The kid hates meatloaf, I’m sure this doesn’t come as any surprise. What kid likes meatloaf? Well, okay, I’m sure there are 1 or 2 kids out there who looove meatloaf, but my kid is most definitely not one of them.

So I made meatloaf the other night. Not because I want to punish the kid, he was at his dad’s, but because I bought this enormous thing of ground beef at Safeway and had to use it for something.

Something that didn’t involve pasta since R always complains if we have too much pasta within one week. He says I’m going to force him into the Navy’s “Fat Boy” fitness program if I keep it up with the pasta.

And yeah, yeah… so they have wheat and low carb pasta, No Yolk pasta, etc. It doesn’t matter much to R, pasta is pasta in his book and he doesn’t want to see too much of it. Do you see what I go thru, internet? The rules, regulations, likes, dislikes of two growing (haha - just kidding, R!) boys?

Back to the meatloaf.

The kid had practice the night and he had left his basketball shoes at my house. I’m in the kitchen preparing dinner and R is on the couch watching Book TV, or Bloomberg, or the Military channel. If you think I’m joking every time I say these are the things R watches in rotation, come to my house and see for yourself. Bring Vodka.

The kid walks in and I immediately launch into a spiel on how sad it is that he’s going to miss meatloaf night.

“Ohhh… I can’t believe I’m making ALL this meatloaf and you won’t be here to enjoy it.”

“It’s just so sad! Tragic, even.”

“Oh to think all of this meatloaf and M won’t be able to have ANY of it!”

The kid is running around, putting on his shoes, throwing an eye roll here and there. You know - the teen thing. R is chuckling and probably taking notes on whatever boring show he’s watching.

I have a brainstorm complete with finger held aloft: “A-ha! I know what I’ll do!” I excitedly tell the kid when the meatloaf is done baking; I’ll drop some by his dad’s house so it will be ready for him when he gets home from practice.

The kid is about ready to dash out the door and he turns to me and says: “Mom. There are many disappoints in life and missing meatloaf tonight is going to have to be one of mine.”

That? Definitely MY son. My heart melted a little.

Happy weekend, everyone!!

P.S. Every time I come to my own blog today I keep reading the title as “Bending over meatloaf” - and that’s just so wrong, ya know? Can I go home now?

I have to say something nice about R after portraying him in the not most flattering light in the entire last post.

Ready?

He never goes to bed with dishes in the sink.

Will you think of less of me if I confess I HAVE left dirty dishes in the sink… *wince* over night? Gaaaaaaaaaahhhhh…. I’ve done it! I admit it!

You see, there are some evenings that I’m so freaking tired from work, cooking, yelling at the teen, getting ready for the next work day… and I hate leaving dirty dishes uncleansed, I do! Swear it!

In my defense, it’s not as if I flounce into the bedroom with no care in the world. It really does bother me going to bed with a messy, potentially ant/roach/bug trap of a kitchen.

I’ve found myself gazing into the sink, willing those dirty plates, forks, knives, spoons, glasses clean. Kind of wiggle my nose like Samantha from Bewitched. Question: Why did this bee ever do housework? When she could wiggle her nose and call it a day?

Another thing: I’ve been using “bee” a lot lately since I’m trying to cut down on cussing. It works quite well. But I do hope that when people see me use it, I don’t mean a cute fluffy black and yellow bumble bee, but, more like a damn bee! A stinky, stank bee! Damn! BEEEEE!

Back to the dishes. After staring into the sink for a few minutes, I say screw this… and take my butt to bed. SOME NIGHTS. Okay? I said some.

Last night, I wanted R to come watch TV in the bedroom with me, I wanted to relax with him and my back hurt way too much to brave the couch.

He came in the room and said he couldn’t lay down yet, he had to clean the kitchen. I didn’t argue with him. I mean, hello! Who would? Not this bee.

So see, R does nice things. Sometimes. And I do the dishes the next day. Sometimes!

That confession doesn’t have quite enough meat on it. I’ll give you another one.

The teen is at a stage where, how shall I put this… he’s a bit lax on his personal hygiene. I have to remind him (repeatedly) to brush his teeth, practically beg him to take a shower - and - he’d probably wear the same navy blue polo shirt every day to school if I let him. Unwashed.

I have talked to the ladies at work and they all have assured me that this will change when the teen enters high school next year.

While I’d love to have this soonish-to-be grown man shower or brush his teeth, maybe even clean his own clothes without prompting from his MOTHER… the idea of this NEW MAN entering high school kinda scares me.

And need I remind you, we’re not talking about things that scare me this post. That will be next post where I speak of things like spiders, snakes, empty vodka bottles and Keith Olbermann.

Monday morning rolls around way too soon after the solitude that was my Mother’s Day (R didn’t really ruin the day, I’m a drama queen. We don’t siss boom bah any holidays around here) and I had a cup of coffee while I was getting ready.

Normally, I don’t drink coffee at home as I take 2 travel mugs of coffee to work with me. I wait to enjoy them at my desk and kill at least 10, 15 minutes of the work day. Well that and the coffee in any given office usually tastes something like MUD or ASS.

Sadly, one of the two travel mugs that I use broke last week so I’m down to one. AND OMG. HOW THIS PAINS ME.

There I am bright and early Monday morning, putting on my Bare Minerals (LOVE) and drinking some coffee while prodding the kid along in getting ready.

That day, I had to have asked him no less than 4 times if he brushed his teeth. On one hand, I don’t want girls to find him attractive but on the other, I don’t want MY son being the one that no girls talk to cuz he has stank breath.

I finish up getting ready, guzzle the rest of the coffee, grab the kid by the nape of his (clean!) blue polo and fly out the door.

I did have one of my travel mugs of coffee at my desk that day. I did. I enjoyed it. I did. But after I was finished I lamented to myself (where all good lamenting should be directed), that my teeth don’t normally feel this fuzzy, do they?

I drink coffee every day, copious amounts of it, even. My teeth still usually feel relatively… clean. And then, it hit me: I forgot to brush my damn teeth.

Ain’t that about a bee?

I’m really tired (hate when the kid has practice on Mondays - bleh) so I’m not going to stay long. And plus, Major League is on and I love this movie.

Mother’s day was pretty chill around these parts. After plans of actually doing something, the day kind of went nowhere. The kid played his new x-box game off and on most of the day (he did clean his room - thank GOD, Hallmark and whoever else made up Mother’s Day for that particular gift). R and the kid both gave me cute cards, R made his famous pancakes and good scrambled eggs.

I say he made good scrambled eggs because R can mess up some eggs. He puts too much stuff in them and I, for one, don’t like real “savory” eggs. Maybe some ham, maybe some cheese … that’s it. I don’t need onions, sausage, PEPPERONI (yes, he went there - a few times) in my damn eggs. I think since it was Mom’s Day, R restrained himself with the eggs. Even the kid liked them.

The only thing that put a damper on the whole day (other than the teen and R only getting me 1 bottle of champagne for mimosas), was that R was kind of in a funk for pretty much the whole day. No, it had nothing to do with me. When you get to be my age (young grasshopper) you get a little tired of blaming yourself for every emotion a man feels, every moment he’s having it.

I’m sure whatever R was feeling funky over, was a good reason… I just wasn’t one of them. I have to say it was irritating, though, considering last year R stole my Mother’s Day thunder from me by having his birthday on it… and now he’s putting a damper on the day again by having a ‘tude.

The thing that bugs me about R and his funks is he never admits he’s actually in one. If you find yourself a) short with people b) walking out of a room in a huff WHILE someone is talking or c) saying kind of, sort of borderline “mean” things… guess what? YOU’RE IN A DAMN FUNK!

I don’t mind, really. Except for a nice day here and there, my life is pretty much always a funk. Not that I’m actually down about something every single day but I can and will give you at least 5 things I’m currently bitching about. So people may THINK I’m in a funk when really, I’m just a bitch and I like to complain a lot.

On those days when I’m extra testy or rude or nasty, (I guarantee, right now on a stack of bibles) I will say to R, or the teen (or whoever else I subjected ME to) that I’m sorry and I’m in a funk.

R? WILL NEVER ADMIT IT. I see the signs, I see him get testy, I see him stomp out of a room and I? I take a deep breath. I’m a grown up! In a real! Grown up! Relationship! We’re not going to fall for this! What have we learned all these years, and from all those losers we dated if we fall for THIS? We’re sooo better than this sorry display, aren’t we?

Yes, we are!!! I count to 10 (FINE, 20) and I stomp my foot, raise my fist to the ceiling and murmur: I refuse to fall into the man’s funk trap! He will not catch me falling for this! Not on Mother’s Day!

I put a smile on, walk out of the room, dust off my extra sweet voice and I say: “Honey, is there something wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’M FINE”, comes the barked reply.

“Oh. Cause you seem a little funky.”

“There’s nothing wrong”, he says with a fake, forced chuckle.

That’s the scariest part of all, that fake chuckle.

I decided to cut my losses, left R on the couch and the kid playing x-box and came into the bedroom. Ordered a chick flick, did my toe nails (OPI Sonora Sunset), took a long hot bath, ate some cookies… and called it a motherfunking day.

P.S. I EVEN made dinner. So THERE. That’ll show him. *blows on nails*

P.S.S. Juuuuuuuust a bit outside… I love this movie! Night all.