Hands To Heaven (How I Survived My First Crush).

It’s just an ordinary morning: busying reviewing prebills and listening to my iTunes Radio. La-tee-da. I’m doing my work, doing my work. Drinking my coffee. Doing my work.

Hmm, today, maybe I’ll listen to Peter Hollens on iTunes Radio. I like a Capella and show tune-y songs and can use a l’il break from all the Eminem I’ve been listening to lately. That Eminem. Man, he really puts it in perspective, doesn’t he? But, it’s hard listening to him in the office. It’s a lot of work to keep adjusting the volume when all the mofo lyrics play and Mr. Boss comes into my office. Yes, Peter Hollens will be a welcome change.

♫♪♫ As I watch you move ♫♪♫
Wait, I know this song.

♫♪♫ Across the moonlit room ♫♪♫
Oh my gosh, why are tears forming in my eyes?

♫♪♫ There’s so much tenderness in your loving ♫♪♫
This [sob] is not [sob] Peter Hollens.

♫♪♫ Tomorrow I must leave ♫♪♫
My heart [sobbing even harder] is breaking. Oh it hurts, it hurts!

♫♪♫ The dawn knows no reprieve ♫♪♫
Why am I weak in the knees? [uncontrollable tear-shedding] PULL IT TOGETHER, Caroline! A client is going to walk through that door any minute. Mr. Boss is going to walk through that door any minute. Get a grip, you sissy!

♫♪♫ God give me strength when I am leaving ♫♪♫
Yes, God, give me strength now! [fetal position under my desk]

No, no this song is not Peter Hollens. In fact, it’s “Hands To Heaven” by Breathe.

It’s the one song that I cried myself to sleep to every. single. night in 8th grade. It’s the one song that I played relentlessly. It’s the one song on the cassette tape (remember those) that I bought three times because I kept wearing it out. It is the song that helped me through my first crush, John. (No, that is not his real name. I have to change his name. What if he reads this?!?!)

I cannot believe that I’m pushing 40 [cough] and all those emotions are coming back. The tears. won’t. stop. Oh my ga, it’s like I’m 13 again. I can feel the pimples breaking out on my face and have an overwhelming urge to go buy some Noxzema.

Oh Scotty John, you were loved, oh so loved. Sure, John and I had been friends since we were 8 but something changed one day. I just looked at him and the world melted. [Cue Modern English] I just knew I was going to die, literally, I WOULD DIE, if we did not go out. I practiced kissing on my pillow all the while imagining that I was kissing him. I’d write him letters and draw him pictures that I would NEVER give to him. NO! I could never tell him how I felt even though he probably felt the same way. Is there anything more desperate / pathethic / tragic / wretched / pitiful than a preteen swooning over her first crush? Sadly, Scotty, er, I mean, John was never mine.

According to Wikipedia, Breathe disbanded. Let us bow our heads in a moment of silence.

How old were you when you had your first crush? What was the one song that got you through? Do you feel puberty creeping back? It’s okay, you can borrow my Noxzema.

Mixed Cassette Tape


My Pants are on the Ground.

I’ve lost just over 30 LBs since last summer. I have yet to buy new clothes that fit me properly.  I don’t want to buy clothes for 2 reasons: 1) I’m still losing weight  2) I HATE shopping for clothes and 3) although I’ve lost the LBs, I’ve only gone down 1 size. Most of the weight is gone from my boobs and my ass.  Why, oh why, couldn’t it be my waist or thighs?  This is messing with my head.

At first, it was not such a big deal to wear my bigger clothes. Sure. I look a bit like the Saggy Baggy Elephant. He’s cute, so my saggy, baggy ass must be cute too. Okay, maybe not as cute.

Saggy Baggy Elephant

Something happened this morning to make me decide it is definitely time to go buy new clothes.  Walking down the hallway past the girls’ rooms, my pants just, well, they fell. Had someone recorded the event, we could win $10,000. My lovely snot-nosed children burst out laughing at me. I love it when they laugh at me. It means they’re not fighting. I don’t love it when they point at me and sing “looking like a fool with your pants on ground!”

Actually, none of this happened.  This was only a vision I had while putting on my pants this morning. It was more of a prophecy than a vision.  This WILL happen.  I DO NOT look like Saggy Baggy Elephant but more like your Grandma.

I’m buying new pants today.

I Pooped on You The Day You Were Born.

The Weez is “so not tired, Mom” and quickly whisks a book off my bedside table to read since she has no other modes of entertainment at this late hour. She takes I Just Want to Pee Alone which is a collection of stories from other AWESOME mommy bloggers. She decides to read a story from The Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva which is towards the end of the book and one I have yet to read.

Several moments pass. I continue to work on other things. Dogs amble throughout the room and finally settle down. My wine slowly dwindles in its glass. The house is quieting down. Finally.

From a distance I hear, “Mom!” Of course I ignore. That’s what you do when children yell for you. They’re younger and should get their lazy a@@es up and respectfully request your attention, not demand it.

The Weez has learned this rule and does not yell for me again. No, instead, she barges into my room and scares the BEE-GEEBUS out of me. “What’s an a-piss-a-tom-a-tee?” Oh, Lord. She means episiotomy. What is this story about, I think. You’ll have to buy the book if you wish to know. I assure you, it’s well worth it. You can buy the book on Amazon.

Now I have a choice: a) snatch (no pun intended) the book from her and fuss for her to go to bed, b) lovingly coax her to read her bible, or 3) take this moment to scare the sh*t out of her. Yes, #3 is naturally my choice.

Despite it being 11:30pm, I describe the HORRORS of childbirth. Listen up Weezy, guess what else happens?! You take a poo when you push the baby out. And yes, I pooped on you the very day you were born. Nighty-night. Sweet dreams. I love you. Yes, I do. Just to prove it, I will refrain from showing you pictures of an apissatomatee.

The Weez.