I’m not gonna miss this shit!!!

Another School Fundraiser! Yay! (Shit)

Is there a school in America that doesn't have their students sell stuff to make money?

You know a little extra pocket change for things like BOOKS and an AV projector?  (OK – in our school it is called an Elmo System, but I don’t think it has anything to do with Sesame Street.)

Because if such a school exists? I’m sending my kids there.

Not that I don’t enjoy buying some more really ugly wrapping paper or having more scented candles which activate my husband’s allergies?  Cuz I totally enjoy that, being that I aspire to be on the A&E Hoarders show at least once in my life.

But seriously? This stuff is killing me.

Let’s see:  there is peanut brittle (cuz I need me a little more candy in my house), See’s Candy (cuz that’s how you promote healthy eating in the schools), wrapping paper, tchotke stuff, cookie dough (well, let’s not jump to eliminate ALL of these things right off the bat).

Now we don’t have any relatives.  Seriously.  My husband and I are only children and my parents are gone (I love you Mama and Daddy!).

So what is left? 

My kids walking up and down the street trying to sell this shit to the neighbors, or a quick trip to the Mommy Bank.

Well, that’s a viable skill to have, right?  Cold calling, learning how to make a quick pitch, facing rejection early on in life.

Yeah.  None of that is going to happen.

For one thing, I like my neighbors. (OK, most of my neighbors.)

Thing two? I’m not going with them and they aren’t going alone.

Thing three? There is no thing 3 – it just isn't gonna happen.

So here’s what I learned. 

If I buy this crap, not only do I have more stuff to go in my Goodwill bin, but the school only gets 50 cents of the dollar.

So I have solved the problem.

I write a check.

Every time.

Each kid.

Every fundraiser.

I write about 15 checks a year.

I will happily pay cold hard cash to NOT have my children develop their sales skills.  Really?  I’m supposed to prepare them for a future as the Fuller Brush Man or the Avon Lady?

Not happening.

And if they kept track of this stuff at the schools?

I’d be in the platinum cash club.

But they don’t.

All my kids know is that they don’t win the iPad or the Pizza party for having the most sales.

Cuz you know, they are deprived.

I tell them to just cry into the piano, saxophone case, bicycle basket or better yet, the MacBook.

Deprived of some things. But a less crazy Mom?

Uh kids? THAT is a gift!

Check me out on the Today show yesterday... http://www.today.com/id/49063771/#52094078

Rocking the EvaVarro dress on the Today show. God Bless you for dressing big and small! 

15 minutes of fame? Hells Bells, I had 8 nanoseconds yesterday. 

Check me out at http://tinyurl.com/mwhpfyg

Deluge in NYC. Room service tonight.

I don't want to ruin my blowout.

New York Museum Day

Wait one hot minute! My wet vac could be art?

I'm pretty sure I need one of these

Where's the W? 

Talk about a room with a view.....

Watch out NYC here comes Dee Dee

(Trying not to think of being on 40th floor. Earthquake phobia, you know)

Traveling comes so easily to me…aka I’m a liar.

Traveling.  That’s like driving to LA from Palm Springs right?

Top the gas tank, charge the devices, and put some extra ativan in the purse.

We have these friends.  I won’t name them. (Bitter-Warning inserted here.)

But they know who they are, they and their two kids.

They are world-wide travelers. (Eye-roll inserted here.)

·         Europe! Almost every year!

·         Paris,Tuscany

·         Manhattan, Washington DC.

·         The Grand Canyon

You get the picture.

And then there’s us.

Here’s our travel itinerary for the past 8 years:

·         The local mountains.

We stay in a trailer.  There is no Chanel atelier.  We BBQ.

There is beer.

And floatie rafts on the lake.  With a special hole in them to carefully place said beer.

And when we are feeling fancy?

There’s wine.  With a screw top.

So let’s discuss packing now that we are on route for our big New York trip!!! 

Packing. It is hard for me to type that word and not have a little bit of pee leak out.

So my plan?

I order a rolling, sturdy, stainless steel clothing rack from Amazon.  And yes, I pay the $15 upgrade for next day shipping.

And then I put everything in my closet on the rack.  To pack.  You know?

I mean there was editing.  I left off the flapper dress and disco queen dress (yes, in Queen size) and a fuchsia boa from Halloweens past.

I mean, I’m a classy person and I’m going to Manhattan for Christ’s Sake.

So I’m pretty sure my entire wardrobe of Resort Bold Floral Print Casual will totally fit in Midtown, right?

And? Cuz I’m so organized? I roll that puppy from room to room collecting everything from my daughters’ closets.

Oddly enough, the children are cowering in the corner of the living room, because the frightening vibration of the overloaded clothing rack has made them think we are sustaining a 6.1 earthquake. 

“Kids”, I say in a high pitched tone, “everything is fine.  FINE!!!  Mommy is just having a hot flash!”

And a flipping panic attack.

“Mommy is PACKING!!!”

Oh wait, maybe I could roll this right onto the plane. 

“I’ll be passing on check-in luggage today, thank you so kindly.”

Cuz really…don’t you know who I am? (Swinging boa around neck haughtily.  Ok, I lied.  I did bring it.)

I’m The Dee View, from Palm Springs – the queen of all things Plus-Size fashion.  (Bigger clothes…bigger suitcases Baby!)

You know…me and Michael Kors. (Another Queen of Plus-Size fashion.)

And the real question is…how will I pack my floatie thing…and my six-pack of beer?

Cuz I may need them in Manhattan.  Right?

Holly Shit Batman - We're going to NYC!!!!!

A little something to take the edge off.....

Uh...my family is going to New York. Next weekend.

I don't do anything at the last minute.  Nothing. Ever.

I’m supposed to be on the Today Show. It’s the “supposed to” that is killing me. 

That whole TV Morning News Shows production thing is all about “flexibility”. And it turns out? They don’t care about my “rigidity issues”.

I like to think I'm structured and yes, the word "controlling" has been used in reference to me.

Something about the way I have white boards and flip charts mapping out our families daily, weekly and monthly schedule.

Hey, I’ve even been known to chisel things in stone. Then I like to carry the big stone tablets around with me. (Moses-complex anyone?)

But I’m not all THAT rigid.  I do use a variety of colored markers…flexible, right?

OK, so by now you may have figured out that “maybe” doesn’t really fit with my world view!

So this trip is completely out of my comfort zone.  But OMG – I may get a chance to be on national TV. For 8 nanoseconds.

Those 8 nanoseconds?

I am nothing if not a person who makes a Big Flipping Production (known as BFP syndrome) out of everything!

So we are turning this into an Epic Adventure, BFP Style.

My daily life idea of adventure is … dining in Rancho Mirage, 20 minutes from downtown Palm Springs. 

Here’s my Rancho Mirage travel check list:

·         I pack trail mix and an extra bottle of water to get there.

·         And I charge all my devices to 100%.

·         And I check the emergency supplies in the back of the Van.

But enough about Rancho Mirage.  Back to NYC!

We decide to take the kids out of school for three days.  (Hey, I figure three days right before school lets out? They'll live.)

We cash out every mile we have ever earned on a credit card we’ve had for 15 years.   That was a lot of house payments, dog food and botox Baby! 

We book a hotel room.  (Jesus - that's a ton of dough for a tiny, little space. I’d prefer a suite with two bathrooms, but then I’d have to sell my house.  Then where would I live when the four nights in NYC were over?)

And we leveraged the girls’ college funds to get four tickets to a Broadway matinee.  (Sorry Girls.  Let’s talk about honing your bartending skills. I’m all about raising independent self-reliant young women. Now seems as a good a time as any to begin.)

Now this seems like a lot of work for a few days.

But you know what?  That’s what we do in our Big Flipping Production family.

And besides? Manhattan and Broadway and the Statue of Liberty (I do love a plus-size statue!)? – all on our family bucket list. 

So bring it on.

We'll see a show.  Dine somewhere. See a sight.

Fight over the bathroom.

We’ll watch the Today show IN PERSON. Maybe I’ll even get in FRONT of the damned camera. (Not the iPhone camera. That’s a given. The big one with the red light.) 

Maybe there's a museum in there. And clearly, some orthopedic shoes will be necessitated.

But we are having an adventure.

For now? I'm making a check list. 

On a flip chart.

And sniffing the markers to get me through.

Ahhhhh.

PS:  Just got the call! Tuesday morning on the TODAY show!!! Trying to book a quick face-lift for this Friday…

I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up. No. Really.

It’s crush time in our family. Recitals, concerts, ballet performances and award ceremonies.

And I still need to fit in “martini” time.

So off we go on Sunday to the Piano Recital.

You know Sunday. THE DAY OF REST FOR EVERYONE WHO DOESN’T HAVE CHILDREN!

My daughters are amazing. But our video camera didn’t work. So I made my husband tape them with the iPad. Cuz that was far too humiliating for me. (It’s all nifty and sleek. But not when you are using it in front of 100 people at a piano recital.)

Clap, clap, clap. Yes, everyone was fabulous. Yes, you can have one cookie. ONE COOKIE.

Why?

Clenched teeth response: Because Mommy wants to GET HOME and put my feet up and watch TV! So how about no cookies? Cuz that’s an option also if you want to argue with me in public.

As we are walking out the driveway of the Rancho Mirage Country Club, I’m singing my daughter’s song and doing a little dance when POW!

I fall off my platform shoe.

The pain shoots up my leg like a gun shot. (No, I don’t know what an actual gun shot feels like, but I do watch a lot of crime dramas on TV.)

My first thought is: Oh fuck. I’ve broken my stupid foot again.

My second thought is: Oh fuck. I have to lie down immediately.

My third thought is: Hmmm, these rocks pressed into my cheek feel nice and warm. Uh, really warm actually. (It is Palm Springs after all.)

My fourth thought is: I feel my ass out on the street and my skirt is hiked up.

Fifth thought? Don’t really care about my exposed ass. Cuz I am never lifting my face off these rocks ever again.

And I can hear voices going in and out. “Ambulance,” “clammy,” "not conscious." (Hello. I’m conscious. I just can’t move or speak. Cuz maybe I’m being raptured a little bit after the others.)

Someone comments about how the pavement is melting under their shoes.

Me? The rocks are starting to feel really hot.
My husband? My hero? My knight on a white horse?

He just wants to load me in the car before we have to deal with the hassle of an ambulance.

Sweetly, “Come on Honey.” Clenched teeth, “Get in the car!"

I do notice from my special vista point down on the ground, that there is a small crowd gathering. And not everyone had a fresh pedicure. Just sayin’.

Wet compresses are brought. Fanning commences.

And there is a lot of talking about me in the third person. Like I can’t hear them with my face planted in the rocks. Did I mention the rocks are getting really warm by now?

So it turns out I could get up. Eventually.

Turns out it wasn’t broken.

However, emblazed in the memory of 45 piano moms is the indelible picture of my yummy ass. And by “yummy," I mean big, white, flat.

And you know what they were all thinking? Geez, it’s a good thing that lady down on the ground over there is not wearing a g-string.

And great. Another piece of the Mommy Mosaic.

Shit.

Ground Hog Day

Everyone else’s life is going on right now, slogging through spring fever.
But my burdens? Clearly they are greater than anyone else’s. Cuz it’s Tax Season in our house.

We have an Accounting Firm. My sweet @Taxes007 is a CPA.

So while I pride myself on being konked out in an melatonin-induced haze by 10:30 every night, our schedule has shifted.

I’m up at 10 or 11 when he gets home. Then we spend an hour catching up on the day. (Translation: I bitch non-stop about the kids. He tells stories about clients who discovered they owe tens of thousands of dollars. And the subsequent calls for the paramedics.)

So we go to bed around 12:30. But it turns out? 6:00 am comes at 6:00 no matter what special dispensation you may require.

(If you have not been through tax season with an accountant it is a little like being an elf on Christmas Eve. If they were bitter and liked martinis. )

It is just the time of year when I open my eyes in the morning and close them quickly thinking “I can’t go through THIS again”. Getting the kids up and dressed and out the door to school.

Then off to my Zumba or Pilates class, where I work so hard, suffer so much and accomplish so little.(All the while maintaining a constant low hum of moaning. Not the sexy kind either.)

I am still the Fat Girl in the class and that isn’t going to change. So why do I ever bother to go? Honey, I go through this just to maintain the Big Girl weight I’m at.

Then home to “work”. For the past few days that has meant calling up summer programs and trying to find activities for my kids, cuz God knows, I ain’t gonna spend ELEVEN FUCKING WEEKS entertaining them.

Then I do a little business (some days a little less than others ) then I grab a sandwich, read the paper and it is 1:30 – time to pick up Kid #1.

Then it is the uphill battle around homework and practicing both instruments. And every day this seems like a surprise to my daughter . . . uh what? Practice? Oh yeah. I’ll do it after I . . . (fill in the blank here).

Please don’t leave your shoes in the middle of the floor. (Now leaving them on the edge of the room isn’t really okay either.)

By eating your sandwich in the Family Room you are getting crumbs all over the freshly vacuumed black rug. Will you be pulling out a vacuum and cleaning that up? (Yes, the day I am thin I’m sure all these other long-awaited for miracles will commence.)

Is it really a shock on Tuesdays at 2:45 that the piano teacher is actually here? Knocking on the door? And is there a reason you are lying on the floor, reading a book, acting like the dogs aren’t in a barking frenzy cuz the poor man would just like to be LET IN???

But I know. I take a deep breath. Cuz I know after Tax Season it will be all better.

Fairy dust will fall gently from the Palm Springs sky . . . the children will light up like characters in The Sound of Music . . . my haggard, puffy-eyed husband will turn into Richard Gere. (What can I tell you? I think he is so hot. In that weird, Dali Lama-worshipping- vegan- zen kinda way.)

And I? I will be able to manage my eating. Pounds will drop magically off of my full figure. My patience will return (assuming there ever was any patience to begin with). I will no longer crave an alcoholic beverage on a daily basis. My double chin and poochy tummy will recede taking years off my looks.

Now when I awaken in the morning? I’ll stretch luxuriously, listen to the birds chirping and softy hum . . . The Hills Are Alive . . .

#CrockofShit