I watched the ice dancers do no jumps and wear outfits that even my preschoolers would turn down.

I watched 53 McDonald’s commercials and truly attempted to work its Olympic champion sweet chili sauce into every meal.

I watched the beautiful and inspiring Canadian Joannie Rochette somehow win the bronze in ice skating after the devastating death of her mother.

I watched the American men win gold in the Nordic Combined for the first time ever yet still,  I could not explain Nordic Combined if you offered me a year of free babysitting. Ditto for curling.

I watched the aerialists somehow defy gravity, doing crazy stunts in the air as their mothers cheered them on. I would be begging my child to take on another sport. Like curling.

I watched Apollo Anton Ono try to bring back the bandana for the third Olympics in a row. You can’t say the guy doesn’t have perseverance. And if he and Bret Michaels can’t do it, then we all have to accept that no one can.

I listened to the announcers say things like, “That one mistake is going to haunt him forever” and “That was the performance of her life” and my personally fave, “He left it all on the ice” 432 times each.

I watched Dick Button as a commentator and really tried to imagine him as a svelte figure skater in 1948. I think I failed.

I watched skier Julia Mancuso prove that even Olympic champions wear tiaras.

I loved the Olympics.

But I have never been so happy to see the closing ceremonies. Because I am tired, people. And cranky. Apparently the Olympics was on for 2 weeks. Can we all agree that it was more like 2 months?

I need my life back. I no longer want to be up at midnight, teary-eyed over a medal ceremony. I want “Gossip Girl,” “Project Way” and “Modern Family.”  I no longer wish to be inspired by television, but only somewhat entertained. I want to sit on my couch and not second guess my decision as a kid to hang out with my friends in the local pizza place after school instead of pursuing Olympic dreams at the ice rink. I just want to be mediocre. And happy.

So let me off the hook for 880 days. And then I’ll embrace the summer games in London. Because who doesn’t love the Brits and gymnastics?  It’ll be bloody brilliant.

Recently my 5 year-old daughter told my mother-in-law that I don’t put toilet paper down on a public toilet seats. Thanks, Dylan. I really appreciate you having my back like that.

For the record, it’s not true.

I often do put toilet paper on the seat but by the time I get the girls up onto the seat, half the paper has already fallen into the toilet. It’s not an ideal system. When do girls learn that fantastic skill of squatting over a toilet so their butt cheeks never even skim the seat?

Nothing about public restrooms is ideal.

Take our recent trip to Cape Cod -  we stop at a local coffee shop so I can use the bathroom. I swing open the door to the ladies’ room and there indeed is a lady sitting on the toilet right in front of me. She looks at me. I look at her. That millisecond felt like the length of a James Cameron movie.

I utter “I’m so sorry” and slam the door. And then I go into the mens’ room and lock the door.  I pee and then wait.  I try to allot enough time for her to finish up her business, wash her hands, grab a cup of coffee, leave the establishment, write a full length novel and train a Shetland pony before I exit.

I am not interested in having small talk with this woman about her preference for sitting vs. squatting and whether she puts paper on the seat.

I join Rick and the girls out front. I mention nothing to them. We pick out snacks and then turn to pay the cashier.  And OF COURSE the cashier is the same woman from the bathroom.

As she handles our food, I think, oh I really hope she did wash her hands in there.

And I really wish this had been my only awkward moment of the week but I finally took those boots (the ones that Summer threw-up in) to the shoe cobbler to be cleaned. Are we all still using the word “cobbler” or did I just time travel to 1834? Anyway, I had cleaned them extensively at home (inside and out) but felt they needed the hands of a professional.

When I pick them up (all shiny and buffed), the shoe guy says to me, “What exactly was in those boots?”

And because I believe in total honesty and serving as an example for my children, I look him in the eye and say, “I don’t know.”

Thankfully, my children aren’t with me so I am able to lower the honesty threshold just a hair.

And the shoe guy looks at me with an expression that clearly says – Don’t lie to me, lady. I’ve been cleaning shoes for decades. So just go ahead and tell me the truth.

So I add, “My kids were playing with them. I don’t know what happened.”

Because I think every shoe cobbler knows that’s code for “vomit.”

mama bird notes:

A couple reminders on the BlogHer 2010 front…

Last chance to vote for us (yes, I’m groveling)! The Mouthy Housewives and Mommy Wants Vodka have put in for a Room of our Own on how to create a super fabulous, entertaining advice site.

So please just click here, log on to BlogHer and then click “I would attend this session” (it’s just above the title: Dear Abby 2.0). After you click it, it will miraculously say “I would not attend this session.” This means that your vote for the session has been successfully registered. Thank you!

And if you like cocktail parties… The Mouthy Housewives are throwing a happy hour party at BlogHer this summer!! If you want to find out all the details and how to sign up when the time comes, join our Facebook group by clicking here.

On Sunday, we headed to Cape Cod for my dad’s surprise retirement party.

Frankly I wanted to find out what he was doing with his new found freedom other than consistently sending me Calvin & Hobbs cartoons from Go Comics. Can you make a day of Calvin & Hobbs? My dad can.

My dad knew he was having dinner with close friends but had no idea that Rick, Dylan, Summer and I and some other out-of-town friends were coming.

So we all gathered at a friend’s house and our look-out man (a 10 year-old by the name of Samuel) gave us the sign that my dad was approaching. All the out-of-town guests (including us) rushed into the bedroom so we could surprise him. And then there was a slight hiccup with our plan.

5 year-old Dylan refused to come into the bedroom. Suddenly, she was all Miss Anti-surprise.

I pleaded with her to come back. She cried. I told her to come back into the bedroom or she’d get no dessert later. She sobbed harder. (Why do my brilliant parenting ideas never pan out?!) I pulled her back into the bedroom and she howled. I hugged her and tried to calm her down while scanning the room for duct tape. Her deep sobbing reverberated through the entire house.

You might have concluded at this point that Dylan is not the best person to invite to a surprise party.

Despite Dylan’s persistence, we did end up surprising my dad (he thought the crying was someone else’s salty granddaughter) and he was thrilled to see us when we bounded out of the bedroom.

And we got a lot more details on his plans for the future.

Turns out his retirement plan so far consists of watching every moment of the Olympics, which is a pretty good plan except for the 3 years and 48 weeks of off time when the games aren’t on.

So during those rare moments when the Olympics are on hiatus, he wants to relive his college glory days by joining the recreational senior ice hockey circuit. Ice hockey at 67.  What could possibly go wrong?

The next day, we all went bowling where I finally smartened up (upon your recommendations) and used the gutter guards myself.

And I STILL lost. To my 5 year-old and 3 year-old. It’s humiliating, people. But then I did whip Dylan’s arse in air hockey so I gained back a morsel of self respect. I really showed that preschooler.

And judging from the comments on my last post, you all think I’m the only one wearing a tiara in our family.  And I just want to assure you that is most definitely not the case.

P.S. I really wish this photo had been “staged” but the guy actually put this on without my input.

P.P.S. Obviously this is not an endorsement to drive while wearing a tiara. We all know how dangerous that can be.

mama bird notes:

Do you like to do good? If yes, here are a couple great opportunities….

Help out a fellow blogger, Utterly Chaotic by visiting MSNBC today to read more about Rett Syndrome. Her 13 year-old daughter suffers from this serious disorder. And if you’d like to donate, click here.

If you are in the New York City area, The Children’s Cancer & Blood Foundation is holding a fundraiser at American Girl Place next Monday (March 1st) to raise money to treat children with cancer and blood diseases who can’t afford care. American Girl is underwriting all the costs, so 100% of the money helps out these kids.  Tickets are $75. Get more information here and buy tickets or donate here. Thank you!

Visit to the aquarium. Check.

Trip to see old dinosaur bones. Done.

Showed girls Olympic pairs skating. They were delighted. Showed girls Olympic curling competition. We were all confused. Check.

Wore tiaras and made finger puppets. Yup.

Gymnastics at the Y. Done.

Visit to the library. Check.

Trip to see Ellen Watermelon perform. Check.

Summer refused to ever take off her coat at Ellen Watermelon. Double check.

Outing to the grocery store. Went again. Maybe one more time. Went out for pizza. Visit to the local toy store. Got smoothies. Had play dates. Ate ice cream. Read books. Naked flashlight dancing after dinner (just girls, not Rick and me). Painted pictures. Ate snacks. Ate more snacks. Puzzled as to why no one is hungry at dinner time. Played Candyland. Told Dylan for the 157th time to stop cheating at Candyland. Picked up toys. Picked up toys again. And yet again.

Check. Check. Check.

Condition of mother at the end of the week?

Days until the next “vacation?”

35.

Rick and I have decided that in all likelihood we will become Olympic pair skaters. He wants us to skate together so that some other man wearing a flashy, sparkly jumpsuit doesn’t have his hand supporting my lady parts during the lifts.

I, on the other hand, think we should have different partners because can you imagine skating with your spouse? And then he falls? When you’re in medal contention? How do you work that out in couple’s therapy?

I guess you’d meet your girlfriends for a coffee and complain, “Not only does my husband consistently forget to empty the dishwasher but did you see how he fell during his double toe loop and killed our chances of even a bronze?! 10th place in Vancouver? Who needs that crap? I really could kill him sometimes.”

If for some unexplainable reason we don’t become Olympic pair skaters, then we are going to, at the very least, try to work more snowboarding lingo into our daily conversation.

For example, when we go out, I would normally say, “Are you going to order a martini?”

Now I’ll say, “Your usual double Mctwist 1260?”

Or when we’re driving, instead of saying, “Look. There’s a parking spot. But it’s small. Do you think you can parallel park it?”

Now I’ll just say, “Honey, that parking spot is tight. Do you think you can frontside double-cork 1080 it?”

I can only imagine how much cooler everyone is going to think we are with our new fancy Shaun White inspired vocab. By the way, I showed Dylan and Summer Shaun White’s snowboarding performance at the games and Dylan said, “SHE’S really talented.”  Since he won gold, I doubt he cares.

Meanwhile, I’m currently on a radio strike because I turned on NPR for two minutes the other day and they announced who had won the gold in the women’s downhill skiing (before I had a chance to watch it that night).

Dear NPR,

I’m very nice to you. I give you money. I listen to your long arse stories about water rights issues in Washington state. I put up with your callers that are so long winded that it take three days to finally formulate their question or comment. The very least you can do for me in return is to give a spoiler alert before you announce Olympic results because I (like many fans) are watching the competitions at night.  Just give me a couple seconds to lunge towards the radio and change it to my favorite soft rock.

Because I no longer trust you during the Olympics, I won’t be listening for the next few weeks. Tell Leonard Lopate that it’s nothing personal. Still a fan, Kelcey in New York.

mama bird notes:

Seems like weight loss is a big issue these days with everyone running from the thin mints. Contributing mama Erin Butler is determined to do something about it and she found a super cheap personal trainer. Click on contributing mamas to read more.