Maybe I should wear more protection...

So I'm standing there, well, elliptical-ing there, (mostly) minding my own business at the gym...I've been on the machine long enough that I'm sort of starting to drift off into a cardiovascular haze.

Until something invades the periphery of my visual plane.

Now, I'm sort of a live-and-let-live kind of person; someone who doesn't really get worked up about what others wear or do if it's not harming anyone. But this just seems a bit over the top.

So I steal a glance to my right, being careful not to lose my balance so I'm not hurled off the Elliptical Machine into some ignominious heap. A gentleman has carefully placed his belongings next to the machine to my right, and is opening the gym bag he has brought with him. Lo and behold, what should appear from this Mary Poppins-like container but a mask. Not a Zorro mask or a gel mask for the eyes - either of these two would have been less disconcerting than what this gentleman placed on his head.

It was a full-on, bona fide, boxing mask. And not just the one where there's padding on top and on the sides. No, this included the cage-like contraption that covers the face. He looked like he was getting ready for hockey practice. Only he was climbing onto the ELLIPTICAL MACHINE. And not some special elliptical machine that throws punches while you ellipsis away. There were no hidden spikes that might emerge unannounced should you decide to anger the man in the machine by not finishing the whole program. So I wondered, in the same way I wonder about, oh, I don't know, psychopaths, whether this seemingly innocuous man was simply trying to be funny, or whether he actually and truly and honestly BELIEVED with all his heart that there was some chance of his face or orb being hideously maimed while on the elliptical machine.

So then, given my inherent insecurities about this world, I started to wonder if maybe I was the insane one. The one not properly protected from the various, lurking dangers at the gym. I mean, I don't even shower there, for fear of foot fungus.

And let's not even get into the things a microscope might find on the mat where I stretch...

It was getting ugly in my head.

I stole another glance at the now-elliptical-ing, mask-clad man.

I decided if that's what he needed to do to feel safe, then I should just shut up (the conversation in my head) and go back to (mostly) minding my own business.

We all need our security blankets. Maybe that was his.

It happened. And it was amazing. As fulfilling and life-changing as I thought it would be.

And there wasn't even much screaming involved. Just a few whispered words, some well-timed kisses...

and both boys slept IN THEIR BEDS last night!!!

And I slept in mine!!!

All alone!!!

(Well, maybe that last fact is not to be so publicly relished... but I digress...)

IT WAS SIX THIRTY IN THE MORNING BEFORE ANY CHILDREN EVEN APPROACHED MY BED!!!

I'm not sure if I'm conveying the giant-ness, the enormity of it...

IN THEIR OWN BEDS!!! ALL NIGHT!!!

Am I getting my point across?

For those of you whose offspring don't know what Mom and Dad's bed feels like, I (begrudgingly) congratulate you. For those, who, like me, have had a certain amount of trouble finding any way to make the kids stick to their own mattresses, please celebrate this milestone with me...

and let's get some fucking sleep already!

If only he was real...

In my parallel fantasy world, I've found the next sucker I'd like to knock me up:

Don Draper.

Just give me a baby, baby...

Someone to carry on that brooding, sensual, dark legacy...

I'll be your concubine, your mistress, your baby mama.

Call me.

Snooze away...

So I'm sitting on the steps of BAM, waiting for my date to arrive. He's late. Shocking.

Once he arrives, we chat for a second, a dialogue that includes the following information:

LateDate: I was super-tired, so I took a nap late this afternoon.

HardAssMe: Didn't you have an alarm set?

LateDate: I hit the snooze button.

HardAssMe: (slack-jawed) You snoozed me?!?! Really?!

The conversation devolved from there; I thought I got over it pretty quickly, but apparently LateDate was nowhere near in the mood for forgiveness of my impertinence.

Talk was tense, advances rebuffed (my advances, his rebuffication). I asked a lot about his week, he acted like my life held no interest whatsoever.

Cut to drop-off:

NotSoHardAssAnymoreMe: Wanna come up? Have a drink? (This having been our usual evening trajectory, I wasn't expecting a late-game denial to go with the earlier rebuffication).

LateDate: No, I have a ton of stuff to do. Tons of emails to read and answer.

Um, I think he just told me in man-speak that he has to wash his hair.

Fine, be that way. Give up an hour of heavy-petting with hot Brasilian mom because I suggested snoozing me was a bit, uh, indicative of his (non) excitement at seeing me.

What a girl.

Three days later - day before we are supposed to have mulligan date: he thinks it's best we part ways, as he doesn't see how we would find a happy medium with one another.

Thank god.

Saves me the work of typing the words: Um, I don't really think we're a Match (wink, wink). Thanks for all the dinners. Good luck in your (probably never-ending) search for a soul-mate!

xes and ohs.

Calgon, take me away...

It's been one of those weeks - lots of weird news, lots of deep breathing, plenty of wine and beer. And now, the farm where we were to go apple-picking tomorrow is infested with poison ivy. Will the madness never end?

The good news is that as moms, we are trained from the births of our children to adjust to the changing scenery of any kid's day (I suppose dads should be included here, but there are no dads in this household, so I have no personal proof they share the chameleon-like abilities of mothers). Which means that when the babysitter falls through, and the movie is sold out, and the scheduled playdate gets canceled because of sickly children, and a trip to the park turns into a trip to the emergency room...we act all nonchalant, like nothing extraordinary is going on, and we go into MommyKnowsHowToFixThisEveryoneStayCalm mode and find a different way to make everything okay.

So we're going to a different apple-picking farm.

And I'm looking for a job.

And a weekend subscription to the NYTimes will have to do.

And Nancy's having a baby...with a Mexican druglord.

And the Halloween costumes will be homemade.

And Don Draper has nowhere to go.

And all my dates have disappeared.

Bring it on.

I'm a mom, godammit.

It's a police state

Get your fingers out of your nose!

Stop sucking on your fingers!

Hands off the peepee!

Finish your dinner or no dessert!

You better be brushing your teeth!

You're about to lose some privileges!

You better not be doing what I think you're doing!

Stop aggravating your brother!

love and logic

Me: Luca, could you please go get my phone upstairs?

Luca: I don't want to.

Me: I didn't ask if you wanted to.

Luca: But MAMAAEEE (groans and grumbling)

Me: It's not like I WANT to pick up after you all day, or like I WANT to wake up in the middle of the night to get you water.

Luca: But it's YOUR phone!!!

Me: And they are YOUR games! And YOUR underwear!

Luca: BUT YOU'RE THE MOM!