Vote For Me, Dudes

I'm thrilled to announce that I've been nominated for a BlogLuxe Award!

(Polite golf clap)

So what does this mean exactly? Yea, I'm not exactly sure either, except the very nice lady that sent me the email said that I'm part of the FUNNY category (which is a good thing cause if they had me as part of the cooking category people would have been quite disappointed when they got here).

Could you all just drop everything and click here and go cast your vote for me? I'm now in the MIDDLE section of the FUNNIEST category. You can vote once per day, every day through July 12. After that, it's in the hands of the blog gods. Or the people that decide this thingy.

In return, if YOU have a blog that you'd like me to follow, give me a shout out on Twitter or here and I will happily follow you to the ends of the Earth, or er, Twitter. Or your blog anyway. Hey, I'll sell my soul for a vote.

You got a problem with that?

Now, off with you.

And thanks.

Please follow me here on my blog since I'm having a serious inferiority complex about that and SHOW ME THE FOLLOWER LOVE.

Tell ALL of your friends. Yep. Every one of them. (I don't ask for much.)

And guess what? You can be the first to see a preview of my upcoming book, The ManCode. Yea, baby.

Stay tuned for details.

Yea, I Didn't Want To Go There Either...

So here's my last twenty-four hours:

My four-year-old spiked a really high fever (over 103 degrees) and because he is more stubborn than Megatron on a good day, he refused to take any Tylenol or Motrin. As in nada. Nothing.


Having a four-year-old with a high fever is only marginally worse than having a fifty-six year old husband with a fever in terms of grump factor. At least with the husband I can throw some food at him and shut the door.


Oh wait, that's the dog.


So my kid's refusal to take his meds could have been due to the fever. But it wasn't. My kid can be the sweetest, most loving Tasmanian devil--I mean, child--on the planet, but when he makes his mind up, that. is. it.

So we did what parents everywhere have done when their kids have high fevers and won't take their medicine ORALLY. (It's okay. I'll wait while you catch up.)

Took a shot of vodka and pulled down his Spongebob jammie pants.

Somehow I don't remember being excited about this part of parenthood when I read the manual.

Believe me, there were 2,004 OTHER THINGS I would have rather been doing than putting a suppository of acetaminophen up my child's nether regions. But we had exhausted all other options and his fever was climbing ever higher. It was time to er, take matters into our own hands.

Words like hate, moron, and stupid spewed from his mouth after this interaction and I can't say I blame him. Most were directed at my husband. Can't say I wasn't happy about that. (Hey, in times of stress, you take all the favoritism you can get.)

Today rolled around and the little oven and I headed off to the pediatrician's office. Fortunately, the wait was minimal. If I had known what was in store for me however, I would have rejoiced in that small victory. Why? Well, the visit was hell (Tas was not in a cooperative mood, poor baby). When I went to pay, the credit card wouldn't go through. Say what?

Got that straightened out. They said they'd fax over the prescription to our pharmacy. Great. Get to the pharmacy and guess what? Well, what always happens when you get there without calling first: no prescription. No record of the prescription. Of course not. This is Monday and I should change my name to Murphy at this point.

Get the doc on the phone--they did try to fax but line was busy. Amazing to me how people crash and burn into the pharmacy on Monday like addicts. I used to work in one--I know.

If you want to learn how to be mean to people, go work in a pharmacy. It's an exercise in frustration, working with doctor's offices, insurance companies, and sick people. Next time you are mean to your pharmacy counter staff, take a step back and think about the daily shit they take and bring them a coffee instead--or money to go get a college degree to get the hell out of there.

Anyway, the boy and I went to get a car wash while we waited for them to fill the prescription. When we got there, it was broken. Of course it was. At that moment, my husband called to tell me the puppy had pooped in the house (like there was anything I could do about it? Hey I wanted a cat.). Then the pharmacy called to say they don't have the antibiotic and did I want them to call it in to the other pharmacy that's eight miles away.

Then I got a call that a friend was mad at me for something I didn't do. It all got worked out pretty quickly, thank goodness and we're golden now, but that was it. My breaking point.

I just sat in the car and cried.

Thank goodness we were parked.

My dollbaby of a son came up front to wipe my tears and told me I was the prettiest mama in the whole world--well, that I would be if I'd just stop crying.

That made me laugh.

So, all is not good. He's still sick. I still don't have his prescription. My puppy is still barking at me. And my husband is still kind of grouchy, though not sick (so what the hell is up with that?).

But hey--I feel pretty.

Breeding the Monster

As a mom of two children, I will admit that I sometimes (okay, frequently) allow TV to keep my kids company while I get chores done or god forbid, do some writing.


I know. Kill me now.



But hey, I was raised in a home where we watched a lot of TV and I turned out just fine, excluding the fact that I talk to myself more than once a day.

I can tell you the plot of every "Brady Bunch" episode (there was a plot?); I have seen most every episode of the original "Star Trek" series (where William Shatner spoke----like----this); and I probably saw every "Little House on the Prairie" show at least twice (I desperately wanted to be called half-pint but it just never took).

Call me crazy, but I happen to think that TV is not so bad. Well, let me qualify that statement since a lot of TV that is on now I wouldn't let my puppy watch, blindfolded.


So, yea, it's a lot different than when we grew up. Though, with some careful monitoring by myself and my husband (and by that I mean we chose three or four shows they can watch over and over and over again--which is what kids tend to do anyway), our kids can watch a few shows we approve of.



Like what? Well, though I can't stand it myself, Spongebob is on the allowed list. He's actually a sweet little guy who has good morals, as much as I hate to admit it. He loves his friends and works hard for his boss, the creepy crab guy who practically orgasms over money. The Spongey dude is also eager to please -- okay so over-the-top eager that they'd have no show otherwise -- but is that so bad? Wait. Don't answer that.


Now, if I could just do something about that annoying voice.






Also, we let them watch iCarly. Though my mother was horrified by the show (which just gave it even more cache for my daughter), we think it's a pretty cool little show. Having no parents around gives it the neat, fantasy factor. Chic clothes give it the hip, 'girls want to be her' factor. Yea, the female Sam character is pretty much a juvenile delinquent, but it's done with so much humor and outlandishness, there's really no way that kids can't understand that in real life her behavior would be unacceptable.


In other words, it's entertainment. (Maybe not for grandmas, but hey.)






I totally respect parents who limit their kid's TV viewing to an hour or two per week. I limit it, but I'm a bit more generous. Listen, I grew up watching a lot, but I also grew up reading a ton. I figure I turned out okay. Wait...


Well, my kids don't seem worse off (despite the end of the world as we know it studies) and most of all, I love using it as a tool in my arsenal to mess with them-- I mean use as a disciplinary tactic. "If you don't clean your room, no TV for a week!" Like that.



That same technique also works for getting homework and reading done, as well as chores.




I've bred the monster; now I simply withhold the food.




I can be cruel.


I love being a mother.











Follow me here or on Twitter @RachelintheOC. I can also be found watching the occasional "Phineas & Ferb" on the Disney Channel where I'm often wondering "Where's Perry?"

I Spy

Since I started writing more, my husband suggested I parcel out the chores to each member of the family.

Which is to say, nothing is getting done.

"Hey," my guy will say in protest, "I do the laundry," adding a "harrumph" for effect.

To which I reply: "I Spy with my little eye--two loads of laundry that have been sitting in the laundry room for, oh, two days now."

4yo son pipes in with, "Ooh, I LOVE I Spy books! Can we go read one right now?"

Me: "Sure, honey. Go get one--check in the laundry room."

Husband, not feeling it: "Haha. I said I would do the laundry. I didn't say I would fold it or put it away. That is woman's work."

Me, recoiling in feminist horror: "Lukas, where's that I Spy book? I need to hit your father on the head with it."

I think I've subconsciously (and by that I mean totally consciously) started to take on my Twitter friend @SunnySoCal's philosophy regarding housework, which is...meh. It's just not worth stressing over. (Of course, that could just be part of her German Mother Housekeeping Aversion Therapy.)

Here's the thing. If someone comes in your home and says "I Spy a lot of crap and you are a terrible housekeeper," then screw 'em. Do you really want those people in your home anyway? (Of course those people are usually German mothers--but you see my point.)

Listen, I live in the OC--The Land of Pristine Homes. I'm taking a risk here.

But I want to write. Writing is in my soul. And do other cool things like be with my family. Walk on the beach. Read great books. Drink a martini. Or two. And maybe sleep in late once in a while, darn it.

Cleaning is w a y down on my to-do list -- just slightly on par with cooking, actually.

Hey, will you look at that: I Spy my to-do list wrinkled up in the garbage can.

Now if only I can get my guy to replace the bag after he takes out the trash, I could spy my (less than) perfect life.

It's in there. I just have to wade through all this laundry to find it.

If you enjoy this post, please follow me here on my blog or on Twitter @RachelintheOC where I can be found discussing important life questions such as whether I should change my flavor of Coffeemate.