Blurbs from the Burbs by Chickysara

I am very preoccupied today with monumental to-do list including more washing—dishes, clothes, floors and countertops. I made a horrifying discovery yesterday when I opened the washing machine. All of the clothes were covered in miniscule cottony-white lint puffs and gelatinous tapioca-like balls. Turns out T left one of his pull-ups in a pair of pants which I unwittingly threw in the washing machine. The thing must have exploded once it got going in the washer--much like a pee-soaked synthetic underwear bomb. Needless to say, I’ve had to re-wash that load causing further back-up in the laundry queue. I am trying to figure out how to get T to stop wearing pull ups and get along in just underwear for a whole day. Right now he is clad in two sweatshirts and a pair of too-short tuxedo pants from two years ago. He is going through his pants like an addict on crack. And now with the laundry debacle, he is down to the tuxedo pants or J’s old shorts from last summer. It seems he has opted for...

It's just sitting there. The pile. Whites, darks, and brights. I will shove them all in the same load. I don't care if his socks turn pink. I hate laundry.

My husband is a self-proclaimed genius. At some point, he wanted proof so he took an I.Q. test he found on the Internet at annoying-smartass.com and discovered that he is able to correctly answer stupid questions such as: If a doughnut was a house and had two doors to the outside and three doors to the inner courtyard, then is it possible to end up back at your starting place by walking through all five doors of the house without ever walking through the same door twice? And: There are five snack mixes on the table. Peanuts and cashews are never mixed together. The first and last mixes contain sunflower seeds. Any mix with cashews or sunflower seeds also has raisins. How many of the mixes contain peanuts? It's a good thing my husband knows how to figure out the answers to these all-important questions. I can see how knowing these things might be helpful to us in the real world. Here's what I think: If a doughnut was a house, I would never have to go through any door twice beca...

Aaack…. A gray hair. Not lurking behind other hairs at the back of my head. It’s right in front for all the world to see. I tried to pull it out but it’s one of those elusive slippery ones. I’ve accidentally pulled out a bunch of non-gray hairs in the process. And I need those. My mother says not to pull out the gray ones because ten more will come to replace it. She says I need to go to her salon and start getting colored. I can’t I can’t I can’t. That will begin the unstoppable cycle of hiding my roots at $100 a pop. I know this because I’ve already started the cycle at home by coloring my own hair at the bargain price of $8.50 a pop and now half of my hair is a lustrous chestnut brown and the other half is a dull poopy brown with, apparently, gray highlights. Crap. I am getting old. Me (wailing): “I’m getting old!” T: “Mommy?” Me: “Yes, T?” T: “Are you going to die.” Me: “No, not right now. Why?” T: “Because people die when they get old.” Me: “Well, I’m not that old.” T: “Well, yo...

Bee is my vegan sister. She runs marathons and is a total brainiac. She does math problems for fun. I’d rather stick a needle in my eye than do math for anything. She is the sister from whom I can borrow fashion accessories that do not end in vowels--like t-shirts, sweats, and socks. Those are about the only things I can borrow from her because she is like a size nothing. If you ask our mother, Bee is the nice one--which is true. Our mother thinks I’m the bitchy one--which is also true. Bee lives the farthest from our mother. I can get to my mom’s house in about fifteen minutes flat. Door to door. Bee’s husband is Jewish and is also a vegan brainiac. He does math for a living ! You couldn’t pay me to do math. They don’t watch TV. They don’t even have cable! They think that ‘Project Runway’ is a show about the FAA. They have a baby boy, who is very clever and funny. They wear Birkenstocks, have a worm compost and grow their own food. On the other hand, I’m married to Fred Flintstone. My...

Oh happy days… J read almost all of Hop on Pop all by himself with very little help from me. And earlier, over lunch, T said “Mom, I’m not gonna change you for a different mom.” (I didn’t know that he had plans to). I guess he was really happy with his peanut butter sandwich because I cut the crusts off for him and it must have made him sentimental. And this morning, I was snuggling with T on the couch while he was watching The Backyardigans and I was so grateful for the warm cozy bundle that he is, all snug against me, smelling like Cheerios. Oh my God, I love that. Unfortunately, there may be some unpleasantness. J’s time is up on the Nintendo DS which is like crack for school children. He totally zombies out when he’s playing with that thing and he can play for hours if I let him. There is always resistance when his time is up. It’s a powerful weapon. I can get the child to do his homework, practice his reading, eat vegetables, clean his room, stop picking on his brother, take a ...

Went to the library and checked out about 20 books to hold us over. T insisted on checking out three cookbooks including The Star Wars Cookbook which includes recipes such as Boba Fett-uccine, Death Star Popcorn Balls, and Yoda Soda. All foods that I will never make. The boys are intent on me baking a batch of Wookiee Cookies. Maybe. Drove past McDonald's--the one with the indoor play structure--after looking through the window and seeing that every table was jam-packed with moms guarding half-eaten Happy Meals while their tots crawled through tunnels and plastic bubbles like ants in a colony. I guess my idea to exorcise the kids of pent up energy, out of the rain, under cover of McDonald's isn't as original as I had hoped. As an unsatisfactory alternative, we did the drive-thru at Taco Bell which did not include anything to do with a play structure, but did include an order of cinnamon twists and the promise of an afternoon matinee of Lilo & Stitch. So now we are home...