tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61133215301157831322011-07-30T23:30:32.246-05:00FASHION and PRIDE meet REALITY in the "WORKING MOM"Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.comBlogger1011100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-53326250404264122752010-02-12T15:33:00.005-06:002010-02-12T15:40:53.409-06:00

I very much enjoy wedding receptions: I get to meet new people while I drink. What’s not to love? Occasionally, a story I overhear has legs and travels with me even after the wine wears off.This is one.The speaker: Dimitrius, who is in charge of creating his son Tyler’s design cuts. (Don’t know what a design cut is? Check out the photo. It’s a work of art in a haircut.) Demitrius: “…so he asks me

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-8608896989257282562010-01-13T15:47:00.002-06:002010-01-13T16:01:01.341-06:00

I can admit when I’m wrong. (Softly, under my breath, when I am alone in the shower.) Everyone makes mistakes. True, it’s usually other people who make them, but every once in a great while I err. When those rare slip ups do occur, I am willing to admit my transgression. Thus, I offer you the transcript of my texts to and from my sister-in-law (yes, the one with the drinking problem)

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-25306403925811393402010-01-12T15:25:00.002-06:002010-01-12T15:27:40.602-06:00

I have determined the answer to conflict in the Middle East.Give them Face Book.No one will hear from them ever again....

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-57006035708779915442010-01-11T11:23:00.005-06:002010-01-11T16:36:57.558-06:00

(The following is my first installment of a short story emulating Kurt Vonnegut's style. You get to decide the end. I dedicate this to you, Gary. No chihuahuas in this story, unfortunately. However, I'm working on a chihuahua based piece as we speak!)If you want to know, then I guess the whole thing started back around 2097 or 98. The U.S. was having a heck of a time of it, what with the sudden

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-91098532580316702442010-01-08T16:24:00.006-06:002010-01-08T19:25:50.964-06:00

Yesterday many dear friends sent me a viral FB email directing women to type the color of the bra they were wearing into their status in order to bring more awareness to breast cancer.It's a nice effort, right? But those of you who know me well know that I have a serious problem: SNARKINESS.So, instead of being a nice person who gamely divulges the hues of her undergarments in vague support of

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-9878023887726776972009-03-16T08:10:00.003-05:002009-03-16T08:18:53.978-05:00

I'm in trouble.I have to tell a friend of mine that I can’t go with her to see an 80’s cover band play Saturday night because I made prior plans that I forgot about. (Finally, music I would know all the words to, and I can’t go! Where my old, ripped jean jacket and Bruce Springsteen t-shirt will be in style! Where my white-girl overbite will look chic! Oh, who am I kidding? The overbite will

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-6770684403589195532009-03-11T16:08:00.003-05:002009-03-11T16:13:30.470-05:00

Know who might be petty and judgmental? Me.I began to question this when I grew introspective after noticing that my Jon and Kate Plus 8 television viewing time was waning. (Know who is obsessively introspective? Me.) (Know who makes global assumptions about her personality based solely on her reaction to reality television? Again, me.)I used to enjoy the show. The episode when Kate revealed her

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-40704760348763127572009-03-03T08:31:00.001-06:002009-03-03T08:40:44.511-06:00

Remember how I am a financial expert? I am—along with everyone else who waxes eloquent about the current state of the U.S.’s economy. In order to assist in righting America’s economic woes, I offer a partial solution: creative taxation.Here’s the idea: We could begin placing taxes on items or scenarios we would like to see improved in our society. In this way, we can decrease the amount of things

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-82951216296177422642009-02-27T11:37:00.003-06:002009-02-27T11:43:25.836-06:00

That’s the headline I’m expecting will appear in the newspapers this weekend documenting my loss. See, I’m trying to work up my courage to use a netti pot. My coworkers swear by this miniature teapot used to pour saltwater in one nostril, through the sinus cavity, and out the other nostril. “Trish, it clears out your sinuses!” “Trish, it’s the best thing for allergies!” “Trish, it makes me

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-53101836206831132242009-02-25T16:21:00.002-06:002009-02-25T16:26:18.820-06:00

But I am compelled by something outside of myself to write this.What is it about spring that triggers the memory center of my cerebral cortex? It’s probably the physical representation of rebirth occurring in nature. The splash of new rain on my cheeks and the tip of my nose brings me back to my first kiss. (A sloppy one, apparently.) The sun warming my shoulders after a long winter reminds me of

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-24361796180306218912009-02-25T09:04:00.001-06:002009-02-25T09:07:49.159-06:00

Why do I need a new dryer?So I don’t get arrested for child neglect, that’s why. Allow me to explain:My dryer has been doing strange things lately. It rattles. It rumbles. It sucks my clothes into the space between the rotating drum and the back of the dryer and leaves big black smudges or, worse, holes. Dryers aren’t particularly difficult pieces of machinery to understand-- or so my husband

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-6148762624119320022009-02-23T19:20:00.002-06:002009-02-23T19:20:00.942-06:00

I heard something encouraging while working out in our school’s weight room. I was sharing the weights with the wrestling team, and was fairly unnoticed due to the superfluity of weight lifting apparatus in the crowded facility. (I tend to hide my novice weight-lifting self behind the leg extension machine. For obvious reasons.)Wrestler Number One glances at Wrestler Number Two, poses in the

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-82518174991955283542009-02-20T15:59:00.002-06:002009-02-20T16:03:51.071-06:00

I am doing something that only the insane and the Lenten Catholics do: giving up soft drinks.Here’s how the genesis of this idea came about. One of my coworkers (a stunningly gorgeous miniature version of a Greek goddess) has been “getting healthy.” I believe I have mentioned this bitty-Barbie in the past. This is the same uber-healthy blond who has me eating lots of vegetables—but I digress.

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-11884779116831967362009-02-18T15:28:00.001-06:002009-02-18T15:29:07.781-06:00

There's a list of stunningly bad similes floating around our English Department. One of them descibes a man falling from a building and "hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup." Now there's a bit of imagery for you.This simile is the first thing I thought of when a friend of mine emailed me an amazing story about a repairman who fell sixty feet from a cell tower. The

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-2712898737709156282009-02-06T14:48:00.005-06:002009-02-06T14:57:50.783-06:00

...by the alien. You know how alligators lock their jaws on their prey, rolling their struggling victims along the water's bottom until dinner gives up and ceases to fight? Well, if the flu was an alligator, I was the prey caught in its death roll.Luckily, I smoked it with my increased fluids, hours of bed rest, and antibacterial cleansers.Suck it, flu.

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-47259298991769062312009-01-31T15:19:00.005-06:002009-01-31T16:19:48.952-06:00

Like Sigourney Weaver wielding her make-shift flamethrower against a malevolent extraterrestrial creature in the 1979 sci-fi film Alien, I have armed myself with bleach water and sponges against the evil stomach flu that has attacked my family. I’ve also smeared black eye liner under my eyes and tied a ripped bandana around my forehead Rambo- style, so the virus knows I mean business. Every time

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-17096642502480277672009-01-31T12:33:00.005-06:002009-01-31T12:45:27.321-06:00

...to a post I wrote last week.Russian Obama Stacking Dolls?Try to keep your eyes from rolling straight back into your brain.However, these dolls in no way compare to these "extraordinary gifts for your home." Kuj found these and, I'm fairly certain, is STILL howling with laughter.

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-17429062288666994412009-01-28T15:14:00.006-06:002009-01-28T15:28:27.717-06:00

You know that feeling you get when you start an anecdote you THINK a group of people will appreciate, but part way through your tale you realize that they are looking at you quizzically, clearly unimpressed with your story, and maybe a little put off? But you are already part way through the story and it feels awkward to simply stop, so you continue speaking, even though you desperately don’t

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-28401288658845599122009-01-27T20:58:00.007-06:002009-01-27T21:09:49.686-06:00

There is an OBAMA LAVA LAMP??People, I am just as excited to see a change in administration as the next person, but this flood of kitsch Obama-related knickknacks has. got. to. stop. The multitude of Obama memorabilia has reminded me yet again why baseball cards are single-handedly responsible for the clutter in people homes.(Side note: Why isn’t anyone/anything ever double-handedly responsible?

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-65244138430656838272009-01-21T15:34:00.003-06:002009-01-21T15:45:23.514-06:00

There are two things you aren’t supposed to discuss in mixed company: politics and religion.(Ironically, that leaves hyper-realistic descriptions of personal illnesses wide open, which explains some of those Christmas letters I get from relatives with long narratives documenting their various surgeries. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if someone sends me holiday themed x-rays next year.)However,

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-50509755966134191032009-01-17T13:03:00.005-06:002009-01-18T12:07:01.511-06:00

My husband and I have started doing something new lately: dating other people.Come back in off the ledge, folks; we don’t have one of those kinds of marriages. What I mean is that we’re dating other couples. Hang on, that doesn’t sound quite right, either. Let me be blunt: we are looking for other couples to hang out with.Within the past two years or so, one of our favorite couples moved over

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-31552281886911659632009-01-11T21:29:00.002-06:002009-01-11T21:31:49.345-06:00

Got a Wii Fit?We do. This device, something like a cross between a talking bathroom scale and a balance board hooks up to the television and provides routines meant to improve balance, conditioning, and muscle strength. It's a clever idea.If it weren't POSSESSED BY THE DEVIL.It begins by giving you a fitness test. After putting you through a few simple exercises and taking your height and weight,

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-20622381135801024532009-01-07T19:18:00.012-06:002009-01-08T21:23:35.104-06:00

You know how I said that Jon and Kate Plus 8 has inspired me to brave the wilds of the grass off our patio once the weather warms up?Well...It turns out I had been watching one of their older episodes, from back when they were slumming it.More recent airings of Jon and Kate Plus 8 show that they have progressed far beyond camping out in the backyard and roasting marshmallows over a fire pit. In

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-69094104335597386752009-01-04T20:56:00.008-06:002009-01-04T21:04:27.666-06:00

Wait.It's the end of Winter Break.Those cries must be from students and teachers groaning the night before school resumes.(And that sound of rejoicing? That's from the parents.)

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-86973601369348238432009-01-03T08:00:00.000-06:002009-01-03T08:00:01.193-06:00

This addiction I have to reality television is getting out of hand. People who care about me should perform an intervention. (And if they don’t know how to do it, there is a reality show called Intervention that would provide a good model. You see how addicted I am??) The sooner this intervention takes place, the better because my favorite “big family” show, Jon and Kate Plus 8, has me

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-16568617954859481982009-01-02T12:39:00.010-06:002009-01-02T14:22:12.528-06:00

The year in review...in no particular order. Because I am hungry and the leftover lasagna is calling to me....A scooter!! It's just what I wanted!A baby! It's just what I wanted!A nana! It's just what I wanted! ZZZzzzzzzzz....A brother! It's just what we wanted!T-Ball medal. Go Team Thunder!Inside on a rainy day.Finally! Lunch alone with Scott! We're DATING! (As we were walking out of the

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-90413671012817927552008-12-30T16:46:00.005-06:002008-12-31T00:40:48.652-06:00

My cell, which is basically my cordless umbilicus to the world, spontaneously terminated my phone call to the pharmacist yesterday. I sat there in shock, jiggling the device in my hand as though that might help restore it to health. At the same moment, my husband shouted from the kitchen: “Hey! I’ve lost the signal on my phone. I was cut off mid-sentence with my dad. Do you have bars on your

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-76998836175918049302008-12-28T11:31:00.006-06:002008-12-28T15:12:13.997-06:00

Note: After re-reading my last post, I find once again that I am happy my mother cannot locate the power button on the computer in her den. My bitterness at having no time alone with my husband may have seeped out a little. Despite the fact that my mom will likely never know of my immaturity, I offer my apologies. After all, I could always hire a babysitter, right? Sorry mom. Please do not cut me

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-52958087877626932602008-12-27T14:57:00.000-06:002008-12-28T13:00:50.387-06:00

I did a deliciously thoughtful thing for my mother, and yet she somehow doesn't appreciate my good will. So. Typical.What I have done is give her the gift of sanity. Yes, sure, I had to lead her through the jungles of lunacy in order to get to the isle of enlightenment, but I was prepared to go the extra mile for her because I am a wonderful person. Does she appreciate it? No. Here's the low-down

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-81418731827154267962008-12-10T15:50:00.001-06:002008-12-10T15:53:03.420-06:00

This is what I defensively retorted to the entire store packed with holiday shoppers after a sales clerk at Ann Taylor Loft loudly announced that I might need to go down a size and try an extra small camisole or an extra-extra small camisole.I get it. I’m no Real Housewives of Orange County, clearly. At least my feet are big.Ooooooh, I think I just figured out why I love shoes. (Dang, and I was

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-55528351233301427642008-12-04T11:58:00.000-06:002008-12-04T11:59:38.678-06:00

I don’t know how my husband puts up with it. I am doing a reconnaissance mission in Target to capture a toy my four year old has longed for “my whole entire life.” (The entire four years minus the many months when he just lay there, drooling, unaffected by marketing campaigns and consumerism.) It will take me two minutes to scout the toy department, locate my objective, and complete the

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-28189701937045040252008-09-12T11:36:00.003-05:002008-09-12T11:47:28.162-05:00

Noah has learned to walk. It’s amazing how only last week he was Earth-bound, and now he’s experiencing such freedom. It happened suddenly, too. He’d been cruising around holding on to furniture for quite some time. Then, yesterday, he let go and walked right across the room! He didn’t even test out his balance. There was no taking a few tentative steps along the soft couch in case he needed to

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-58880741867035620152008-09-11T13:45:00.001-05:002008-09-11T13:47:33.492-05:00

Last night was one of those rare moments when Scott and I were able to get both kids down for the night without feeling as though we, too, had to stumble in the direction of our own pillows. We both felt as though we had enough energy to sprawl on the couch and stare blankly in the direction of the television, which is how we ended up watching Failure to Launch, a romantic comedy featuring

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-27816753525349783472008-09-05T07:58:00.002-05:002008-09-05T08:01:16.739-05:00

I may be going through withdrawal. I have a headache and am perpetually annoyed by everyone around me. One of my coworkers said good morning, and it was all I could do to keep from grabbing him by the throat and screaming, “Good morning?? I ate organic oatmeal for breakfast, which means someone else is eating my Starbucks scone! MY scone! Mine!” (Apparently part of fast food withdrawal

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-24123806372446347872008-09-04T08:19:00.001-05:002008-09-04T08:22:37.764-05:00

I woke up to the sound of the thunder and rain that would later turn my perfectly coiffed blow dry into a swamp of auburn weeds reminiscent of something one of the witches would sport in Macbeth. After arriving at work, I enthusiastically stepped forward into my first day of healthier eating by making some organic oatmeal in the office microwave rather than purchasing my usual blueberry scone at

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-74269946114877816722008-08-30T13:53:00.008-05:002008-08-30T14:13:19.711-05:00

Sebastian is our first child, our furry golden god of the passenger seat. He has protected us and our home, cheered us up when we have succumbed to self-pity, kept watch over us while we were sick, and been a good sport about toddlers flopping all over him. He’s enjoyed rousing games of Frisbee, hide and seek, and find the binky (where it was usually found under his tongue). In his youth, there

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-37216737136991817572008-08-26T20:57:00.002-05:002008-08-26T21:00:23.118-05:00

This is what I call the third trimester of pregnancy-- when the daily lumber from the bathroom to the closet is filled with trepidation. Will the item I wore last week still fit? Is it possible that I have outgrown my granny panties? Will my recently purchased industrial strength bra accommodate my chest, or should I simply carry my breasts around like misbehaving puppies?Currently, my place of

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-69450289258220104852008-08-25T19:59:00.005-05:002008-08-25T20:33:31.631-05:00

This exchange was overheard at the beginning of class today. In order to capture the adolescent in its natural habitat, I posed as a "teacher," which is something the adolescent views as a cross between a human and a house plant. The conversation is transcribed virtually word for word.Young woman: Hi.Young man: Hi.YW: How was your weekend?YM: Mmmm…okay.…YW: Mine was pretty good.YM: Oh. Good.YW:

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-22746344725382358472008-08-24T20:56:00.002-05:002008-08-24T21:01:00.198-05:00

I dread going to the dentist. Dread. It. Not because of the cleanings. Not because of the occasional cavity. Not even because of the Novocain shots. I dread the confession time. I cringe when the dentist looks at me over those enormous goggles and asks, “How often do you floss?” because I have a dirty little secret: I don’t. Ever.I know, I know—you are recoiling in horror. So did one of my

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-64319784384262610652008-08-15T11:58:00.002-05:002008-08-15T12:05:22.196-05:00

If jute is so often touted as being a "natural, fast-growing, sustainable material," then it bloody well ought to be cheaper when it is made into rugs because dog vomit and sippy cup drips don't come out of the damn things!Note to all: Despite the appealing photos in Pottery Barn and Restoration Hardware catalogs, DO NOT BUY JUTE RUGS if you have a pet, child, or husband. Actually, if you have

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-74815754048454846032008-08-15T11:22:00.003-05:002008-08-17T20:12:49.869-05:00

I need to stop watching television. Last night I saw a show about two women who both miraculously survived ectopic pregnancies which burst their fallopian tubes. The placentas of their fetuses attached to other internal organs within their abdominal cavities and the fetuses began to grow outside the womb.And now I? Am never having sex again.I think I threw up in my mouth a little bit. No more

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-24993735530068351592008-08-14T20:22:00.011-05:002008-08-15T08:53:20.523-05:00

As long as this exterior remodel of our house has led me to reevaluate my financial goals, I figure I may as well start a therapy fund for the boys. Let’s face it, there’s no way they are going to reach adulthood without some major blow to their psyches--probably because of something I did. I may as well start stock piling for the inevitable analyst fees now. I mean, one of them is sure to have a

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-32944105891450620102008-08-13T11:57:00.005-05:002008-08-13T12:28:02.835-05:00

Though the wittle and daub suggestion for sealing the rotting window sill and surrounding casing was an interesting one (Kristy!), I am all out of animal dung and, as we all know, wittle and daub just doesn’t adhere well without a good dose of dung. Looks like I’ll need to replace that window after all.The architect dropped off the plans for the exterior remodel, and they look fan-tas-tic. They

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-25633021604644385392008-07-31T11:32:00.004-05:002008-08-14T22:20:06.051-05:00

The bay window I originally thought was infested with termites is really infested with flying ants. The brittle wood around the window and in the wall is rot due to a leak. I suppose this information should make me happy. I mean, rather than feasting upon the wood, termite-fashion, these ants are just using my decomposing window and wall to breed.Replacing the window has involved no less than

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-28362210511353040592008-07-29T21:08:00.010-05:002008-07-29T23:51:58.548-05:00

How we knew our four-year-old was spending too much time with his great-grandmother:He blamed his fatigue after running around the park on his “blood pressure.”He became FASCINATED with the weather report (ABC7 Chicago's Jerry Taft, specifically).After inspecting a bruise on his knee, he questioned whether his “coumadin level” was too high. (Note: He didn’t say “blood thinner”; he said “coumadin.

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-26052492781476465302008-07-25T15:13:00.003-05:002008-07-25T15:22:54.167-05:00

I am always late. ALWAYS. This used to bother me-- and occasionally it still does--however, I think I am resigning myself to the fact that I will never, ever be anywhere on time.I vaguely remember showing up to places on time in my youth. The marching band I was in during high school required that I be present early, not on time. “Early is on time; on time is late” was the phrase I think the

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-53700910828796321502008-07-21T12:13:00.003-05:002008-07-21T12:40:38.032-05:00

Here’s why: Some freak decided strollers should mirror the pre-gas crisis SUV’s (the really, really big ones), and loaded up strollers with all sorts of extras. Extras no rational human should ever need. For example, no stroller should need four cup holders, a GPS system, off road wheels, airbags, and a compass. If you find yourself seriously contemplating these stroller options, let me remind

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-8081401318919431382008-07-16T10:10:00.003-05:002008-07-16T10:23:54.479-05:00

Hey, as long as we're looking for Universal assistance in the Race for the Congo, why don't you contribute what you'd like the Universe to help YOU achieve. Laugh if you will, but my friend Kristy SWEARS by this! I was skeptical at first, but when Kristy told me she was going to ask the Universe to bring her an offer to act in a film and she got a film offer within four days, I must say I was a

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-78751540382901999582008-07-16T09:18:00.003-05:002008-07-16T10:10:19.101-05:00

...is someone with an internet connection who, I hope, is looking at my blog....For some reason, I keep making all of these references to Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness, which describes a man's journey along the Congo River. However, I don't have any red dots in Africa on my clustermap. Africa is a big continent. It stands to reason that SOMEONE must know SOMEONE who knows SOMEONE in Africa

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-46168609402346941512008-07-16T01:36:00.004-05:002008-07-16T01:48:34.516-05:00

“A slice of hell.”These are the words my sister-in-law and brother-in-law used to describe their camping experience. I feel too bad for them to mention that we all predicted this catastrophe long before the camper’s wheels touched highway concrete, so I won’t. I mean, hey, even I tried camping once. Just once.Among the items lost on the trip:One CD and CD player. (These belonged to my youngest

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-88578513608150583662008-07-13T15:02:00.003-05:002008-07-13T15:14:04.121-05:00

Window replacement estimate #2 was $5500-7500! At this rate, I won't be able to buy shoes for the rest of this decade and a good bit of the next. Not to mention that I was planning to start a Botox/chemical peel fund in case of emergency! Now it will all have to go to window replacement.Oh, the languishing.... I may have to take to my bed.Is it too much to ask the Universe to buy me a cool new

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-52030813266830627122008-07-12T13:20:00.004-05:002008-07-13T15:01:02.189-05:00

There’s nothing like an insect infestation to remind you of your LAST insect infestation.Before I reveal to you my current source of alarm, let me take you back…back…back --to one year ago when I was very, very pregnant and in the midst of a similar crisis.At the same time that my waist line and hormonal levels were careening out of control, my life was also spinning out of its normal orbit. (

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-38956717879974879562008-07-08T16:49:00.002-05:002008-07-08T16:56:51.444-05:00

My dear, dear, dear friend Kuj (the one who vociferously called me out as a Catholic when I accidentally threw the offering basket in the middle of a Lutheran service—see the mid-June post “Offering. Basket.”) got a red dot on Hawaii. This means someone in the Hawaiian Islands has looked at her blog and a red dot has appeared on her Cluster Map. She is taunting me with this. Giving me a

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-69522426940405056272008-07-02T09:53:00.002-05:002008-07-02T09:58:47.595-05:00

I just checked my blog map (right hand side and down a tiny bit with little red dots all over it). I don't have any dots in Italy. This is outrageous. I am part Italian. I LOVE eggplant parmesan. Know anyone in Italy you can make look at my blog one time?

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-53545356240908192402008-06-30T23:29:00.003-05:002008-07-01T14:09:38.020-05:00

My sister-in-law’s suffering through a week-long camping trip in a pop-up camper (mosquitoes are probably harvesting her hemoglobin in their diabolical scheme to take over the world as I type), reminds me of the Lucy/Dezi film The Long, Long Trailer where newlyweds forgo a honeymoon in a hotel for what they believe will be a less expensive option: purchasing an oversized trailer and traveling

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-12479445776334507162008-06-30T15:16:00.009-05:002008-06-30T22:32:07.202-05:00

Subtitle: We need to pray for my sister-in-law.My sister-in-law hates it when I remind her of her age. In deference to her, I will refer to Michelle as “The Sister-In-Law the 30’s Left Behind.” Michelle, like me, is a mother of two boys. When hubby is included, that’s a lot of testosterone with which she must deal. Also like me, Michelle has to put up with many, many male inspired interests.

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-17778843902231648052008-06-25T10:48:00.002-05:002008-06-25T10:55:17.097-05:00

If you think your boss is a little...high maintenance, watch this clip. Chris, one of Jeff's assistants, calls Jeff at the most recent house flipping site to tell him that Jeff's cat, Monkey, is missing. After searching the house and grounds twice, Chris leaves in order to make an appointment. This clip should be used as a public service announcment. For what, I'm not sure. But for

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-40945012891526165392008-06-24T11:28:00.007-05:002008-06-24T11:47:04.288-05:00

Okay, okay! Apparently I AM the only one who has ever had an embarrassing teenage moment. Nice. And I, alone in my humiliation, just shared the story with the world, ripping off the scab that had formed over the years and exposing my shame afresh. That’s not awkward…much. (Though I KNOW there is at least ONE person out there who has suffered a crippling purple nurple at the hands of her high

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-76033513457396343192008-06-23T22:02:00.007-05:002008-06-23T22:43:24.940-05:00

If you get a chance to watch this show on Bravo, do it. Something about this delightfully candid, homosexual, narcissistic, OCD home flipper fascinates me. I love his STYLE, but I shudder to think what it is like to live in his head. I mean, MY head can be a scary place, and I've only got the narcissism with which to contend. Dear Lord, if I were narcissistic AND OCD, I might start plucking my

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-13996920015158795092008-06-23T08:18:00.005-05:002009-01-15T13:58:28.450-06:00

The problem with friends from your adolescent years (And, KUJ, I’m talking to you.) is that they remind you of your moments of teenage folly. Being a high school teacher, I am frequently reminded of my own foibles because I see my students making the same ones I did. History does, indeed, repeat itself. Because I was such a dork/dufuss/nerd/geek/insert slur of your choice here, I am particularly

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-72763804893013152082008-06-18T11:33:00.008-05:002008-06-18T21:36:18.618-05:00

In answer to Cheryl’s post, I am taking TWO courses this summer: Instructional Media and Technology; and Introduction to Educational Research. I have just begun a master’s in Instructional Technology that will in all likelihood take about four years to complete. The result of my superhuman efforts to manage my children, husband, home, self, work, and class work is that I will be certified to work

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-66689229280598758882008-06-17T18:16:00.006-05:002008-06-18T11:56:18.730-05:00

4:15 PMThings I should have thought through prior to taking grad classes at Northern Illinois University:State universities are large. Three inch heels and cross campus treks do not mix.Universities do not use air conditioning. Ann Taylor pants, though stylish, do not work well in un-air conditioned locales.If a class starts at 4:30 and I get there at 4:10 in order to make a good impression on

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-75265377659747352172008-06-16T18:16:00.010-05:002008-06-18T11:58:46.613-05:00

So, I am sitting in the doctor’s office waiting to have the doctor tell me why I have suddenly developed these cyst-like bumps on the back of my skull/neck when an older gentleman (maybe mid-80’s??) sits down next to me. He smiles at me over my Better Homes and Gardens. I smile back and return to reading about how some color-ologists somewhere have determined that blue is the new “in” color for

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-70433620034796314692008-06-16T14:00:00.004-05:002008-06-16T16:08:32.671-05:00

I am wearing a Jones New York fall blouse paired with an Ann Taylor spring pant smeared with sun screen and guacamole. I haven't showered, either. 'Nuff said.Oh--but I have a KILLER pedicure! Tomato red. And my heels feel like butter. I'll explain the reason behind the pedicure after I drag the four year old off of the bathroom counter....More later!

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-61789442997409843752008-06-13T11:39:00.006-05:002008-06-14T08:52:01.957-05:00

It's also for those who are new to stay-at-home mommyhood. I know I'll only be home with the boys for a few weeks, but now I am finding that staying home is just as hard as working...maybe even a little harder....Bitter points to ponder: (Makes you wonder what I ponder when I’m hormonal, doesn’t it?)#1.) I’ve been a stay-at-home mother of two boys (4 years and 9 months) for four days now and I’ve

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-13124121855540194062008-06-12T14:48:00.003-05:002008-06-13T08:04:37.027-05:00

Okay, Okay! It’s June 12th! After weeks away, I just checked my recent posts and, clearly, I should have been more specific than just saying I'd return "in June." No, I didn't mean June 2009. My bad. But, hey, when I’ve made a blogging faux pas, I admit it. So, here I am admitting my faux pas to the world: I wasn’t specific, World, and that was an error on my part! I apologize from the depths of

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-31804328428561014342008-04-30T20:31:00.005-05:002008-04-30T21:22:16.515-05:00

Regret is a wasted emotion, I’ve been told. And I agree. Why waste good energy on regret when revenge is so much more productive, right? (I kid, I kid! …Or do I??) Still, enlightened though I am, there are a few things I do regret: I regret that I cannot find reruns of Moonlighting on cable. I regret that I haven’t flossed since…um, ever. (I realize some of you are gagging and clawing at your

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-72299656957224603962008-04-27T14:45:00.004-05:002008-04-27T15:16:39.314-05:00

Due to the way some meetings were scheduled at work, I was able to take a longer lunch than usual on Wednesday. A friend and I scooted off to Panera Bread (That's Saint Louis Bread Company for you Missouri dwellers) for a light repast and girly gab session. Because of our superfluity of work materials (laptops, etc.), we couldn’t do the usual ladies partner lavatory dance; one of us had to stay

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-8235786954163601742008-04-22T15:57:00.006-05:002008-04-22T16:51:19.864-05:00

[The irony that today is Earth Day has not been wasted on me. Such is the depths of my frustration, I have gone ahead and posted this missive despite the national recognition of our planet.]My husband did it again. He messed with our light bulbs.For the past twelve years, Scott and I have had a recurring marital mêlée concerning our light switches. I like them in the “on” position; he likes them

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-11922489713334812672008-04-20T21:28:00.008-05:002008-04-22T16:45:20.492-05:00

You know, if I were famous, I could say that I was off shooting an artsy indie flick, and you’d all cock an eyebrow and nod politely while secretly thinking I’ve spent the past ten days in a “spa” that either a.)de-toxed/super cleansed my colon in yet another effort to drop these dreaded last few pregnancy pounds (not that I’m bitter…much); b.) specialized in tasteful cosmetic surgery and allowed

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-54393121801315130122008-04-09T22:06:00.005-05:002008-04-09T22:18:13.838-05:00

I am fascinated by the intricacies of personalized advertisements on the web. Apparently some software genius developed these programs that track what we web surfers view. As we blissfully troll through the internet, little software spies run around gathering data about what it is we find interesting and begin to cater to our preferences. Within moments, advertisements are pushed out to us

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-35425458039154548382008-04-08T19:36:00.009-05:002008-04-08T21:53:48.366-05:00

(Note: The situation below prevented me from getting back to Katina, who clearly has an artist's eye for finding beauty in every situation. I can't believe I missed that photo opportunity, Katina. I'm learning that I need to be more on the ball with the camera. Yes, Cheryl, I missed yet ANOTHERphoto op! Anyway, here's a shout out to Katina and her photographer's eye. And here's another shout out

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-51222512885324358002008-04-06T08:50:00.001-05:002008-04-06T08:52:21.280-05:00

We welcome New York. Nice to see you New York, and thanks for playing! Bring it, Universe!

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-13181446642059370502008-04-05T13:00:00.004-05:002008-04-05T13:03:42.504-05:00

I never would have expected that I would catch my three year old drizzling oregano on the 7 month old and have to SERIOUSLY EXPLAIN why we COULD NOT put his baby brother in a pot and cook him....

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-11469517052117319162008-04-05T11:09:00.008-05:002008-04-05T18:35:26.008-05:00

[UPDATE: The Six Degrees of Un-Separation Project welcomes TEXAS, CALIFORNIA, WISCONSIN, ILLINOIS, IOWA, MISSOURI, CONNECTICUT, NORTH (or maybe SOUTH) CAROLINA, OHIO, PENNSYLVANIA, OREGON, NEW MEXICO, ARIZONA, ALASKA, INDIANA, GEORGIA, CANADA, and AUSTRALIA! You GO, Universe! I believe in you!] My mother’s neurotic tendency to worry is, apparently, genetic. The same DNA recipe that makes my

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-51205259016343253962008-04-02T22:56:00.007-05:002008-04-03T00:17:23.801-05:00

(UPDATE: The Six Degrees Of Un-Separation Project welcomes ALASKA, NEW MEXICO, INDIANA, and OHIO! A special shout out goes to a new continent: AUSTRALIA! The squeal and subsequent fist pump in the air when I pulled up the cluster map and realized we'd gone multinational drew many stares from my coworkers. We're sending you the love, Australia! Will the Universe bring us Europe, South America, and

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-81973056210488608062008-03-31T17:33:00.006-05:002008-04-01T04:45:36.240-05:00

(NOTE: If you are here for the Six Degrees of Un-Separation Project, my thanks! If you'd like more information about this, please look at the post below. And welcome INDIANA!)Besides my many responsibilities and pursuance of designer footwear, I engage in a veritable plethora of endeavors. Clearly, one of my favorites is using words with eight or more letters. Another favorite is starting rumors

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-80994768262571227312008-03-29T00:22:00.012-05:002008-03-31T11:39:42.258-05:00

UPDATE: The Project welcomes TEXAS, CALIFORNIA, WISCONSIN, ILLINOIS, IOWA, MISSOURI, MARYLAND, DELAWARE?? (I can't quite tell.... could be NEW JERSEY or CONNECTICUT), NORTH (or maybe SOUTH?) CAROLINA, OHIO (possibly PENNSYLVANIA depending on what side of the state), WASHINGTON (possibly OREGON--it's hard to tell on the map), and CANADA. Canada deserves a special shout out as the first non-US

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-47748251281528636632008-03-28T01:46:00.004-05:002008-03-28T02:12:25.103-05:00

Perhaps I've just watched Steel Magnolias one too many times or maybe it's the dreary Chicago weather, but I feel compelled to note that being a mom (well, THIS mom, anyway) isn't all about obsession with my wrinkles and shoe wear. When it comes down to it, focusing on fashion and crow's feet help me get through the looooooooooooong mommy day. If I actually allowed myself to think about the

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-73503100863770567322008-03-27T00:59:00.006-05:002008-03-27T01:07:04.347-05:00

Me (surfing Zappos.com for spring shoe fashions): Paris Hilton has a line of shoes?? Of all the ridiculousness. People should boycott her line just on principle. I mean, really? The message she sends to the youth of Ameri-- Oh, those are cuuuuuuuuuute! And cheaaaaaaaap! You go, Paris!

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-79847307833953461952008-03-27T00:24:00.007-05:002008-03-28T17:10:28.734-05:00

It just so happens that my friend Kathy got Botox-ed. In an effort to fully explore my Road to Gorgeousness options, I decided to perform a little research and inquire into Kathy’s experience-- especially after Cheryl informed me that Botox hurts. (Sadly, I have been diagnosed with a severe case of low pain tolerance. There is no cure.)However, before I could get in a word about Botox, Kathy

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-10466504364525815752008-03-26T09:01:00.004-05:002008-03-26T09:06:15.791-05:00

That's why the following post appears long. (It's really not. It's almost all in short bullet points.) I mean, not to toot my own horn or anything, but it takes a number of incidences before I completely lose it. Unless I'm pregnant. Then, you take your life in your hands....

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-40271000841668505512008-03-25T23:18:00.012-05:002008-03-26T10:33:15.889-05:00

Despite Kuj’s encouragement (“’Tis better to have Botox-ed and lost, than to never have Botox-ed at all….”), I decided to go Bare Minerals. I figured it was a less dramatic update to my skin than Botox or a skin peel. Not that I won’t consider those in the future, especially if wine and peer pressure are involved. And when I do, Cheryl, you are IN for the group discount! (And don't even get me

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-50196503630191254122008-03-23T14:13:00.003-05:002008-03-24T14:29:09.756-05:00

What does it mean when your three year old says, "Mommy, I love you to pieces!" and then follows it up with, "Of course, the pieces are kind of big...."

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-66905507213690346852008-03-22T10:26:00.009-05:002008-03-24T14:37:47.468-05:00

To Bare Minerals or not to Bare Minerals, that is the question. Whether ‘tis better for the skin to suffer the slings and arrows of liquid and compact powder make-up or to spend $60 on a Bare Minerals Starter Kit, is the question with which I now wrestle. Here’s why:There’s this coworker who has GORGEOUS, FLAWLESS skin that GLISTENS with a RADIOUSNESS that is ETHEREAL, and I am all a-shiver with

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-62433260789865190362008-03-20T07:33:00.005-05:002008-03-24T14:41:42.293-05:00

(Remember, I was pregnant. I cannot be held accountable. Also, Scott is still alive and well. He was not permanently damaged in any way...and he never grew breasts, either. )The Story:So, poor, weak, pregnant me calls Scott to come to the bedroom. I weakly ask him to bring me some saltines to ease my stormy stomach. Here's the kicker, though: he sighs and then brings the crackers. Sighs! At me!

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-79272545541334932952008-03-18T21:14:00.004-05:002008-03-18T21:43:46.676-05:00

Lest my husband, who is a very good man to put up with all my complaining and dramatics, sound anything less than saintly when viewed through the lens of my laptop, I offer the following letter I wrote to my good friend Lauren last spring. If this doesn't make you feel sorry for the poor guy and offer up a prayer for the patient man who lives with me, I don't know what will. There are three key

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-22758525701949376332008-03-17T19:54:00.004-05:002008-03-17T20:38:07.598-05:00

Cheryl, I COMPLETELY missed a good photo op of the short one in kabuki. From now on, I vow to be more on the ball with the cell-cam. I can't believe I didn't think of that in the moment! (I sigh the beleaguered sigh of the mommy who dropped the ball....)It occurred to me that I might need to clarify things a bit. I don’t want to mislead anyone. As wonderfully caring, devastatingly good looking,

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-74552313992337064252008-03-16T14:18:00.002-05:002008-03-16T14:26:44.834-05:00

Regarding the demise of the compact florescent bulbs, the slingshot idea was brilliant, Melissa! When Scott caught me coming in from the yard wearing a raincoat and galoshes (Michael Kors, of course—I cannot compromise foot fashion, even in the case of outdoor wear) to protect my body from flying glass shards while sporting safety goggles (eye safety cannot be minimized in a situation like

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-78287216876467408942008-03-13T20:47:00.003-05:002008-03-13T21:26:07.490-05:00

I am absolutely appalled by Eliot Spitzer. Not because he (allegedly) paid over $4000 per session to a high priced $1000/hour call girl. Not because he publicly advocated moral integrity while he (allegedly) privately succumbed to carnal delights. Not because he (allegedly) spent more in total on prostitutes than I make in an entire year. I am appalled because Spitzer found the time to govern the

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-24907162882037545812008-03-12T18:14:00.004-05:002008-03-12T18:29:25.199-05:00

My mother is giving me grief about my last post. She doesn't know how to operate a mouse, but my BROTHER does, and he's clearly out to get me. This will come back to haunt him when next Christmas rolls around. I'll be DAMNED if I will run interference for him as the egg nog is passed around and our mother starts questioning him about when he is going to settle down! Anyway, my mother will not let

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-11810470779555310642008-03-10T16:25:00.003-05:002008-03-11T19:21:03.629-05:00

My mother is neurotic. Every time she comes over, she scrutinizes the "sell by" dates on all of our groceries and warns me of the dangers of salmonella. Every. Time. Not just milk, either. I'm talking about her inspecting the freshness of our mustard and pickles. Do these things really ever go bad or is this just another sign of my mother's paranoia? I recently found out that my mother's bachelor

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-50985750848154324212008-03-10T16:07:00.003-05:002008-03-10T16:18:35.433-05:00

I wish I were making this up. Our three year old, Josh, needs to have hernia surgery. We met with the pediatric surgeon and scheduled the procedure for next week. Naturally, I'm nervous about Josh being under anesthetic and operated upon, so I've been a little more tense than usual, which is to say I am clinging to my sanity by the tips of my imperfectly-manicured nails. This build of anxiety may

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-56517725500166020042008-03-08T10:14:00.002-06:002008-03-08T10:27:08.376-06:00

(The final 3 Postpartum Surprises will be featured next week.)Dante totally missed out when he wrote The Divine Comedy. He only identified nine circles of Hell. He is missing the tenth, and most vital layer in Inferno. That layer is called “The Family Car Trip.”I don’t know how it happened. One minute I was blithely having dinner with some friends while our offspring rough-housed in the next

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-36623284208982187592008-03-05T15:43:00.003-06:002008-03-05T16:58:17.394-06:00

There’s nothing worse than being cornered at a Christmas party and being forced to listen to someone’s peculiar medical issues. This conversation always seems to occur at the precise moment after I’ve choosen a shrimp appetizer and before I’ve popped the succulent morsel into my mouth. It is then that some medical experiment on legs chooses to announce the intimate, grisly details of his hair

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-57147813518183321382008-03-04T18:26:00.004-06:002008-03-04T20:59:02.262-06:00

There are a number of things people don’t tell you about regarding the days immediately following the birth of one’s child. I don’t know why these things are kept secret. I mean, certainly the motivation to keep things quiet is not to grandly surprise the new mother. It’s not as though friends and relatives are planning an event where they will jump out suddenly and bellow, “Surprise! You’ve got

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-77994319930044048242008-03-03T17:09:00.004-06:002008-03-03T17:35:41.381-06:00

I love texting, and I am a firm believer in using technology to make life easier, but there are some situations where texting just will not do. There are certain things that must be said in person…or at least, you know, live. Example: I friend of mine was broken up with via text message. (I know, I know, you are recoiling in horror, as was I when I heard of this texting faux pas! Texters

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-82326548946777530862008-03-02T10:22:00.003-06:002008-03-02T12:42:51.591-06:00

As a perpetually busy working mom, I communicate with friends and family in frantic, haphazard ways. Out of necessity, I have had to adopt faster and faster methods of sending communiqués to my near and dear. Email puts me at the mercy of an internet service provider who may or may not be having a good day. Plus, I need to be stationary in order to compose an email, and I have precious little

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-15664561365768277762008-03-01T09:04:00.000-06:002008-03-01T09:52:16.214-06:00

We all have our gifts. Some of us play musical instruments. Some of us have a profound understanding of the stock market. Some of us have 20/20 vision and straight teeth. I am a gifted complainer. I could never be in the Complaining Olympics because I went pro as a child. I am not, however, a moper. There is a distinction between a complainer and a moper that is not unlike the distinction between

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6113321530115783132.post-62796354997881206062008-02-29T13:20:00.000-06:002008-03-01T08:59:23.847-06:00

Our lives began to change long before we held our child in our arms.There was the actual pregnancy to deal with, which we both approached in radically different ways. My husband viewed my changing body with a sense of awe and pride. In his mind, my shifting silhouette was proof positive that his boys could swim, that he was the consummate manly man. Yup, a few minutes of unprotected sleepy sex,

Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12019597504149759465noreply@blogger.com0