TKO

It has taken me 30+ years to realize I'm kind of a loser. Before you roll your eyes let me explain. I freely admit that most of my life I have had self-confidence that is disproportionate to my abilities. It's not that I'm arrogant - but a lot of times I see or read something and think "Why is that so hard. I could do it." only to realize there's a reason there are professional artists, painters, chefs, sewers, plumbers, gardeners. I have painted numerous canvases. I have tried a bevy of household improvements projects (DIY of course). And I usually fail. So, back to my point, I'm realizing as I enter a certain phase of my life that I kind of suck.

The latest blow to my self-esteem came courtesy of George Foreman. Yes, in addition to being a loser I'm a sucker. I bought a George Foreman Lean Mean Grillin' Machine (heretofore the GFLMGM). In my defense, I bought it for Bryon's birthday. He was on a health kick, he likes to grill, it is 400 degrees here in the summer. I do recall that when he saw the GFLMGM for the first time he said "What do we need a f****** George Foreman grill for?"

"For your f****** birthday," I said.

I decided to try the GFLMGM for the first time today. And again, something that looks magical and simple on TV turned out to be anything but magical. First of all our house now smells like someone burned plastic bags filled with garlic. Secondly, it smokes more than Keith Richards, and thirdly, clean up is not a 'breeze.' Well maybe if you have a fire hose and hazmat gloves.

Tonight I'm trying the panini press.

Not So Fast

You ever have one of those mornings where you wake up refreshed, the kids are happy, the morning goes smoothly, everyone eats breakfast, dresses quickly, makes it to school on time, your commute is quick and uneventful. You're walking into work in a sassy dress and your jaunty heels thinking "I feel pretty good today. Lookin' pretty good this morning."

If you're like me those days are few and far between. And if you are like me, those mornings are cut short when, while sitting in your first meeting of the day, you realize you never zipped that sassy dress. And the side zipper that goes from your hip to your armpit is gaping open, exposing 10 or so inches of your upper hip, belly and the tired-ass bra you've had since 1997.

Just God's way of reminding me to be humble.

Sorry To Disappoint

I am not a good cook. To be honest, I don't aspire to be. Sure one of these days I'd like to learn 10 good recipes that don't involve melting cheese, microwaving or Betty Crocker, but not because I care about food - I tend to think food is overrated - but because my long-suffering family deserves better. Most of our dinners are a variation on the same theme - a protein, a starch, a vegetable.

One night last week I got sidetracked while making dinner. When I put Sam's plate of fish and scalloped potatoes in front of him, he asked, "What is this?"

"Your dinner. Fish and potatoes."

"Is that it?"

"Yes. I was going to make green beans, but I got sidetracked. So instead of three things you just have two."

"But I expect three."

So what I realized is that even when you have low expectations, it is possible to be disappointed.

What I've Learned

I have to admit that in the past 7 or so years I have had moments of desperation, moments when I needed to finish a phone conversation, clean up a broken glass, use the bathroom or just stare at the wall, when I let my children play with well-intentioned but misguided household items.

For example, when Sam was just over 1 year old I let him play with a large box of packing peanuts. He wasn't the type of kid who put everything in his mouth. I was in the same room with him. What could be the harm? But I soon realized things were getting out of hand when the peanuts started clinging to everything and the more you tried to pick them up the more electromagnetic they became. Reaching for them only caused them to scoot tauntingly across the floor. Forget about vacuuming. The air from the vacuum pushed them under every piece of furniture and into every corner. To this day when I open the closet in the den or reach under the credenza for a toy I find bits of packing peanuts and I swear they are giggling.

On another occasion I let Jake play in the refrigerator while I made dinner. Like Abby today, Jake used to like to reorganize the fridge and this particular time he found a green crate of cherry tomatoes very interesting. Again, what's the harm? They're squishy. They roll. Exactly. They're squishy because they are filled with red tomato juice. And they roll under furniture, under your feet, under the fridge.

The next time I needed to distract Jake in the kitchen I turned to a bit of advice I'd read in a parenting magazine. Turn over a colander and let your child push uncooked thin spaghetti noodles through the holes. Brilliant! Until I realized uncooked spaghetti is sharp and breaks easily and ka-pings its broken shards across the room. Especially when it is being jammed into a colander by a 2 year old. You can't sweep the bits up because they are just small enough to repeatedly sweep under the dustpan so you end up picking up every piece by hand. The next thing you know your child is screaming because you are taking away his uncooked noodles.

I'm sorry to say I haven't really wised up with Abby. She's intrigued by ice cubes so I once filled a bowl with cubes, sat her in the middle of the kitchen floor and went about my business. But not only could she not get a consistent, lasting hold on the cubes, they began to melt. After one good slip and fall we were done with the ice cubes.

Her latest obsession is cat food. She likes to pour it from bowl to bowl and serve it to the cats, often forcing their heads into the bowls. But in pouring from bowl to bowl a lot of cat food ends up on the floor. When we went through a bag of cat food in one day I realized I needed to try something else. Plus, if I had to pick a piece of cat food off my bare feet one more time I was going to lose it.

So, from cat food we tried black eyed peas. Abby's school has a water play table they fill with dried rice and beans when the kids have to play inside. This may be where she gets her pouring obsession. So, if it's good enough for day care, it's good enough for us. The last time we got groceries Bryon bought a bag of uncooked black eyed peas. This turned out to be a worse idea than the blipping cat food. Sure she loved to play with them. Pour. Measure. Scoop. Throw. Kick. Crunch. Sweep. Crunch. You get the idea.

Maybe one of these days I'll figure this thing out. Until then I'm going back to aspirin bottles and matches.