Happy Father's Day

Was yours the best?  The worst?  Somewhere in-between?  Maybe.  However, let us take a moment to remember what our fathers are and are not:

They are:
1. The model upon which many daughters base their ideal for future mates, Podiatron help us.
2. Probably the one who taught us to ride a bike,
3. Most likely the person who bailed us out of our first legal problem.  And our second.  Perhaps the third, but in my house at that point you were on your own.
4. A major contributor to your education, formal or otherwise.
5. Someone you look up to and hope to emulate, while simultaneously thinking they are very old-fashioned and somewhat embarrassing.

They are not (nor should they be):
1. Put on a pedestal.
2. Treated like an ATM.
3. Forgotten until they are sick or dead.

My son is so lucky to have his dad: a loving, generous soul whose world revolves around him.  He is doubly lucky to have Tom, his step dad, a man who would do anything for him. 

Thanks to Ray, my stepfather for many many years, who has always been an all-around great guy and a fabulous grandfather to my son.  Finally, I too am grateful for my father, who would never claim to be perfect but who I think tried pretty damn hard a good portion of the time. 
Dads of the world, thanks.  Kids, did you say thank you today?

Hello again, will you marry me?

Wow.  It has been an entire month since I last updated this blog.  My absence would seem to indicate that I have finally lost interest in what is amounting to a fruitless and time sucking endeavor.  That's not necessarily true.  Much has happened in the past few weeks and I'd like to share the excitement with all you lucky and wise people who check in with my blog from time to time.

1. My May 11 Bod Pod result was 21%, which means I lost 2% of my body fat stores since approximately 5 weeks prior to that date when I clocked in at 23%.  19% remains my goal by mid-summer, but I am very proud and excited about the results I have achieved thus far.  The only downside is I have had to purchase several new skirts and pairs of pants.  Buying new clothes is always something I hate to do, you see.  Ask anyone.

2. We went to Las Vegas for The Canary in a Coal Mine's wedding, and it was an enormously good time. (PHOTO)  Besides celebrating the joining of my son's dad with his lovely bride, we also had the opportunity to vacation with 2/3 of Tom's offspring.  The boys were very well-behaved.  **cough**  I may or may not have visited the Jimmy Choo store.  Whether or not I did and whether or not I purchased anything is between me and my God (Podiatron).

3. We bought a lot.  A lot of what?  A lot of dirt!  Finally.  Tom and I are actually realizing our dream of building a home together in which we can continue the merging of our lives and our families.  Also, it's going to have a wicked shoe closet, which is almost as emotionally significant to me.  Closing is today and we are celebrating that fact, along with an early recognition of Tom's birthday, tonight at Blue Hour for happy hour.  Come one, come all (except for you, my mean little lurker)!

Which brings me to my main topic point today: I need a wife.

How did I come to this conclusion, you ask?  Here's how: the other day, I found myself confronted with yet another massive pile of dirty laundry in the basement.  Since I was down to my last pair of hanky pankies, I knew it was time to get after that stuff.  Tom and I created a small gym in the basement, and I find it more economical, time-wise, to work out at home during the week.  That also allows me to avoid running into MACtresses, women I despise in spite of the copious amount of chuckles they give me (MACtresses are female members of the MAC who create entire existences around pretending to be someone that they are not).

So...I'm in the basement, doing the laundry, and my new workout program which consists of blasting really bad music at high volume and accompanying said music with some of the worst dancing you have ever seen.  Solo.  With a resistance band that I have named "Mr. Stretchy."  In fact, I look so ridiculous that nobody, and I mean nobody, is allowed to witness my exercise routine.  It was to my great horror a few weeks ago that I sensed I wasn't alone during the Shakira portion of my abdominal routine.  I looked up through the daylight windows and there was the PGE meter-reader dude, laughing his ass off.  He waved.  I ran upstairs stopping only long enough to grab a pint of Ben and Jerry's from the freezer for consolation.

Oops, there I go digressing again.  Once MeterReaderGuy was off the premises, I returned to my workout.  You will be glad to know I consumed only three thirds of the ice cream.  I've been practicing restraint lately.  Try it, you'll like it!  Anyway, I realized that even while doing some pretty strenuous dancing, I could still fold clothes from the dryer.  This was the ultimate "aha" moment!  It isn't often a person gets to kill two birds with one stone, unless you are Sarah Palin and throwing rocks at doves from a helicopter.  The workout lasted for 90 minutes, which allowed me to wash and fold two loads of laundry and sweat a few buckets at the same time.   Here are the socks which are apparently divorced and unpleasant to be around, because they are never with a mate.

As I lugged the laundry up the stairs and through the kitchen, I noticed that Tom had spilled a large amount of coffee on the counter top.  Since he's not a jerk, he cleaned it up with paper towels.  Since he is slightly obtuse, he left the brown, coffee-stained towels on the counter top, along with many crumbs from his breakfast attempt (toast - don't ask - didn't turn out well).  Add to that several glasses and other sundry dishes that were strewn just about every place in the kitchen except the dishwasher.

I cleaned it up, poured my coffee, and went upstairs to get ready.  See, I have a job, remember?  So that means I have to shower and get dressed and go to the office to right the wrongs that the plaintiffs of the world would try to commit against my employer.  As I looked around upstairs, I noticed several things:

1. Jake's room was messy and his clothes were on the floor,
2. Our new master bath was not exactly tidy, and
3. Our bed was unmade and there was what looked suspiciously like dog vomit on the rug.  I suspect Margot may be bulimic, but that's another blog entirely... 

After getting everything squared away, I was now ready to go to the other job; the one that pays me money.  I realized, after much slightly bitter musing, that I would have to have a "come to Pediatron" meeting with both the husband and the kid.  It went well: I announced a family meeting that evening and held it immediately upon announcement.  Be warned that it is ill-advised to announce a family meeting and provide an itinerary along with a meeting time more than fifteen minutes into the future.  You don't want the other members of the family to have the opportunity to create rebuttals to whatever your pronouncement is going to be.

My boys promised better help around the house, and I was shocked and pleased to note an immediate improvement, once I let go of their collars and stopped shouting "I am not your slave!  I am not your maid!  I am not your cook!  I need help!"  Things really got better, and fast.  Jake took a shower on his own accord that night, and made his bed the next morning without me asking.  Tom cleaned up the kitchen and emptied the dishwasher, plus folded a load of laundry for the first time in months.  I was pleased, very pleased.

That behavior lasted exactly three days.  So here I am, trying to figure out how to juggle being a mother, a wife, a corporate lawyer, and the general concept/aesthetic designer for a new house which we are going to start building as soon as possible.  The unfortunate fact is, I can't.  I cannot do it all.  Something has to give.  I need a wife.

Job description:
You must be willing to do all the cooking and cleaning (including but not limited to ordinary housework plus sundry tasks such as laundry and window washing), take care of all things child-related except emotional tending which I can handle, pay the bills, walk the dog, plan the family and social commitments, etc.  You must also meet me at the door at the end of the day each day with a drink in your hand, a sympathetic look on your face, and an offer for a foot rub.

Please do not gain weight or become otherwise unattractive, as it is important to my business relationships that my wife reflect well upon me.  Also, I will need you to work for free.

Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller???