What is sexy?

The mister breaking out the Dyson and vacuuming the kitchen floor after one of the bubbas tossed a handful of Cheerios at his brother.

So hot.

This week's obsession: serial killers

I can feel you stomping your foot in protest, faithful readers. Roya get a clue and lighten up, you shout. Stop obsessing about your existence and serial killers. Why are you such a downer?

I live in the sticks, do you not REMEMBER? I can't just dust and fold shirts ALL DAY! I am stomping my foot now, right back at you. Like these shoes? They hurt.

A loooong time ago I wrote a piece about motherhood equaling irrational fears. I was proud Magnus had the courage to go down a big slide at age two but silently held my breath each time, convinced he would hurtle his tiny body into a lump on the ground and never stand again.

So it should not surprise anyone that I have been wondering about serial killers and if bad parenting trumped the genetics card for some of the people sitting on death row. Not that I would be as bad as Charles Manson's mother, who gave birth to him and then did everything she could to never see him again. I saw an interview with Charles M and he said he attempted to return times to his mother numerous times after living with various relatives or staying in juvenile centers. She thwarted every attempt. Your own mother saying I am good on my own, thanks. That has got to fuck with you.

Okay, so I am not that bad. But do I leave Magnus on his own too much while I perform important tasks like write copy for clients? Or like right now, when I am blogging about how not being with him might increase his risk for anti-social behavior and perhaps homicide? And he's in his room quietly building a dull sword out of Lego?

A fellow mom friend shares my concern. Her two boys are older and lock themselves in their rooms for hours on end. She can only get them to come out if she yells "IN N' OUT!!" They are also surly at
dinner and want to be left alone right after. She says they have not harmed the family cat but she checks on it every night before she goes to bed.

Because I am cerebral and drawn to research and bad TV, I have been watching documentaries on You Tube about serial killers, paying close attention to their formative years. So far I have covered Richard Ramirez, Charles M, the Green River killer, Ed Gein and John Wayne Gacy. And there are some messed up childhoods there, friends. In most cases, there was probably also something awry with the individual's hard-wiring...Ramirez said from a young age he felt different, and after seeing terrible violence in his family, he became drawn to it. Did his mom maybe leave him alone too much while going to church or the grocery store? It's a toss up.

I see this post is running long so I will sign off and go see where that strange chainsaw sound is coming from. Hopefully the gardener.

School daze

Hey, did you miss me? A little? Ah, I love you. Here is a treat.

Today was the first day of school for Mags. I was mildly panicked given his peanut allergy. However, after a great meeting with the school principal, nurse and Mags' teacher I think we have reason to be cautiously hopeful that he will be safe. I almost did the happy dance when we arrived to school and were met with disclaimer signs indicating peanut free zones in his play area. Woot!

But that happiness was brutally destroyed because after fetching my firstborn from school he announced that he has a girlfriend. He felt the need to be reassuring, pointing out that he LIKES her but he LOVES me. It's like cheating in a weird kindergarten way. I felt used. I need a shower.

So we survived day one and next week the boy will undergo an academic assessment. I am fairly confident he will do well, as his new word this week is imperative. It is imperative that I wear those shoes. No, Mom, the other shoes. I said imperative.

This should be fun, right?

No?

Give me that treat back.

Goals

I am going to work hard to accomplish the following this month, faithful reader(s):

1.  Sleep in until 6:30 am
2.  Plant the poor wilting impatients that hate me for leaving them high and dry in the furthest corner of the backyard
3.  Halt, or at the very least reduce, what has become a weekly slamming of the heads by L and C (now referred to as the rams)
4.  Accept the fact that Mags starts kindergarten in two weeks, I will actually volunteer to sit in tiny school chairs at his school once a week, and that I am slowly inching my way towards irrelevance, at least in the eyes of my first offspring
5.  Meditate at a consistent time each day instead of squeezing in a session between laundry loads or after red wine, at which point it is much easier
6.  Research the new Dyson mop. $330 but who is counting? I don't earn a regular income, after all.
7.  Liking tofu. The mister, who has lost an estimated 21 pounds by changing his eating times and going low-fat, thinks this would add variety to our diet. Gag me with a slimy, blocky mess.

Will report back on successes and failures soonest. Having a glass of white and then meditating.

Don't lecture me.

Bloody heck

A new British monarch has been born. Why all the hoopla in these United States? This is not David Beckham's kid. He may grow up and completely suck at soccer. He may have Prince Charles's ears and take up the banjo. I mean no disrespect to the Windsors (or not a ton). But aren't there more substantive stories, or at least better looking celeb babies, to hype?

Why other people's kids suck

1.  They are know-it-alls. And loud mouths, to boot.
2.  They cough and don't cover their mouth.
3.  They watch TV and convince your kid he should be doing the same.
4.  They have no food allergies and can eat whatever they want.
5.  They cough and don't cover their mouth.
6.  They poop in your bathroom and leave you to find it.
7.  They eat all the snacks in your house. Even the infant rice cereal. And they want more.
8.  They love McDonald's and think your kid should, too.
9.  They cough and don't cover their mouth.
10.  They weigh less than your twins but are twice as old.
11.  They are an only child but have five times as many toys as your kids. And their toys are cool.
12.  They are slightly older than your eldest child but feel too superior to play with him or acknowledge that he exists.
13.  They wear Burberry. 'Nuff said.
14.  They eat only organic food.
15.  They eat only non-organic food.
16.  They cough and....see above.

Living in a low-fat world

The problems of people who live in the suburbs are alternately amusing and pathetic.

Yours truly is depressed because I live in the suburbs and don't earn a real income despite a tremendous workload and pissy clients. (Out of privacy concerns I will forego using their real names...which begin with the letters M, L and C.)

Now the mister has been diagnosed with gallstones after a late-night trip to the ER. There is nothing like seeing your spouse doubled over from abdominal pain to instill fear in the heart and make you agree to some immediate lifestyle changes.

Which are as follows:

Eating low-fat. Like low-fat everything. I don't need to eat this way but am doing so because I am the bomb wife and I don't want to be a widow.
Taking more walks. This doesn't go over well with Magnus but he has no say in the matter, effective immediately. Put your shoes on and walk your ass outside if you know what's good for you.
Letting go of stress. A work in progress, my friends. Who would I be if I didn't stress? What would happen to this poor blog? It is too awful to even consider.
Meditating. Getting over the idea that you look stupid doing it. Also a work in progress.

My cooking is at a standstill since the mister has some restrictions about what he can ingest now. And most of the cheese in the house will need to be disposed of, tout de suite.

Oh, the plight of the suburbs. Somebody start a fund to save us.