November 2014 – Confessions of an Introvert

Reasons My Son’s Not Eating

Some of us are blessed. Their kids are adventurous. They will eat all types of foods. All types of textures. For some lucky parents, this food can even touch other food.

We are not blessed in this way. This is our burden. Our 8 year old son is a total pain in the ass when it comes to food. Unless of course, it’s ice cream, then he’s good, but anything else, there are a set of rules that change almost daily.

Therefore, we give you: THE REASONS OUR SON IS NOT EATING:

1. The pizza has sat out for longer than 5 minutes.

2. The macaroni and cheese is NOT Kraft. Homemade? Big macaroni noodles? No go. Kraft M&C must also not sit on the stove longer than 5 minutes.

3. The noodles are too wide.

4. The noodles are a different color.

5. The noodles are mixed with something. Anything, even broccoli, which he actually likes.

6. The carrots are mixed with peas.

7. The pizza has bubbles on it.

8. The bread has nuts in it.

9. There’s parsley on it.

10. The grilled cheese has a tiny brown “burn” spot. (Not really, just browner at that place than he’d like)

11. The jello has fruit in it.

12. It has gravy on it. Clearly, not my kid.

13. It has any sauce or seasoning on it.

14. It’s breaded with something other than nugget.

15. It touched the ranch. Which he’s using to dip, but it touched before he’s dipped it.

16. Too much cinnamon on the applesauce.

17. The carrots have crinkles.

18. It’s leftovers. Of anything. Pizza included.

19. It’s hot dogs. Of any sort.

20. It’s tacos. Food touching all over the place. And lettuce, don’t forget lettuce. Ick.

21. It’s not the right meatball.

22. The noodles are too wide.

23. The potatoes are mashed.

These are just off the top of my head. And there are rules on top of that. And if you do find something he likes that is remotely healthy, for the love of God, don’t over serve it. No more than once every other week.

Now, on the list of Go foods are a few foolproof items, none of which are healthy.

Rolls

PB&J

Ice cream

Candy

Dessert, anything natch.

And that’s about it.

One might read this and think, “Hell, if that were my kid, I’d make him eat what I give him.” You, my dear, DO NOT have this kid, because I can guarantee you no parent of a fellow picky eater follows this rule. We get firm and we choose these food battles fairly often, and sometimes, we do the worst, meanest, most horrible thing a parent can do: we withhold dessert. For the most part, we desperately try to put something on the table they might just eat a few bites of, but our hopes are dangerously low on the best of days. We scour the internet, church and family cookbooks, and foolishly click on all the articles about “picky eaters,” but we are always disappointed, because I don’t know anyone whose picky eater will eat “Baked Polenta Fries,” cause mine sure as hell won’t.

But we keep on the fighting the good fight. We pin the hell out of Pinterest. But, most days, it’s PB&J or nuggets, with the hope that one day, one day soon, they’ll look up and say, “How about Mexican/Italian/Indian food?”

Until then, stay strong picky parents!

Cause he's cute, that's why. — Cause he’s cute, that’s why.

My Big Gay Wedding

So my best friend finally got married. I’ve wanted to write about the experience for over a month now, but couldn’t quite make up my mind on the tone I wanted to prevail throughout the post. Balls to the wall political rant? Sweet, sappy version? Or through my most comfortable form of communication…humor and self-embarrassment?

Naturally, I choose the last option. For those of you not lucky enough to be invited to a gay fall wedding, here’s an inside peek.

Attendees came from all walks of life. Some wearing their finest leather assless chaps. Some decked out in bedazzled sequins and feather boas. Some with not many clothes at all. The grooms shashayed down the aisle while Voguing in their rainbow suits. Disco balls and club lights flashed the crowds as they recited showtune quotes for vows. The ceremony concluded with groping and sloppy kisses while It’s Raining Men played riotously in the background. White doves were released and condoms were shot out of a canon. After the ceremony the guests lubed up appropriately and jumped into the big ole gay orgy pile.

Sound about what you’d expect?

Nah. Clearly none of that happened. Although sometimes I think that’s what some of my coworkers think I attended. What I did get to be a part of and experience was nothing short of beautiful. What it really was was an elegant, picturesque ceremony atop a swank hotel overlooking the Bay Bridge of San Francisco. Not a dry eye in the house as two of my favorite men on the planet exchanged heartfelt vows after waiting a decade to commit their lives together officially. Family and friends surrounded them for a delightful dinner followed by an epic reception, where toasts and well wishes abounded. Wine flowed freely while we danced the night away to a meticulously planned (and awesome) playlist of music. Cake was phenomenal. Best of all was my best friend’s dad, who like most dads on their kids’ wedding days, became quite sentimental and stood up and stole the show with a touching toast on how proud and happy he was for his son and his new son-in-law.

I had the privilege of reading a wonderful poem by Walt Whitman and the even better privilege of being an official witness to the nuptials. It was a wonderful heartfelt day, painstakingly planned down to last detail as most couples do to ensure one of the most important days of their lives is remembered fondly.

Desi Jay Journey — This moment delightfully brought to you by Journey.

But alas, it would not truly be a story of my own if I did not in some way humiliate myself and bring up some form of bathroom humor. Now, if you’ve ever seen the SNL Gay Summer Wedding Xanax spoof, you’ll have some idea of the pressure I was under to look fabulous for this wedding. Too bad I had hopped off the diet wagon a full month earlier and was a bit disappointed the Spanx I chose did not completely transform my curves into the likes of Kim Kardashian. The Spanx, although $40, did not quite squeeze my baby food belly around to plump up my ass, nor did it hoist the girls back up to their original pre-children spots.

Dammit. Oh well, I was just happy to be a part of the whole experience. No one was looking at me anyways.

Then, due to a forgetful photographer, my boys were late to dinner. Which meant my wine glass kept getting topped off on an empty stomach, and before I knew it, I was three sheets to the wind. And I had to pee. Sort of dizzy and light headed, I stumbled down a flight of stairs to the ladies loo.

Now girls, we all know Spanx are not the easiest to get off for a quick pee right? And this one piece do-joby clasped at the crotch. Joy. Not easy to undo when sober, let alone 3+ drinks in. I had a genius idea, which I’ve accomplished before many times with swimsuits and said Spanx accoutrements that I proceeded to try once again. Just pull my undies and that fat grasping apparatus aside, hold it, pee quick, wipe and done! Thorough hand washing and I would be good to go.

Not so much. About halfway through I realized something was amiss. My tush started to feel wet. OH MY GOD, in my drunken state, I couldn’t feel my panties and didn’t pull them aside with the Spanx!!!! I was peeing right through my underwear. With a loud, “SHIT!” I went into emergency planning mode. Dress was clear of wetness, thank God, but undies and Spanx were soaked. I was alone, no phone, no purse, no girlfiends to call because hello! I was at a GAY wedding. Lots of men, most of whom are already extremely uncomfortable with girl parts, let alone ones in peril. I had to think fast. Undies gone, natch. I’ll just wear the Spanx, that’s fine. SHIT. Spanx soaked up the back. The whole apparatus had to go. Off comes the dress, then the spanx, then the underwear. I started to throw the underwear away, a causality of war, but then I realized I had nowhere to put the Spanx. This puppy was $40 freakin dollars!!! No freakin way was I going to throw this thing away to save myself a few moments of embarrassment. I have given birth for God’s sake! This is nothing on the humiliation scale of my life.

So I wadded up my wet undergarments into a paper towel and tried to make it fist size without much luck. I escaped the bathroom and had to walk down the side of a bar full of patrons into our private room, where not a few eyes glanced toward the conspicuous wad in my hand. I quickly threw it into my purse as my husband exclaimed loudly, “Hey, what’s that in your hand?” SHHHH! Not now! LATER!

I then got to spend a still awesome night surrounded by wonderful men (and some lovely chicks too I might add) who would have been totally skeeved out their #1 fan was without her britches and complete with nothing but the sheer will of God keeping my stomach sucked into a dress that really could have used some girdling power.

So there you have it. A wonderful wedding, turned into a story all about me and peeing my pants! It has to be embarrassing or I clearly wasn’t there. It was a wonderful night, a wonderful trip and a true joy to see my best friend marry his perfect match in life. And just over a month later, they are still married, so already they are beating many straight marriage success rates.

Love you both. Congrats Jay and Desi!

And now, if you need tips on attending a gay wedding, I give you expert advice by Key & Peele.

Cat vs Husband

Good news! After a trial week working from home, my husband has been given the green light to work every other week from the “home office.” Yes, folks Fun Dad is coming home, at least fortnightly. No, that’s not right, but I really want to use that word, so go with it.

He will be setting up an elaborate bat cave downstairs, whereupon he will put out nationwide construction fires and calm down very panicky subcontractors and clients. He’s my Bruce Wayne of Project Management.

One problem.

Mark doesn’t leave the house. Ever. Mark is also somewhat allergic to cats, or something in the house anyways, and by the end of his trial period last week he was barely breathing and was a snotty, red-nosed, wheezing mess. I think this has been made worse since he really hasn’t lived at home in roughly 5 years, so any tolerance he had built up prior to has been blown away by weeks away with regular housekeeping, mints on pillows and other such luxuries.

So, the question becomes this. What can I do with my kitty-cat? My Ezra. My snuggle bunny since 1999. My beautiful black cat, who’s not once peed outside her litterbox, and outside of an occasional runny nose and poop danglers, has been an exemplary cat?

Here’s where your help comes in. Below I have outlined a complicated point system determining husband and cat’s attractions and detractions. At the end, we can decide which one will have to go.

Point Husband: Husband takes up less of the bed at night than Cat.

Point Cat: Husband snores louder.

Point to each: BOTH have the annoying trait of poking at me for attention after the kids have gone to sleep and I finally have 2 minutes to myself. Both eventually bite if they are overstimulated.

Point Husband: I don’t have to scoop husband’s poop.

Point Cat: Cat does not take 30 minute poops 3X a day.

Point Husband: Husband sheds less. Unless he’s shaving, then the sink looks like a yeti trimmed his pubes. Wash it down the drain MAN!

Point Husband: Husband helps around the house more.

Point Cat: Husband does not get excited when I take naps, whereas Cat is thrilled.

Point to each: Both hate dogs. Con. Neither would pick up poop if we finally grant my oldest’s wish to give him a dog.

Point Cat: Cat loves my new boots. She rubs her face on them in appreciation. Husband goes, “WHERE’D YOU GET THOSE?!” Dang, I didn’t think he’d notice since I still have the boxes hidden in the car.

Point Husband: Husband is a pro traveler. Not once during our last trip did he howl from his cage.

So, there you have it folks. Who do I keep?

How about some who’s cuter pics?