This Spud's For You

In the week following The TiVo Incident, I’m pleased to announce we now have a new unit. Right now, it’s purring along, recording “Last Comic Standing” and “My Gym Partner is a Monkey.”

Now that we have a new TV, I had to figure out how to get rid of the old one. It’s not like you can just shove a 48-inch rear projection boob tube on wheels into a corner and throw clothes over it. That’s what a treadmill is for.

I found a local charity that will come and pick up our TV, along with the broken VCRs, CD players and Wang Chung audio cassettes that take up space in our garage.

I am not one of those people that hang on to “stuff.” At least three times a year, I bundle up donations of clothing, shoes and “The Idiot’s Guide to Decorating Your Home with Messy Kids and No Money” book series.

I may not stop there.

This evening, I was playing on the floor with my toddler, J., when he started extracting things from his over-crowded toy box. First came a parade of plastic toys. I felt a twinge of guilt when I counted the toys and compared it to the number of French fries and chicken nuggets he wolfed down to get them.

Next came tattered board books, a baby rattle and some plastic blocks.

“Look, Mommy!” J. said, clawing at the bottom of the box. “An animal cracker!” Before I could reach it, J. popped a half-eaten camel into his mouth. I was about to grab my “Idiot’s Guide on What to Do When Your Child Eats Cookies with Cooties” from the donation pile when he saw them.

The shoes. The moustache. The blue derby hat.

He had found Mr. Potato Head’s Parts.

Screaming with glee and clearly not wheeling from the cootie-coated cracker, J. took my hand and ran to the garage. “I want Mr. Potato Head, Mommy! Plllleeeeease, Mommy!”

Uh, oh. This is trouble.

There's a reason this Silly Spud is in the garage. The head had spooked J. when we presented it on his first birthday. On this specific toy model, you press a button and all the parts fly off his face. It’s not one of Hasbro’s brighter ideas, in my opinion.

Obviously, J. was too dizzy from the Trans fat in his French fries to remember. But he was excited, so I thought we could try again.

We placed Mr. Potato Head on the coffee table, and inserted his arms, red nose with mustache, and black-rimmed glasses.

J. pushed the button. WHAM! Mr. Potato Head came to life. With a sardonic chuckle, his private “parts” scattered in every direction. One piece grazed my ear. Another soared into the ceiling fan. The last piece hit our greyhound squarely between the eyes. She yelped, jumped up and ran for cover in our laundry room.

J. was horrified. His eyes welled with tears and he begged me to take Mr. Potato Head back to the garage.

So now, Mr. Potato Head is – once again – banished to the garage where he will live out his days among old yearbooks, suitcases and holiday decorations.

Or maybe…just maybe…I can swap him out with a Mr. Mister cassette single.

"Hats Off" to the Prize Patrol

“Mom, I really, really want this.” My nine year-old has just shoved a brochure under my nose.

“What is that thing?”

He rolled his eyes. (This is becoming his automatic response to everything I say or do.)

“It’s a Super Sipper Sombrero. See?” He points to the page. “You can attach two milk bottles to either side, and they have straws. It also has a fan on the top, in case I get too hot.”

“Too hot?”

Eye roll. “Yes…see? It serves salsa…mild, medium or hot. The chips are extra.”

Ahhh…yes. The PTO fundraising season is here. Twice each school year, we go through this. He brings home ten catalogs and begs for me to buy 25 items so he can show off the winning prize to his friends. Within two days, it’s on the floor in the family room, never to be touched again.

But this Super Sipper Sombrero was the MOST hideous I’d seen of all prizes. I preferred last year’s furry purple gorilla that bellowed “Feed me bananas!” as his long arms hung from the bedroom door knob.

The thing I can’t get over with these fundraisers is that the items are quite pricey, and the quantities are quite small. C’mon…should I really pay $15 for a 50-count tin of Gummi Berries? I did the math. That’s like $.30 per berry!

I can buy a bag at the store for 50 cents.

I know, I know…it’s for a good cause. But I think I’d rather spend 50 cents on the Gummi Berries package and take the other $14.50 and donate it to the PTO.

Or better yet, keep it and not buy the berries at all.

But unfortunately, the PTO doesn’t give out Super Sipper hats with each purchase.

I looked through the catalogs and found only two things that I thought we absolutely needed: a fur remover mitt for the greyhound and a 50th Anniversary Celebration of Table Tennis Coasters Set.

Much to my son’s chagrin, we didn’t make it to 25 items.

But that’s okay. He still gets a belching pink frog.

Farewell, Our Old TiVo Friend...

Zzzzzzfftt.

“Uhhhh, the TV died,” my husband said.

We had just returned from our monthly run to Costco, where I bought a 200 mg, 3000-capsule bottle of Milk Thistle. .. I didn’t even know what Milk Thistle is, but it sounded like a good deal at the time.

“I turned it on...and it just went…” Zzzzzzzffft.

It was six o’clock in the evening. We knew what we had to do. This was the third time this 48-inch, rear projection dinosaur had gone on the fritz. With two previous repair bills totaling $1250, we vowed the next time it broke would be the last.

“So…I’m okay with going to look for new TV if you are,” he said.

I looked at the clock. Then I looked at our toddler who hadn’t napped all day. This was playing with fire. Should we take a cranky toddler to an electronics store late at night when the only thing he ate for dinner was a handful of Rainbow Goldfish?

I decided to flirt with danger. “Let’s go!” as I ushered our kids into the garage.

That was the beginning of the end. The following, as anchorman Walter Cronkite used to say, is "the rest of the story.”

6:05p.m. – We leave the house and head for mass market electronics store #1. Our mission is to collect helpful information from Young And Hip Sales Dude so we can then go and buy the TV for half the price at mass market electronics store #2.

6:15pm – Husband screeches truck to a halt in front of Red Robin restaurant to pick up a penny on the sidewalk. He hopes this will give us a jump start on collecting for our first TV payment.

6:20pm – Arrive at store #1. We talk with Young and Hip Sales Dude about HDTV, and the difference between LCD and plasma displays. Our toddler claims he’s hungry and chews on a blister pack of AA batteries.

7:00pm – Travel to store #2. Purchase TV and stand. As we wait for the employee to deliver the items to the truck, our toddler demolishes a “Wild Hogs” DVD display.

7:25pm – Arrive home and unload new TV and stand. Husband starts to program TV. I look for things around the house in need of AA batteries.

7:30pm - Unwrap the TV stand and remove contents from the box. Realize my “guesstimate” on the width of the TV stand is way off. It is too long for our entertainment center.

7:31pm – Ignore husband’s comment, “I thought you had the measurements in your purse.”

7:35pm - Inspect entertainment center. Point out there may be a way to “expand it” to fit the TV stand.

7:45pm - Husband gets on chair to disassemble entertainment center. Loosened overhead shelf falls and bonks husband on head before knocking down TiVo box and DVD player. Zzzzzzzffft.

7:46pm - Husband sinks to his knees and prays for the broken TiVo box to heal itself. He starts to reprogram the box.

8:30pm - Husband still in denial about failed attempts to revive TiVo. Our nine year-old son has fallen asleep on the couch after reading the directions out loud 12 times. The TV screen blinks the message, “Programming. Please Wait.”

9:00pm – Still no TiVo.

10:00pm – We have managed to separate the entertainment center by an inch. The base of the TV stand now fits into the space.

10:15pm – Still no TiVo

10:16pm - Husband is angry and starts sifting through DVD collection to calm his nerves. Gets even madder when he finds his lost copy of “Meatballs” and can’t watch it because DVD player is also zzzzzzzfffft.

10:45pm - Doors to entertainment center will not open because we’ve pushed it apart at a weird angle. One side is crooked. To calm my nerves, I open a bag of Baked Cheetos, mentally dismissing how many Weight Watchers POINTS I’ll have to record later.

11:30pm - Husband and I reinstall overhead shelf on lopsided entertainment center. We step back to admire our work and notice the edge of the shelf is splattered with paint. We’ve installed it backwards.

11:31pm - Still no TiVo.

11:40pm – I make it to the bottom of the Cheetos bag.

11:45pm - We decide the entertainment center can do without the overhead shelf. I ignore the gaping holes where we gently ripped it out.

12:29am – Tired and numb, I fall into bed. I make a mental note to skip next week’s Weight Watchers meeting. Next to me, my husband is softly snoring, the TiVo remote tucked under his arm.

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

My toddler, J., has figured out how to catapult himself out of his crib.

I put him down at bedtime…he comes out faster than a hurdler at the Helsinki Olympic Stadium.

Added to that, J. is in a phase where any dog noise sends him into a frenzy of tears. Never mind that our own crazy greyhound barks at the television during the Purina Cat Chow commercials and howls when I sing along with Shakira on my iPod.

Those things don’t bother J.

On Monday night, J. was (finally) in his crib. That night, we had a HUGE rainstorm. The wind whipped through our neighborhood, toppling trashcans and scattering bottles, grass clippings and old issues of my “Home Shop Machinist” magazines.

Throughout the thunder, rain and wind, J. slept peacefully in his bed.

Sometime around midnight, my neighbor let his dog outside. I think this Chihuahua, “Moose,” had his barker removed. He flits around, opening and closing his mouth, but no sound ever comes out. However, on this night, the wind must have thwacked Moose with one of the many empty Otter Pop wrappers from our trash. Maybe he yelped. Maybe he squeaked.

Whatever happened, J. woke from his deep sleep. That’s right. He slept through tumultuous weather conditions, but heard the sound of a bark-less dog.

He jumped from his crib, and ran for cover - screaming and crying. All the way to our bedroom.

Two nights later, J. has now formed a new habit, which consists of escaping from his crib at the slightest noise.

At three this morning, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Mom,” my nine year-old son whispered. “J. is sleeping in the hallway. I almost tripped over him on my way to the bathroom.”

I stumbled from bed and found him sleeping quietly on the floor. As I gathered him into my arms, I felt a sticky substance on his arm. Then I stepped on something cold and mushy. His big brown eyes popped open as I placed him back in his crib.

“Why were you sleeping on the floor?” I asked quietly.

He yawned. “Wanted…Otter Pop.”

Needless to say, I threw out the remaining Otter Pops. For Moose’s sake – and my sleep schedule – I hope the wind isn’t blowing during the next Trash Day.

An Open Letter To My Nine-Year-Old Son

On the eve of your first day in fourth grade, I’m filled with emotions.

But here it is. The truth. You are getting older.

We no longer crawl on the floor, playing with a myriad of Buzz Lightyear toys. They’ve been replaced by computer games that reward you with magical capes and rainbow shoes.

Gone are the days when you cowered behind me, too shy to talk to the other children at the park. Now, you talk endlessly to your friends on the phone, and love spending time at their homes.

When you were a toddler, you would empty the contents of Popsicle and cereal boxes. Then, you displayed them in a precision-straight line. Now, your father and I have to remind you (several times a day) to take the recyclables out to the trash bin.

At the same time, your father and I are so proud of you. You do well in school and love to help your classmates that struggle with reading and spelling.

You have a wonderful sense of humor and infectious laugh. While I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you watch the same scenes of Drake and Josh’s “Really Big Shrimp” movie over and over again, you delight in things that are a tad offbeat. (You get that from your father.)

Most importantly, you are a great role model for your two year-old brother. You always look out for him by automatically grabbing his hand while crossing the parking lot or dusting him off when he falls on the grass.

As your mother, I committed myself to teaching you how to be caring, respectful and responsible. I want to show you that the most important things in life have less to do with having portable electronic devices and expensive tennis shoes…and more to do with being kind toward others and sharing your inner light with the world.

You’re at a tender age – no longer a little boy, but not yet a teenager.

You still sleep with “Slusher,” your tattered, stuffed Siberian Husky.
You still like hugs from your parents.
And you still ask me to cut the crusts off your PB&J sandwiches.

These moments remind me how important it is savor this time and appreciate the changes to come.

So…we wish you the best in the coming school year. We know it will be your best year yet.

And, while you’re at it, can you take the newspaper outside to the trash can?

Why does Shaun Cassidy look so old, but I feel so young?

Thanks to my friend, Shelly Hornback, for sending this over to me.

Take a moment to sit back, relax and savor the wonderful moments of your childhood. While you’re at it, remind yourself to do this more often.

You were a girl in the 1970s if you:

•Had that Fisher Price Doctor's Kit with a stethoscope that actually worked.

•Owned a bicycle with a banana seat and a plastic basket with flowers on it.

•Learned to skate with actual skates (not roller blades)that had metal wheels.

•Thought Gopher from Love Boat was cute. (It’s okay to admit it, you know…)

•Sported either a "bowl" or "pixie" cut, not to mention the "Dorothy Hamill.” (Did people sometimes think you were a boy?)

•Wore rubber boots for rainy days and Moon boots for snowy days.

•Played on a "Slip-n-Slide," on which you injured yourself on a sprinkler head more than once.

•Thought your Holly Hobbie sleeping bag was your most prized possession.

•Wore a poncho, gauchos, and knickers.

•Hoped Santa would bring you the electronic game, Simon.

•Played with the Donnie and Marie dolls with those pink and purple satin shredded outfits. Or possible you had the Sonny and Cher dolls?

•Spent hours in your backyard on your metal swing set with the trapeze. The swing set tipped over at least once.

•Wore homemade ribbon barrettes in every imaginable color.

•Wanted to be Laura Ingalls Wilder really, really bad. You wore that Little House on the Prairie-inspired plaid, ruffle shirt with the high neck in at least one school picture...and you despised Nellie Oleson!

•Dreamed your first kiss to be at a roller rink!

• Thought PONG! ("video tennis") was the most remarkable futuristic game you ever saw!

•Had a hairstyle with "wings" or "feathers" and you kept it "pretty" with the comb you kept in your back pocket. When you walked, the "wings" flapped up and down, like you were going to “take flight.”

•Know who Strawberry Shortcake is, as well as her friends, Blueberry Muffin and Huckleberry Pie.

•Carried a Muppets lunch box to school and it was metal - not plastic - with the thermos inside. Some were glass inside and broke the first time you dropped them.

•Fought with your girlfriends over which of the Dukes of Hazzard was your boyfriend.

•Had Star Wars action figures!

•Asked your Magic-8 ball the question: "Who will I marry… Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett,David Cassidy, or Andy Gibb?"

•Wore out your Grease, Saturday Night Fever, and FAME soundtrack record albums.

•Tried to do lots of arts and crafts, like yarn and Popsicle-stick God's eyes, decoupage, or those funky potholders made on a plastic loom.

•Cooked Shrinky-Dinks.

•Taped songs off the radio by holding your portable tape player up to the speaker.

•Had subscriptions to Dynamite and Tiger Beat.

•Learned everything you needed to know about girl issues from Judy Blume books.

•Thought Olivia Newton John's song "Physical" was actually about aerobics.

•Wore friendship pins on your Nike tennis shoes, or shoelaces with heart or rainbow designs.

•Drowned yourself in Love's Baby Soft - which was the first "real" perfume you ever owned.

…And most importantly, you wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer.

Take It To The Limit - Get Skinny Knee Caps

No surgery.
No downtime.
Guaranteed results.

The article said Lipodissolve could melt away the pounds. Simply put, the procedure dissolves fat pockets through injections of a “synthetically produced but biologically natural entity.”

Studies show that 80% of women are dissatisfied with their appearance.

For me, it’s the mid-section. No matter how much I exercise (walk to the refrigerator) and diet (eat three ice cream sandwiches instead of five), I can’t get rid of it.

That’s why I decided to schedule an appointment for a free “one-on-one body shaping consultation.”

As I walked in the door, I was greeted with a 20-foot waterfall, and several metal sculptures of slender, naked bodies. (All women, of course…the only male in the room was on the cover of a “Muscular Fitness” magazine.) Behind the receptionist desk, I could see The Eagles Reunion Tour playing on a plasma screen.

Once I completed the necessary form, (“Place an X here if you have a big gut”), I was ushered into a room to speak with a nurse.

She explained the procedure, adding that I would experience soreness, swelling, headaches, nausea, burning sensations and an overwhelming desire to listen to Lyle Lovett. This could last up to 72 hours after each treatment. Pain and discomfort, she said, would indicate the injections were working their magic.

She inspected my thighs. “You should consider the banana procedure,” she said.

“Why? Is my fat split up too much?” She ignored my comment. Beyond the door, The Eagles continued to perform in front of a sold out crowd.

“It’s the space between your buttocks and outer thighs. Injections in this area will provide extra definition.” You can’t hide your lying thighs…

Maybe my backside could use a little definition. Then, I remembered when I was pregnant and had to get hormone shots in the rear.

Sensing my hesitation, she eyed my chin. “We also do the neck. Maybe you should consider…?” And your smile’s been disguised…

Then the office manager breezes in. She placed a payment plan brochure under my nose.

“How much does this cost?” I thought by now, you’d realize…

She paused. “Well, it depends on how many areas you want to target. It appears that you have a few…areas of opportunity. We suggest you start out with four treatments, at $2000 per area.”

“So it will cost $8000?”

“Yes,” but it is soooo worth it. I even had my knee caps done.” There ain’t no way I’ll pay this much for banana thighs…

Needless to say, Lipodissolve will have to wait. While I savor the thought of a flat stomach and the absence of love handles, my threshold for pain – including paying $8000 – is too high.

I can think of a lot of things $8000 will buy. A few mortgage and car payments. Control top panties. The Very Best of The Eagles CD.