Stinker Belle

My Stink and belle have been really good the past few days – so helpful given that Rex is out of town. (Of course, now they're throwing tuna, but I'm going to make them clean it up, giving me an additional 5 minutes on the computer. I’m banking on my Yankee Candle Vanilla out scenting the Kirkland Low Sodium Fishy smell. But I wouldn’t put money down.)

I’m elated that 7 Tinkerbelle bags sold with additional interest about extras. Unfortunately, no one is biting on the Spongebob totes. I think they’re darling. A good friend of mine claims that they’re scary, however, and no kid of hers will be “toting that bag around.” Odd how different people see things so uniquely. I find them funky and hip and not at all threatening. Then again, I find Dora’s freakishly large head more terrifying than the national budget. It’s all relevant.

I won’t be posting later this evening as my presence is required to collect my bad parenting award. My prize: First Place Slacker for Ditching Preschool and Taking the Rugrats to a Malibu Play Park Instead. I couldn’t help myself. The weather was so balmy. And with the responsible Rex gone, even the good angel on my shoulder was taking off her wings and putting on her g-string bikini.

We had a fabulous time with our friend’s kids on the swings, the monkey bars and eating icecream. Afterwards, we perused the shops that line the sand lot. It’s always a kick to check out the price tags. "Oooh... 800.00 silver stilettos that look like Robotic hooker gear... I HAVE to have those to clean my toilets!" It's a complete different world from the Valley where it’s more Warhol than Walmart and half the men look prettier than the women. (Ironically, I live with a robotic male who looks prettier than I do most days, but he's truly an enigma. Like a Cadbury egg, he's a J-Crew model on the outside, geeky tech on the inside. And like those chocolate eggs, too much in one sitting can make me a bit queasy... so it's good for us to have our little work induced breaks.)

On that note, I just saw an Oprah where Dr. Robin discussed her marriage that ended at age 28. Another guest was Lance Armstrong's ex-wife. The third was a 32 year old professional with cold feet about her upcoming 60,000 dollar wedding. The theme: Women lose themselves in marriage. (Sidenote: Of course marriage talk is a serious subject, but what I was really hoping Oprah would ask Lance's wife was "How was the sex after he lost his testicles?" Is that just totally rude and low of me? Am I an insensitive freak? Just wondering. No offense to any one-nut male readers out there.)

The ladies spoke about how wives are conditioned to please others to the point where their shopping list reflects their husband's shaving cream, their kids’ diapers, their mother's hairspray, their neighbor's dog food, but not their personal needs. Oprah claimed that she didn't get married for that reason.

At first I got dramatically sad. My head began spinning more than usual as I panicked,"Oh my God.. I totally take care of my family. I have no time to write anymore. I'm not that funky redhead who goes to Santa Monica for eyebrow waxes! I lost all my fabulous gay friends who would take me on whims to Santa Barbara in Ann Margaret’s Buick Regal. (Actually, that was my ex-boyfriend. Never mind that one.)

Have I become a mere shadow dancer while my husband is the power player?" Then I calmed down and rationally thought: "Hey, someone's gotta raise these kids while someone makes the money. So I'm not getting the 200.00 haircuts. I still have time to myself here and there. Why? Because I frigging demand it, that's why. I’d rather step out than be a stepford wife."

It was a big epiphany for me - this thing that so many women don't fight for their needs due to putting on this perfect wife and mother front. And the enlightenment came not because I put up a perfect front, but because I don't. I never had the energy to not be truthful to Rex. If I think he's acting like an ass, I tell him. If he thinks I'm being an irresponsible financial mess, he tells me. It's not always pretty - it's downright depressing sometimes - but on those lazy Sundays where he's firing up the bbq... kids running around the backyard in their birthday suits... a nice beer in our hands... and he looks at me and says, "I really do love you".. I have the good fortune to not doubt it for a second. Turns out are relationship, despite our differences, is super healthy.

Who'd a thunk?

Now it’s back to my to-do list. Looks like I need to pick up Rex’s dry-cleaning, go food shopping, pay for some kids’ clothes with my E-bay earnings and figure out when I’ll get time to get my beauty sleep in between cooking and cleaning. I’m barefoot and making dinner, but I’m not pregnant. I’ve still got my toes (unpedicured and dry as as they are) in that independent woman well!

Hey - just got 10 bids on the spongebob bags. If I keep this up I'll be born to ride! (The bus... I'm only selling them for 2.25/each. Still, that times 1 million and I'm riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiich!)