Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The Truth About Kate

So Lydia asked me to go read and edit her Truth About Lydia piece...and while I'm one that uses my myriad of mirrors for general reflection and not actual introspective reflection, after reading Lydia's very honest and no-holds-barred self-reflection, I thought I should do the same. After all, I am more than just much as McLovin might disagree. And, where Lydia compiled hers into a list, mine is a big, steaming pile...just make sure to laugh loudly:

Un-Varnished Truths about Kate, Mom of Three and Unmitigated Disaster

  • I hit on McLovin when he -- and his boss -- came to my office. He was working and I was like, "hey handsome." [OK, so I didn't actually say "Hey handsome" but I tend to be about as subtle as the plague.] Yeah, that's professional. But, six years later he married me, so who's the professional now? (thank you Thumbelina for this *AWESOME* word)
  • I was in a horrific accident when I was 20 -- face fully through the windshield. Thankfully, Dr. Awesome Plastic Surgeon happened to come into the emergency room. I was plain before and pretty after - so I'm unbelievably thankful. But a little scared about my long term facial prospects. How long before all that stuff in my face melts or dissolves or whatever happens to excessive amounts of plastic in a hostile environment? I think one day I'll wake up and my face will have collapsed like a flan in a cupboard. I think I'm looking at two options (see below).
  • McLovin is constantly amazed by the cemetery of kids' shoes, hats, coats, gloves, scarves, backpacks, band instruments, lunch boxes, toys and bags that are dumped right inside the front door. And then he goes into our bedroom and sees the collection shoes, belts, sweaters, coats, more shoes, boots, jeans and shoes I haven't worn since last season dumped on the floor. And then he wonders why he built me an entire closet.
  • Season One and I share custody of Lefty and McGee. Which means that every couple of days, he comes and takes my kids to his house (which is 8 houses down the street, but still). Awful. At first, I had no idea what to do with myself. Now, I want you to think about that feeling you get as bedtime is approaching. On one of those days when bedtime can't. come. soon. enough. Maybe once or twice I was OK with our custody arrangement and the corresponding decrease in chaos that went with it. Maybe. Possibly. For example, on an afternoon when school was cancelled for the eleventy-fourth day in a row due to snow.
  • But then, with the peace and quiet and lovely glass of wine, I also get the GUILT. Ahhhh. The gift that keeps on giving. It was like a two-for-one deal: Pay for the divorce, get the guilt for free. And apparently never-ending. Awesome!
  • My eternally referenced Shoe Collection is the end result of having a full-time job that I lost in the recession. Right after we bought a new house...and couldn't sell McLovin's old house. And now we pay two mortgages. I take comfort in the fact that a pair of shoes, if sold, could pay the mortgage. McLovin doesn't see the comfort in this. Odd. I say the same thing about his Baseball Card collection. Who needs an old photo of Mickey Mantle? Now he hides them from me.
  • I was getting on an elevator once and snapped the heel of my most favorite pair of shoes in that little void between the floor and the elevator. I yelled an obscenity SO LOUD that the elevator stopped working. Permanently. It was at my former place of employment. I figure we're even.
  • Lefty, when left to play Only Kid (that's their favorite game, but, obviously, they each play it separately) will put on my thigh-high boots and his Darth Vader Cape and play Pirate. Just the cape and boots. And I love it and secretly hope he'll be gay because I need someone to go shoe shopping with me when I'm older and he's my only shopper. Come to think of it, McGee and Happy spend a decent amount of their Only Kid time in My Closet, too. It's nature AND nurture.
  • I crawl my pathetic self out of bed every morning at 5:30 to go workout. Because it's healthy? No. Because of heart disease and cholesterol? God, no. Because I want the other MOMs and MOSs to see me at the pool and mutter, "Bitch." Yeah.
  • I absolutely lose my schmidt when we're running late. To Church. To school. To an.y.where. Lose my mind. I'm habitually early, even if that means I'm sitting in front of your house for 20 minutes like some deranged stalker statue. I won't bother you. I won't come to the door early. I simply bask in the glow of my phenomenal early-ness. [Editorial Comment: This is so true. She'll sit in her car texting for like fifteen minutes before she knocks on the door rather than just show up, frazzled, 5 minutes late like a normal person. Wierd... - Lydia]
  • Speaking of which, all the IHPs were born ON THEIR DUE DATES. Because my doctor was that awesome? Well, yeah. But more because they weren't about to meet me for the first time ever and have to say "Hey, you must be Mom! Sorry I'm late"? Oh, even yesser.
  • I came this close to letting McLovin name the baby Mickey Mantle. Fortunately for me, the pain during labor was enough that I was like, "Are you out. of your. ever. loving. mind? I'm blowing the blood vessels in my eyeballs trying to get this kid out and you want to name him what? [breathe] Tell you what, honey. If he comes out, and he's a HE, and he is pre-equipped with a baseball glove already in his hand, you can name him whatever you want." Seriously, for 15 minutes I was terrified that I might have accidentally made a baseball glove in there.
  • My best days? The IHPs Birthdays. Because at some point, McLovin will be chatting up Season One and handing him a beer and they'll clink at their ability to co-dad. And then I smile. And then I say thank you. And then I call every president a pussy for not being able to negotiate peace in the Middle East.

  • I can spend hours in my kitchen. It's circa 1950 and super-tiny and you can't open the dishwasher without closing the kitchen door first, and if you open the refrigerator and the oven at the same time, you can create your own weather pattern, which is cool. And, a lot of the time, it's full of yummy smells and a waiting glass of wine and the kitchen TV probably has about 237 episodes of Law & Order recorded on it. Throw in a pillow and a blanket and I'd never leave.
  • Whenever McLovin and I go somewhere where they ask you for your name, McLovin says, "yes, we're the McLovins. M- little c - capital L - O -V - I - N." And I try to keep a straight and totally serious face. And then when they call out "McLovin, party of two" I dissolve into giggles...every. single. time. Sometimes, I'll even ask to put us on the list even when there isn't a wait. We'll stand here for fifteen minutes while that table sits empty, thanks. Just make sure you use the PA system. Because. It's. Funny.
  • In a perfect world, I'd be a professional puzzle putter-together-er.

I loved Lydia's list because it shows her as this coffee-stained, yoga-pant wearing Hot Mess. And, well, yeah, she is those things. But she's beautiful and kind and snort-coffee-funny and she has the squishiest children ever, especially Mini Mini Me, who I would totally steal but for the fact that she. has. lungs. Screw the Amber Alerts, just follow the trail of shattered glass.

And she makes the meanest Spring Rolls ever, and taught me the brilliance of Coffee with Egg Nog HELLO!!! AWESOME!!! And she saw past the narcissistic Barbie, and made me laugh at the absurdities of motherhood rather than going insane because of them. I think without her I might have thought Perfect Mommy had it right...and we all know that can't be possible, because, first of all, Perfect Mommy calls her blog GOOP (gross!) and second of all, right now, as I type this, I'm wearing those hideous sneakers...again.

Suck it Fancy! (Editorial Comment: Sniffle... sniffle... waahhhh... I love you, too, sweetie. YOU'RE SO AWESOME. xo, Lyd)

McLovin, party of five. Your life is ready.

Bring. It. On.

But make it quick. Jimmy Choo closes in an hour. Mickey Mantle can pay the mortgage this month.

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