With Dylan happily in camp (her early days of hiding under a table long forgotten), I decided to sign Summer up for a music class. You know, one of those 45 minute mini musical munchkin maestros classes or whatever the heck they’re called. Otherwise known as This-Money-Would-Be-Better-Spent-On-Coffee-And-Wine.

But in the pursuit of summer enrichment for my youngest daughter, I called to sign her up anyway and they instructed me to print out a form from their website and send it in with a check. And I was all like – a what?!

Where’s the Paypal button? Or if you want to do the retro thing, can’t you just take my credit card info over the phone? I seriously have to print a form AND write a check AND find a stamp AND an envelope AND mail it?! Do they want me to TEACH the class too?

Meanwhile, when I’m not being so obviously lazy, I might be totally crazy.

Because a friend recently gave me a small photo album from my bachelorette party. Yes, that bachelorette party from 7 years ago. Apparently, an album of me, my girlfriends and a male stripper can’t be rushed.

She was sort of upset over the photo borders she chose but I’m thinking that when there is a guy, with a leopard print banana hammock, in a photo – who’s noticing the borders you picked out?

Anyway, I decided to bring the album down to the basement so that my girls wouldn’t stumble on pictures of me with this other… um… gentleman.

And since I was going to the basement, I decided to throw in a load of laundry.

Except I inadvertently threw the album into the washing machine too. And then started it.

Please tell me you’ve done something like this.

Later on, I opened the washing machine to find my girls’ clothes covered in clumps of wet paper and about a gazillion pieces of stripper photos. Which I’m still picking off their clothes.

My apologies to my friend for destroying her carefully crafted album with the beautiful borders.

My apologies to Rex the stripper because he gave us his all that night (everything but the full monty) and he deserves better than to end up a soggy mess in my washing machine.

And my apologies again to Rex, because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his actual name. But due to too many sake drinks that night, I can no longer recall.

You know what happens when you try to get a few minutes of extra sleep in the morning?

You walk into your children’s room and find your 4 1/2 year-old attempting to change your 2 1/2 year-old’s diaper by lathering on an enormous amount of diaper creme.

Except it’s NOT diaper creme. It’s actually SPF 30 sunscreen.

Which is a slight but important distinction.

So you decide that you’ll start waking up a little earlier you’ll teach your 4 1/2 year-old the difference between the words “diaper creme” and “sunscreen.”

There are many different ways that a love of reading can be born.

After diaper creme and sunscreen had been applied to the right locations, the doorbell rings.

I look outside and there is a teenage boy standing there. I assume he’s there to tell me I’ve been awarded “Cutest New Neighbor” or “Best Westchester Mom.” I’m an optimist like that.

But no, he’s here to sell me some eco-friendly cleaning solution.

I immediately feel sorry for this kid because who the hell wants to knock on people’s doors and hock detergent (earth friendly or not).

And then he literally tastes some of the cleaning spray to prove to me that it’s natural.

So now I’m ready to toss a few dollars his way – at least so he can go eat something that doesn’t make your hardwood floors shine. But then he tells me the price for a bottle of this stuff.

$48 bucks.

But it’s concentrated. So it lasts 3 years.

Dude, I like a different nail polish color every 2 weeks (Sure, they are all different shades of brown and maroon but still….). There is no way I’m using one kind of cleaning spray for 3 years.

So I politely tell him no but I feel guilt ridden like I probably just killed his dreams of going to college.

And then he’s off to swallow more cleaning solution for some of my neighbors.

P.S. My husband just read this post and told me he would have absolutely bought the detergent. Now I feel even worse. I gotta go track that kid down.

mama bird notes:

I recently told you about a 5 year-old boy in NYC, Kai Anderson, who has a rare form of leukemia and desperately needs a match for a bone marrow transplant. And unbelievably, his father has been diagnosed with cancer as well.

If you are a blogger, would you please please please consider putting this Hope for Kai button on your sidebar. Here’s the code:

<a href=http://www.hopeforkai.com>
<img border=”0″ src=”http://www.mamabirddiaries.com/images/banner.jpg”>
</a>

And would everyone please make sure you’re registered as a bone marrow donor. It’s so easy.  Click here and find out how you can attend a donor drive or order a self test kit. I would be so grateful.

And finally, summer giveaway on The Mouthy Housewives! And you thought you only could find hilarious, spot-on advice there.

Just click here to enter to win a cool summer tank from Promom Couture.  It’s super cute and now I want it too.

We have absolutely no playground equipment in our backyard so we basically mooch off our neighbors, who have a killer swing set and happen to be like the nicest people in Westchester (yes, the ones who baked the banana bread!).

So when my other neighbors (also very nice) wanted to get rid of a plastic toy house, I bounded across the street and was basically willing to show my breasts in-exchange for the house casually mentioned we’d take it.

And then I got a closer look. DIRTY. Like really dirty. Like it came with wildlife.

But no matter. A perfect opportunity to show my girls the meaning of hard work.

About half way through our scrubbing and rinsing, I started to wonder if I should give up teaching my girls the meaning of manual labor and just teach them the value of the American dollar by buying them a brand new, super clean house.

But I couldn’t imagine how to even get rid of this big plastic thing, so we kept scrubbing.

As it happens my friend Lanie (with two year-old twins, and another on the way) was visiting from Atlanta and if you think I’m above putting an exhausted pregnant woman to work, well….

obviously not.

I gave her water breaks.

Um… well, I meant to. And in all fairness, she never mentioned anything about being thirsty.

And as you can see from the photo, the house now looks pretty good. Or at least good enough to play in without getting completely wigged out.

So now we move on to our next project.

Our new TV stand.

Yeah, way back in our city days (like 3 weeks ago), our doorman or super would have put this together for us. Now it sits on our bedroom floor in random, confusing pieces and Rick and I are not sure what to do about it. We would follow the directions except they include no information that would actually assist us in putting this together.

I’m thinking that maybe we can just prop the TV on this pile.

P.S. I wanted to keep you all updated on the plight of poor Ruth Madoff. Ella commented that Ruth is not only having trouble securing an apartment, but her hair salon is refusing to highlight her hair. Which we all know is way worse than being homeless.

P.S.S. My mother saw “The Hangover” and thought a) it was hilarious and b) Bradley Cooper is way handsome.  I mean, she couldn’t exactly remember the name “Bradley Cooper” but we were easily able to pinpoint the hot guy in the movie.

So great. Now I have to fight Jennifer Aniston, Renee Zellweger and my mother for this man. The whole thing is becoming very high maintenance. And no, because I know you’re wondering, I did not discuss the elevator scene with her. Oh, you know the scene I’m talking about.

I like to envision myself as really mysterious and unpredictable and under the radar but apparently I’m pretty easy to figure out because a ton of you guessed that we bought the Toyota Highlander Hybrid.

Kirsten got it first so she gets to name our car. I am hoping she comes up with something fun, sporty and cool like, “The Answer to our Marital Problems because of its Individual Passenger Temperature Controls.” It’s a bit long and formal but I like it. And we can always nickname it “car.”

Rick and I have major temperature issues. He’s always really hot. And I’m normal. Or as Rick describes normal… “She’s always freakishly cold.”

Now Rick is a problem solver which means he’s figured out a way for me to solve the problem. He maintains that I can always put on additional layers but he can only take off so many clothes. But I’ve never seen him lying around buck naked in a tub of ice watching a Phillies’ game so I don’t think he’s making the full effort.

But here’s the brilliance of our Toyota Hybrid – we each get to choose our own temperature! Now I’m sure a million other kinds of cars do this as well, but I’ve been living a very sheltered life in my 1999 Jeep Cherokee. In my Cherokee, if you want to be warmer, you just gas up 14 times and drive to Boca Raton.

Now if only we had this genius Toyota technology in our house. And yes, we are absolutely considering sleeping in our car as a way to achieve marital harmony.

I’ll tell you one couple that can’t be fairing so well these days. Bernie and Ruth Madoff.

Bernie Madoff is that delightful chap who defrauded thousands of investors of billions of dollars with his Ponzi scheme and is now serving 150 years in prison.

You know Ruth gave Bernie the ole, “Honey, you know I love you. And I’m sure the 150 years will FLY by but until then, I’m signing up for eHarmony. And I’ll be shtupping our former gardener, if he hasn’t already been repossessed.”

But heck at least Bernie has a place to call home. Sad Ruth has nowhere to live because no building in Manhattan wants her. And on top of that, she’s apparently practically broke. I keep reading about how she was, “left with just 2.5 million after a cutting a deal with the feds to surrender all her other assets.”

JUST 2.5 million. How will she ever get by?!!

Clearly, the press needs to stop obsessing over Michael Jackson and start focusing on the plight of this poor woman.

I think maybe we should take up a collection or something. At least to get her started with an online dating service. I’d advise her to avoid those finance types.

mama bird notes:

The lovely and funny Ann of Ann’s Rants invited me to participate in Free Association Friday. Click here to check it out. Thanks for the opportunity Ann!

Because I have a shy child, I am in total awe when a mother just drops off her kid at a new camp or school and the child just effortlessly bounds into the class with barely a wave.

In f–king awe.

Sorry. Usually I don’t swear but someone has been making fun of me for using “effin.” Look I can’t help it if I’m a goddamn lady.

I brought 4 1/2 year-old Dylan to a new art camp this week. And while other kids were bouncing gleefully into the building, my daughter was crying in the car, then sobbing in the elevator, then hiding under a table while I pleaded for her to come out. Now and then a very sweet teacher would appear with a stuffed animal as a way to lure her into the classroom and Dylan would burrow further under the table.

I happen to think stuffed animals are seriously overrated. But sweet teachers are greatly appreciated.

While holding back my own tears, I finally coaxed her into the classroom where the teacher was discussing surrealism with a bunch of 4, 5 and 6 year-old’s.  Is this how they roll out here? In the city, we were all playdough and crayons and waiting in line for swings.

Dylan DID NOT WANT ME TO LEAVE.  An existential talk about surrealism even makes me want to hide under a table, so I was sensitive to her feelings.

After 50 minutes, I had a pretty good understanding of Miró and the inspiration behind his paintings (the upside of being trapped at your daughter’s art camp). And I had finally convinced Dylan to let me leave if I brought her back an M&M cookie from Starbucks.

If you don’t have a shy kid, don’t judge me. Bribery is the secret weapon of desperate parents of reserved children everywhere.

By the time I returned, Dylan was happily creating her own work, inspired by surrealist artists.  I swear. I mean, it was just a drawing of an eyeball or something but it had meaning man.

P.S. Next week, it’s on to Pop Art. I hope they rent “Factory Girl.” That would really teach those young kids a thing or two. Mostly about the downward spiral of drug addiction but you know, it’s all a valuable learning experience.