The Suburban Jungle

Okay, if you wanted more of me, you finally get it.  I am doing a daily post for Nick’s ParentConnect.com on how to find time to do stuff for YOU.  Yes, I am their Celebrity host for the month of November.  Either they are seriously hard-up or I am getting “awesomer.”  What a fitting turn around from my last post… Humiliation on the Roller Rink, Circa 1984!  I read on Page 6 that Patrick Star was slotted to host this November, but was forced to decline after an unforeseen jellyfishing incident. Also, he is illiterate, though reading was not a prerequisite for the job.  I will be toiling away at my keyboard all month, so you can get stuff done. If you have had just about enough of me at one post per week, I must warn you, you will be getting an annoying update every morning that links you to that day’s Me Time problem and solution.  I hope you stick around, read some… and even comment or join the site!

Yours,

Jenny From the Blog

Me Time Challange Link

I don’t have time for my Hubby:

Remember when you first met your honey? That look of love in your eyes? The way you could just go to a restaurant or a movie without having to call anyone but the reservation line? Do you remember when you could “get it on” in places other than your bedroom… with the lights off… while trying to catch an episode of The Amazing Race… and praying no one wakes up hungry, wet, or scared? It seems like forever ago, right? The idea of a date seems arcane, and the thought of uninhibited sex is nostalgic. Well, you’re together now, so you need to make time to enjoy yourselves.

How to find time for your mate: MORE

I don’t have time to work out:

There used to be a time before kids and before my 30’s when I ate chicken wings, nachos and burgers freely. Now I can trace the outline of a single Cheeto in my belly. Even worse, my thighs seem to be having a love affair with one another, which makes walking in corduroys a very noisy endeavor. If you want the bod you had pre-babies, you have to work at it. So, I will help you find ways to work working out back into your schedule.

How to find time to work out: MORE

I don’t have time for a hobby:

Since I loooove writing, this is one challenge I have a lot of experience with. I can tell you that it’s not easy to find the time. Our hobbies, crafts, and other creative endeavors get left behind by feedings, diaper changes and helping with homework. But whether you like to write, draw, knit, crochet, paint, sculpt, take pictures, play an instrument, scrapbook or make crafts, you don’t have to let go of the things you enjoy. Here are some creative ideas to find time for your artistic side.

How to find time for a hobby:  MORE

Leo: “Hello I’m Leo here with June of the Little Einstein’s and welcome to the Red Carpet for the annual Toony Awards. Unfortunately, my sister Annie is with Rocket and Cooper Anderson in the Gobi Desert. I’m told they’re singing baba waba Osama to Beethoven’s 9^th, in a bunker that strangely resembles Salvador Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory” picture of melting clocks.

Quincy is not here because he is attending a rally for “Out” magazine. Not that an effeminate black male who is scared of the dark and plays multiple instruments including the flute, piccolo, and triangle has to be gay, he’s just exploring his options.

But, we are on a very important mission right here in Orlando Florida, cartoon capital of the world. Let’s check in on June who is with the cast of Blue’s Clues.”

June: “Hi Joe, I want to ask what is on everyone’s mind… What are you wearing?”

Joe: “I have on an green on green striped tuxedo by Ralph Lauren purple label. Side Table drawer is wearing a runner from Isaac Mizrahi for Target and a vintage Tiffany lamp.”

June: “Well she is truly glowing. Teehee.  Let me ask you Joe, is your acceptance speech written in your handy dandy notebook?”

Joe: “It actually is, and the notebook was encrusted by Judith Leiber to look like a handbag.”

June: “Fabulous may I see it? I see a crying boy in a monochromatic shirt, a can of gasoline, and a pack of matches. Hmm, these clues can be so hard to decipher. Leo back to you”

Leo: “Well it looks like another banner year for the Latinos. Regretfully, Handy Manny will not be able to make it due to a citizenship issue however, he did build the stage. Dora is up for best actress in a Series Over-Using the Word “Aaabre”. She appears to be solomente. This is a smart call after last year’s awkward celebratory french kiss with her cousin Diego and that highly disturbing make-out session with her pet monkey, Boots. June do you have any celebs over there?”

June: “Yes, I am watching the Mystery Mobile pull up, and what an entrance! Shaggy, Scooby and what looks like the 1976 Harlem Globetrotters have appeared like magic out of a huge puff of smoke. They seem to be heading this way however, it may take some time as there legs are spinning, but they are actually not moving…Ah, welcome fellas today must be very exciting.”

Scooby: “Reah, reah, rexciting.”

Shaggy: “Hey, like do you have any snacks, we’ve like got the munchies.”

Scooby: “Reah, runchies.”

June: “I actually do not, try the E! booth they don’t pay that vampire Seacrest the big bucks for nothin’. Hey Leo, getta load of that clown walking down the carpet.”

Leo: “Yes, June there’s JoJo and right behind her are the Disney princesses, who as you probably heard spearheaded a recent movement forcing cartoonists to draw underwear on all female characters. This of course is in response to circulating internet pictures of a fully plucked Daisy Duck exiting a limo on her way to Minnie Mouse’s “2 Weeks Jack Free” celebration… Monterey Jack, that is. Let’s ponder that while I send it back to June and the cast of Rugrats.”

June: “Hi, Tommy and Angelina Pickles, your show is up for it’s holiday special “Santa Woks” is that a cooking show?”

Tommy: “No, I have a wittle twouble tawking… I’m 1.”

June: “I see, well as you probably know you are one of the only Jewish cartoon families ever drawn aside from the short lived series “Moisha and the Shiksa.” And here you are nominated for a Christmas special. Angelica, don’t you feel it’s your responsibility to be role models to young Jewish children and to break stereotypes?”

Angelica: “We took our image very seriously as we calculated the estimated earnings of ‘Santa Woks’ vs. our original script ‘2000 years of Bondage.’ Which by the way we are producing, but in another film genre. We just signed Ron Jeremy on to play Moses’s staff”

June: “Well I’m sure Quincy will want to check that out. Leo back to you.”

Leo: “Everyone is still waiting to see if Barney will walk the red carpet. He has been rather elusive after rare footage was released on YouTube of him purveying fire whiskey to minors and singing “I love you, you love me” to Callou, Little Bear, and Oswald during a raucous sleepover. This ended in the wee hours of the morning after they allegedly took turns riding Thomas the Train.”

“Well that’s our time…Enjoy the show! Leo OUT!”

I have something to tell you; please don’t spread it around, as it’s somewhat of a secret.  I screamed “shut up” at my son today. “SHUT UP!” not “shush” or “sshhhhh” or even “ferme la bouche.”  No, “Shut Up.” I didn’t say it in a whisper, or even hiss it through clenched teeth.  I yelled it in a vein popping tone, and it felt sort of good, aside from the fear of having an aneurism.  I hate to admit it, but in the moment I actually enjoyed the shock value.

In my house, “shut up” is still the “S” word.  That and “stupid”…fine, it’s “shit” also (look, we’re not Amish).  “Shut up” is a phrase that I – a person who has managed to use“Shniekees” and “Gaylord Focker” in place of harsher expletives for the last 7 years – have never uttered to my children.

Had I witnessed you on the street saying – no, screaming – that to your child, I would have judged you with disdain.   I may have even considered calling child services on you.  Now, I’m the one with the scarlet letter.  I’m just a few more outbursts from a knock at the door.

I’m not going to tell you what my son did, but just know, he started it!  Fine, I’ll tell you.  He was yelling at me, telling me “No,” contradicting me, and being incredibly obnoxious all at once, and all at warp speed.  He never took a breath.  I didn’t know whether to punish or have him try out for the swim team.

The funny thing is, I just finished writing an article about the Spanking / IQ study, and here I am doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t do… “ensuring my child will need hours of therapy.”  Way to go Jenny. Though I don’t believe in it, I would have been better off calmly putting him over my knee; at least I would have had more self-control.

The worst part of this whole confession inducing incident was the look on his face.  It was somewhere between “Uh-oh, you said a bad word!” and a lip biting, “Sniff, sniff.  You said that bad word to ME?”  As I’ve said before, I subscribe to the book of damage control parenting.  Doing as little damage as possible, and controlling the damage you’ve done.  This was one of those times I had to control the damage.   Somewhat in shock myself, I had to regroup and think of my options:   Apologize, use candy or some other bribe to gloss over it, or explain my actions.  I went the obvious route, and when he finished licking the Kit Kat residue off his fingers, I said I was sorry.

I’ll tell you, when my kids were little, I would have sworn this day would never come.  How could you look at those sweet chubby cheeks and imagine they could ever frustrate you so much?  Conversely, when I told a few of my friends the story, they were shocked at how long I’d held out.

Wait a minute, I think there’s some praise in there.  I amazed people with my nearly infinite patience.  I deserve a medal, not a scornful eye.  I take it all back… I am the best mom; it took me almost 8 years to tell my child to “shut up.” Wahoo!  See, if you practice patience (but not too much), and bottle up frustration like seltzer (that your kids can agitate until it pops), you too can astound people.   Then you can start a blog, and when you do terrible horrible things, you can seek contrition by telling hundreds, dare I say thousands, of people about them.

***This article is featured on the Sun-Sentinel.com  Show the love, and please copy any comments on this link!

Alright, please don’t take that as a sexual reference, it means exactly what it says.  My gecko is cleaner than yours… so, don’t challenge him to a clean competition, ‘cause he’ll win.

As it turns out living in Florida is like living in a remake of Jurassic Park, on a smaller scale.  Like the miniature Stonehenge, for all you Spinal Tap fans.  The bugs are the size of softballs and the reptile life runs rampant… through my house.  Anyone who has been to Florida knows that lizards cross the roads and sidewalks with the frequency of jay-walkers in NYC.

Up north, where I am originally from, you might be lucky enough to see a majestic deer or cute little baby bunnies bouncing through your yard, but here you see the kind of things that eat cute little baby bunnies.  What I am shocked at, is how used to it I have become.  So much so, that I showered with a gecko the other day.  Please, all you sickos, clearly there was no funny business, though I did loofah his back for him.  He was just hanging out on the wall and rather than go get the cup to catch and release him, I simply went about my normal showering process.  You know, lather, rinse, repeat.

It gave me a little chuckle, but what really made me laugh was when I told my son that evening about the shower scene and he said that he too showered with the same lizard an hour before.  He of course played with the little guy, which makes me question whether soap ever made it to any of my son’s parts at all.  Though I’m sure the gecko got a thorough cleaning and is certainly missing his tail.  I said, “We must have the cleanest gecko ever,” which actually sent us into hysterics.

When my husband got home, we relayed our tale to which he said, “Yeah I showered with him this morning.”  I don’t know what this says about my family.  Are we all too lazy to remove a lizard?  Are we a bit promiscuous, taking showers with any Tom, Dick, or Lizard that enters the stall?  or Have we become so accustomed to them, that we are part of their ecosystem? Like Jane Goodall and those chimps.

I do know that if you come to my house, you’ll see a shiny lizard that smells like grapefruit conditioner and prefers air drying over being briskly toweled off.  Well, Jake would know more about that.

This morning I woke up to a gift, the kind of gift that makes pet owners want to just  hug their pets super tight and not let go until they pass out…I mean gently fall asleep . No, it was not a poop or a pee. There was a pee, but that’s like walking out to find my children playing Wii, no big surprise. No, this was a doozy. I was asleep, as I often am on Saturday mornings, while my daughter was watching Strawberry Shortcake. I woke, only to find dark stains, smudges, and ink blots all over my pricey white coverlet, William Sonoma duvet, and white sheets. Sheets that are a gazilion thread count, by the way. Only me and Paris sleep on sheets of such extrordinary comfort.

The dark blotches looked as if my dog had found an indelible marker, packaged some TNT around it, and then plunged down on the detonator . There were spots on the sheets where he bit through with such fervor, and the ink was distributed so evenly, it looked like a professional job. Like any good detective, I screamed at the suspect and let him out in the yard, mainly for his own safety. Then I searched for clues. There was no pen, no evidence. I had a new book on the bed and I was certain the black cover was defective and the ink was smearing off, but I rarely rub books so feverishly over my bedding. My dog would also need opposable thumbs for such a task.

Then I found it. On some of the ink splotches, there was a greasy chunky residue. I picked up a chunk and mushed it between my fingers, like a melted crayon. Wait, there’s a splinter of wood in that chunk on the pillow. This is not a crayon. This was my new retro navy blue metallic eyeliner. There was no evidence because the rest of said pencil was Tanner’s breakfast. I am a realistic person who is rarely paranoid, and I am quite sure this was premeditated. This is how I think it went down: I wore the eyeliner yesterday in an 80’s tribute to the late Michael Jackson, an occurrence I was freaking out over. He was the only suspected child molester that I truly enjoyed and forgave, because of his insanely awesome talent. Talent and wealth make up for a lot of misgivings in America, even sharing your bed with Emmanuel Lewis.

Back on track, my dog is vehemently anti anything retro. I have heard him say on more than one occasion, “I don’t want this crappy rubber burger or fake New York Times newspaper. Go get me some Nylabone made from space-age webbed plastic cells, or some Kong industrial NASA rubber, and a chicken pot pie…bitch!” Of course, when a dog calls you “bitch,” it’s a compliment.

His distaste for celebrating decades of yore, and his taste for greasy pencils made from toxins and whale blubber, made this a crime worth committing. He must have grabbed his Nylabone, which he routinely shreds, and brought it onto the bed. This allowed me to sleep longer knowing I could pick up the 1000 pieces later. The chewing cooed me to sleep like a lullaby.

When he was sure I was out, he whined until my daughter followed him to the kitchen. There she found the new eyeliner and decided to play with it, as Tanner knew she would. When she was finished getting ready for Studio 54, she put it on the dining room table. Then Tanner chased Coco, my cat, over to said table. Coco saw the pencil, and started one of those soccer games cats do, and batted it around till she went for the goal. She eyed Tanner with a smirk and whacked it high into the air. He readied himself, did a twisting jump, and gracefully caught the evidence. He then hid it under his paw, brought it back to the bed, and started chewing his Nylabone to make sure I would not wake and Ryan would not look away from the television screen.

Then he went to town , with the two of us none the wiser. I have to give him credit. He pulled off the perfect crime and ate the evidence, to boot. But no crime is “perfect,” and it was his sloppiness that got him in the end. Oh, he will go behind bars. I guarantee his crate awaits.

If you do not subscribe or have my RSS please do so now!  I’m also on twitter http://www.twitter.com/suburbanjungle

Being that I am a writer, you would probably assume I give my husband a beautiful heartfelt card on every holiday.  The truth is, I am like most of you, going at the last minute to look at slim pickins and buy some cheesy cards that cost $3 bucks a pop and do little more than add to deforestation.

First of all, unless your husband likes fishing or fixing things you’re SOL from the get go. The funny cards are too queer, though the Far Side always gives me a giggle, I try to find something with a little more sentiment. I have noticed that my husband and I have this weird tendency to rebuy the same card for each other on our respective holidays year after year.

The Father’s day card has a cat couple and it goes something like this:

“Sometimes I’m stubborn when I don’t get my way,

Sometimes I’m bossy and have too much to say.

Blah blah blah, buuuuut I really love you! Have a great Father’s day.”

That’s the general gist anyway. It’s basically an apology for being a sucky annoying wife 364 days a year. The card might as well say:

“Sometimes I’m a big fat wench, when you look at me the wrong way.

Other times I’m a bratty bitch, when I don’t like what you say.

Often I’m an evil nag, I’m so frustrated I could spit.

I don’t listen when you speak because I’m daydreaming of Brad Pitt.

I pretty much act like I hate you almost every day of the year,

Buuut I really totally Love You, though I rarely make it clear.”

The mother’s day version is similar, two cats start out fighting and the guy cat’s like, “I’m sorry I’m so stubborn, but we always find our way.” Then the cats are driving and he’s lost and he won’t ask for directions and she’s looking back at the kitties shrugging her shoulders.

Then they are watching a sports game and the mom cat is running in circles around the house with the kitties, and the dad cat is ignoring her and he’s all, “Sometimes I get wrapped up in other things, but I always spend the commercials with you guys.”

Then the dad cat is looking at the price tag of a really expensive pair of Jimmy Choo’s that the mom cat is at the register paying for, because she feels she’s earned them. The dad cat hisses, “We don’t always see eye to eye, but we always compensate.” In the next picture he is cutting up her credit card and throwing the pieces in the air like confetti.

Then the mom cat is taking the kitties to live with some calico she met in the alley. The dad cat shows his claws, but since he is domesticated and therefore declawed he just feels like a pussy (cat I mean).

Then the dad cat is paying off some thug mafia cat and says, “We always work it out, ‘cause making up is the best part!”

Or something like that. Mother’s day was a few months ago so I may have embellished the finer details, but you get the picture. It’s an apology for being a crappy, inattentive, stubborn, annoying husband, buuut it’s okay cause we get to make up after I have your calico trash cat castrated.

So this year, I picked up one of those cards and was about to buy it.  Then I thought, I don’t need to apologize for arguing or nagging, that’s what couples do... even one’s who are in love. Yes, my husband is stubborn and I am a nag, but we love each other. I don’t want to make light of my annoying ways through a rhyming apology that is only cute because of cat personification. We’ve been married a decade, he knows I am a bitch and he is thankful I’m cute.

So, I got a card that was perfect. Yes, it had cats. It said, that he’s the one I go to if I need a hug, or a sympathetic ear, or a pep talk, or to kill a bug, or to move something heavy. Basically, he’s there when I need him.

Does he do things that are annoying? Daily. Frustrating? Hourly. Does he snore and fart in his sleep? Yep. Does he leave crumbs on the counter and forget to change lightbulbs? Uh ha. Is he a fabulous dad?  Absolutely.

Is he there for me when I need him? Always.

That might not have been a quality I dreamed my husband would have on my wedding day, but a decade in, it’s the one I am most thankful for.

So to my husband, I hope you enjoyed your day. I love you! To all the other Dad’s, mine especially, I hope you had a fabulous Father’s day and that there are spouses and children out there that appreciate all you do.

PS vlog 2 is up if you are interested Conversations With Your Selfish Friend.  If you watch the vlogs, please take the poll and if you like them, please send to friends!

If you like this post and belong to Mom Blog Network:

I was at my neighbor’s house the other day and her nine year old daughter sat down at the table with me. “Soooo, who’s your favorite character?” she asked, in the way one would while sharing tea and crumpets. I was not having tea, however, I was having coffee, one of the few things that still separates me from nine year olds. Well, most of them anyway.

My favorite character of what? Disney movies? Are we talkin’ Hannah Montana, or like Monsters vs. Aliens?

“No, my mom said you love Twilight, and OMG, me too! I am so in love with Jacob. How about you?” she squeaked eagerly, awaiting my answer.

Okay, as most of you know, I have a very unhealthy obsession with the Twilight series and the main character, Edward. I also believe, after giving the subject way too much thought, that this is either a sign of total immaturity or a mid-life crisis. So, either I’m mentally stuck in high school, or wishing I was.

“Are we having this conversation? Aren’t you nine?” Hello, clearly the fact that you love Jacob is a sign of your immaturity. “Everyone knows Edward is like the ultimate hottie,” I continued, drawing a line in the sand between me and the child that stood before me, who was excitedly bouncing to hear my answer.

“Yeah, he’s cute but I like werewolves better than vampires,” she replied, shrugging off my belligerent tone.

“What?! You’d rather date a werewolf than a vampire?” I argued.  Jenny, don’t get yourself all worked up. What does she know anyway, she’s nine? While talking myself down, I noticed her Jonas Brothers concert tee. I realized that we may have the same taste in literature, and as it appears, nail polish, but I was the adult.

In fact, one of my readers had just sent me a very racy version of what supposedly happened on Edward and Bella’s honeymoon. A night that the author skimmed over to keep the books appropriate for her teen audience. Of course, in my suburb where the kids rule, “teen” means nine.

I reminded myself that I had a nugget of Twilight information that she would not be able to read for at least 2 years… at the rate she was going. I told her when her mom said it was okay, she could see my special chapter. You might be thinking that I got great joy in dangling that carrot, but nay I say. It was when I gave her a raspberry that I got the most joy.

She ran to her room and returned with a picture, the fold out kind that you pull from Tiger Beat Magazine, or One Day I Will Be a Know-It-All Slut Magazine or whatever the teenie boppers are reading these days. You know, the ones that show young girls who are famous and rich, and handsome boys that are out of reach, and in turn, set their readers up for future disappointment and body dysmorphia.

She handed it to me, and I opened it up to find a picture of Robert Pattinson, the actor that plays Edward Cullin, who is also 13 years my junior. Don’t think it’s odd that I know that. I’m no stalker, but I do admittedly frequent the website: RobPatzStalkers.com

I think her poster was a peace offering, and in hindsight, a very mature response to my childish behavior. I looked at her, and then the picture. Then as I went to leave, I said, “By the way, the Jonas Brothers Suck! Yeah, they’re for babies and you love them.”

So who’s the most mature one in the room now?

PS- don’t forget to take today’s poll, and as always, make sure you have my RSS, or email subscription!

Here is my first vlog (video log).  For many of you this will be your first time seeing me, which I know is weirdly like watching the movie after reading the book (it’s all in the casting).  I think I’m perfectly cast in the role of “me,” as I find myself to be the epitome of me.  If you don’t agree, talk to my agent.

If you enjoy it, please pass it on.

If you hate it, keep it to yourself, you obnoxious person with nothing better to do than sneer at other people’s attempts at branding themselves and living out the dream… the American dream.  But know, I will get better and I will continue to blog if you prefer the blogging.