people have available. But don't get me wrong - sometimes this came in handy. We got to take the regular national holidays as well as the important Jewish holidays off from work!

(Heh-heh-heh)


**********


So let's start with Hanukah, since it is coming at us faster than a bunch of jews lined up in front of the Two for One Sansibelt sale at Jacks for Slacks in Boca Del Vista .....(self-deprecating jew joke) - Contrary to popular sitcom folklore, we don't all move to Florida (a.k.a. God's Waiting Room ) when we retire, and suddenly wear polyester stretchy pants. We don't all talk like Seinfeld's parents, suddenly find orange an attractive hair color, and play mah jong. Well, some of us don't anyway. ( although I do fear it's a genetic predisposition..)

Anyway - Hanukah, also known as the Festival of Lights, is a holiday to commemorate the rededication of the Temple desecrated by the Greeks in ancient Syria a wicked long time ago. According to the story - when the Greeks , led by Antiochus and his hoard of Greek guys blew into town, they oppressed the Jews ( oy, vat else is new?) by trashing their 'hood, prevented them from practicing their religion - and even sacrificed pigs in their Temple.

Now- a Jew named Judah Maccabee didn't like those Greeks gettin' jiggy with the piggy in his house - got together with his boyz and decided it was time for the 'throwdown'! The Jew crew defeated the Greeks and it was a mitzvah.

But, when it was time for the rededication of the Temple, legend has it that there was not enough oil to light the menorah , or candelabrum, which was supposed to burn throughout the day and night. Miraculously - the little they had lasted 8 days and 8 nights. (such a deal-and you know how we jews like a good deal!) Hanukah celebrates that miracle of the lights, not the victory over the Greeks. We're a peace loving people y'all.

Most people know Hanukah, not because of its religious significance (it really isn't that religiously significant to begin with) , but because of its proximity to Christmas. In fact, the only religious ceremony is the lighting of the menorah itself. The whole gift giving thing is a relatively modern answer to the Christmas tradtion of gift giving. (can you say 'jealous much'?) And while all of you out there need additional square footage or another garage just for the boxes of ornaments, the prestrung Martha Steward artificial spruce and the inflatable Rudolph and Frosty yard snowglobe...we get to go into the cabinet over the fridge (that is reserved for stuff you don't use because you can't reach it) pull out our menorah (and we usually have two or three homemade firetraps from preschool) and a box of candles- and maybe a little dreidle ; a game whereby contestants spin a square wooden top to win some (really gross tasting) chocolate coins a.k.a. Hanukah gelt.

Sounds festive doesn't it? We might even get crazy and fry up some Latkes (potato pancakes) - and this year, because we've been very, very good...we'll serve those with applesauce and sour cream! Wheeee!

On the first night of Hanukah around here - after we've lit the 1st candle on the Menorah, opened one present ('cuz we have 8 frickin' nights of this my friends) ..my kids like to put on their jammies...watch the Burl Ive's claymation classic of...(uh, not for us) hop in the car (sans carseats and seatbelts)... pop our favorite carols into the c.d. player- (no wait, we don't have any of those.)..and drive around the 'hood checkin' out Christmas junk, er um , sorry - I mean decorations! ***

So there you have it. 2000 years of history and tradition as interpreted by your favorite (or perhaps your only) cyber Jew! If you think Hanukah was fun...just wait until springtime for the interpretive dance of the Pascal lamb and the Matzoh!

* n.j. stands for non-jew
**much of this post was stolen..er, um adapted from the site Judiasm 101. and/or wikipedia.
***and no it's not okay to have a tree or lights or decor when you don't celebrate Christmas people. Blue and white lights hanging from your eaves and mailbox do not mean Hanukah. If you put up lights and junk, how will Hanukah Joe know where the Jews live? How would he know whose sliding glass doors are open so he can sneak in and leave some gelt and a dreidle under the pillows of good little kinderlach? Huh? I guess he could wait until Christmas Eve, and just got to the local Chinese restaurant and movie theaters. Because that's what Jews do on Christmas Eve. Gotta Represent.

Oh yeah- and let's send a Chchchchchchappy (summon up all 'yer phlegm folks, we are a very phlegmy people- what , with all those years of walking in the desert and all) Hanukah to everyone no matter what your affilliation is! 'Tis the Season, right?

The One In Which Rob Petrie Ruined It For Swirl Girl

Remember the opening sequence of The Dick Van Dyke Show*? When the dashing Rob Petrie comes in the front door and is greeted by the ever-loving wife Laura (my all time favorite Mary Tyler Moore, BTW) and she's wearing a fabulous A-line skirt , little apron, form fitting black top and kitten heels? If memory serves, she had oven -mitts on and was holding a casserole in one hand and a martini in the other. And Richie (Larry Mathews), their too cute for words young son, who has like his pipe and slippers and his report card in his hand...All hugs and smiles and kisses and "how was your day Dears?" Richie asks Daddy "Whatdja bring me, today?" and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something innocuous like a paper clip and Richie is all "ooh wow!" and then Rob trips over the ottoman .... {{roll opening credits }}

Well..."Oh Ro-oh-oh-ohb"...you ruined it everything for me.

Unlike my idol - Laura Petrie...I don't wake up in the morning looking all fabulous. In fact, I wake up looking more like Buddy Sorrel (Morey Amsterdam) and sounding more like Sally Rogers (Rose Marie) ...just ask my kids. In fact, I just don't wake up happy. If I don't sleep well, I wake up foul. I kind of know the rest of my day is going to suck when the first words out of my mouth aren't "Good Morning, darlings!"

Case it point: The other night at like 3:20 a.m. the phone rings and it is the Security detail in the 'hood calling to tell me the garage door was open. Of course, the phone is near my head...so I answer in a split second and it wakes me out of the 'forced-hot-air-slumber' that I so lovingly relish. I have to go downstairs and shut the garage door. Of course they call at 3:20 a.m. even though they drive around every 20 minutes and have every opportunity to call at a human hour. I guess they figure if they have to be up ...I should too.

Security Dude: "Good evening , ma'am..our security detail noticed that your garage door was open"

Me: "fuckshitgoddamgaragedoorassholeforleavingitopenagainGrrrrr"

So I get out of bed all loud and jumpy and cursy hoping to wake Hubby (and it would, were it not for our Ortho tempurpedic $3000 mattress that you can drop a bowling ball down on one side and not spill the wine glass on the other) and go down and shut the frickin' door. Sure it only took a second, but then I struggle a bit to go back to sleep just knowing I'll wake up with a dull headache or something.

6:30 a.m. rolls around and this is how I wake.

Hubby: "See ya babe"

Me: " Yourfuckingleaving?Now?" (swear to god this is an exact quote)

Oh, it's going to be a banner day here in the Swirl Girl's World...oh yeah. I do everything I have to do with a little piece of paper and a pen handy so I can record the 'shit that is today' and hopefully find time to Blog about it

Such as :

hey dental hygienist...why do you insist on asking me questions when my mouth is full of your frickin' latex gloved fists?

and

hey - it's called a drive thru teller 'cuz your supposed to frickin' DRIVE THROUGH it. Not stand there and contemplate your frickin' naval.

and

hey- dude in the car next to me at the red light ...could at least PRETEND not to drink down that Pabst Blue Effin' Ribbon in the time it takes for the light to change before getting on the freeway?

...If you're still with me - and are wondering why I blame Rob Petrie for my crappy 'tude?? Hang on there for cripes sake...I'm getting to it.

Later in the day, Hubby and I are texting (on my new toy - the Droid, the dumbest name for a phone and will henceforth be called Erma) and he texts "sorry about last night". I text "don't come in the front door". He texts "I like using the front door".

He gets all caught up in his Rob Petrie moment.

The girls hear the turn of the key and drop everything and run up to him and jump all over him and are all "Squeeeeee! Daddy's home!! "

(that was for Lee of MWOB) and of course I am NOT in wearing a fabulous A Line skirt and kitten heals . And I am NOT wearing oven mitts holding a casserole in one hand and a martini in the other. Sorry to blow your karma dude. I am in stretchy pants and a dirty tshirt. A true Domestic Goddess. Barely showered myself much less the kids. Busily making dinner and wiping the splatters off the wall. Yeah, dude - I got your slippers and pipe right here.

So I decide to make him a little note to tape by the front door. Like the one my wonderful dad used to have by the door that led from the garage to the house. In his younger days it said :

Did you remember to?

Wallet

Glasses

Keys

But later in his life it said:

Did you remember to?

turn off the engine?

keys

zip your fly

The little note I tape to the front door says:

Who do you think you are...Rob Petrie? Shut the frickin' garage door.

*thanks Imdb.com for letting me 'borrow' these images and information