Mama In Stilettos

Rotten Apples

Ya know? I don't have time for this huge looong post.

But I wanted to share about an experience I had this past weekend.

We took a family trip to a local apple orchard. Me, being the woman that I am, wore long pants (ok), long sleeved cardigan (preppy indulged) and boots.  The problem lies with the boots.  See? I normally don't go anywhere with my heels or stilettos.  So I think that that shouldn't exclude the apple orchard.

So my boots were oh-so-adorable and they were high heeled.

Ok. So it wasn't the greatest idea I ever had. 

Did you know that apple orchards aren't paved?  Did you know that they are full of rotting apples that smell like vinegar?  Did you know that they are full of rocks, holes and tree stumps?  The ground was so uneven I was having problems with my vertigo.

So the boots.  Not only were my ankles turning over every 5 seconds, but rotting apples were getting inside my boots and I was slipping on their remains every 3 feet.   

And my 22 month old daughter wanted to be held and carried while we were there. Impossible in 3 1/2 inch heels in the middle of a land mined orchard.  So I had a crying 1 year old..I was NOT in my element.  Is it wrong that I wanted this "family experience" to be over as soon as the tractor dropped us off at the orchard and as soon as I realized the ramifications of this whole "pick your own apples" thing. 

Normally I don't mind the whole "orchard experience" but this time I realized that usually I fake it.  I normally put up with it just so I can gorge myself on cider donuts and apple cider after the whole tractor blowing dirt in my face and slipping on rotten apples experience.  But this year? NO donuts for me? Why? Because now I am cursed with the whole gluten-free diet.  Again, I repeat. NO CIDER DONUTS.

No cider donuts means that it is no longer my responsibility to bring my family to "pick your own apples".  This will now fall under the husband's responsibilities while I read a book in an adirondack chair by the pond.  I'll take my apples from the grocery store or from the general store up at the orchard.  No more tractor rides for me.  I think I can live without a mask of dirt on my face or rotten apples in my boots. Thanks.

Caffe Drama

How hard is it to make coffee? Really.

Now. I'm a HUGE fan of going to one of those big coffee chains and ordering my nonfat, 1 pump pumpkin spice (yes! it's that time of year again!) latte no whip.  In fact, I would probably pay BIG money to have an assistant for only my addiction to caffeine.  The assistant's only job would be to keep me from jonesing for my midafternoon coffee fix with a caffe mocha.  That's it. Job done. Book closed. 

Here's my current problem. 

My husband makes CRAP coffee and I have to drink it every morning because I do not have the luxury of hopping in my car to the nearest caffeine joint..In my pajamas.  Let me make myself clear.  Number 1: I go NOWHERE in my pajamas. And number 2: I legally can't leave my kids home alone. In their beds or not. And I can't figure out a loophole around that one.  So I am forced to pour that NASTY liquid from my coffeepot into my cup each and every morning.

And let me be clear about something else.  No matter how much sugar and creamer I put in it? It doesn't get any better.  I basically hold my nose and dump it down the hatch just so I can function enough to get to kickboxing on time. 

Have I told him?  Ummmmmm..In a round about way yes.  Does he think he makes good coffee? I think that he does.  Because he does NOTHING to fix the crap.  I've tried asking him how he makes it everyday and all that.  As far as I can see he's doing nothing wrong.  And it's gotten to the point where I've tried just about EVERY SINGLE brand and type of coffee on my grocer's shelf. 

So I've tried investigating.  Is it the coffee maker? Nope because when my dad makes it? Oh so wonderful.  So WHAT THE HECK?!?!?!? 

All I know is that I deserve a good cup of freaking coffee in the morning and I don't even know what to do about it. 

Maybe I'll go instant.

Sleepless

Sleeplessness.

Oh, the torment.

All I can think of is "Oh crap. I HAVE to fall asleep NOW because I HAVE to be up with the kids to do blah blah blah and then blah blah blah."

But my mind just doesn't want to turn off sometimes.

"Oh but what if that bra at Victoria's Secret is on sale RIGHT NOW online and I am missing it!" That freaking bra is $50 and since I have LOST and ENTIRE cup size because of the little tornadoes that exploded fro my body, I need new bras.  Which is such a crying shame because I have the CUTEST and NEWEST collections.  Whatever pregnancy. You have ruined me.  You and your sadistic ways of making my body conform and morph into something that I no longer recognize.  I'm thinking about getting a rather large tattoo on my stomach of the United States.  Just to "cover" the stretch marks.  Or at least make them more interesting.

Ans then I think about what I did to my poor mother this morning. Oh the joys of having me as a daughter.  Here she is having a freaking colonoscopy, right? She calls me last night to drive her downtown to her appointment.  I am her daughter and of course I am going to say "Yes", even though it is Wednesday and my FAVORITE kick-you-in-the-face kickboxing class is in the morning (so much so that I leave there looking like I have taken a shower...I know..Dwell on that mental picture) and I would be SO SHORT on time.  Of course I will drive her, she's my MOM and does everything for me.  She is the BEST mom.

Until we hit standstill traffic.  Oh how I wanted to throw things, scream and have a complete fit. Okay. So I definitely had the fit and definitely had some erratic driving.  Okay A LOT of erratic driving and I think there was smoke coming out of my ears because I was fuming to the point where my heart was going to beat out of my chest. Miss kickboxing? Are you kidding me? Miss the sweat-fest? And she plays the SWEETEST music too (just had the throw that little bit in).  Anyways, my mom keeps apologizing and I am blowing a gasket, and *BING*. LOW FUEL.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

After everything..Low fuel.  How about everyone gets out of their car and does a Chinese fire drill, just to make me LATER?

Finally, I get gas deliver my mom after yet ANOTHER traffic detour (who feels awful) I get gas and haul my tail to class 20 minutes late.

Better late than never.

And yes, I did go and apologize to my mom and make sure she was okay. Hey, I not THAT heartless.  Only when it comes to my driving.