Shake Ya Money Maker

This weekend, I met up with some friends in Chicago. It was an all-out girls weekend: good shopping, good food, and pole dancing.

Yes, I said pole dancing. Apparently, this has been gaining popularity ever since Carmen Electra released a series of strip tease workout DVDs. A friend of mine suggested we try it, and most of us figured it would hurt to try it just once.

After brunch at a nearby cafe, we descended on Flirty Girl, a gym that features lap dancing, pole dancing, and kick boxing. I originally thought that kick-boxing was a misfit until I realized all three have one thing in common: You work hard as hell.

Our instructor was Diana, a well-endowed cutie with caramel skin and long blond weave. She first took us through warm up designed to loosen us up, and they worked. By the time I got finished shaking my rear end and rolling all over the floor, I was too sweaty and too tired to be nervous about grinding all over a pole.

In two hours, Diana taught us a full routine, complete with two spins, a headstand, and a backflip. I wish I could say that I was ready for showtime (and by showtime, I mean showing my husband, not going to the local strip joint), but I felt more like Carrie from the King of Queens.

My spins were ill timed, I did more of a roll than a back flip, and I left the headstand to the professionals. What I did gain were sore arms, a set of bruises along my thighs, a lot of laughs, and a newfound respect for ladies who make their living working the pole. I may not agree with their career choice, but boy, do they work hard. They need a raise and a union representative.

The Thing

I'm forgetting something. But what?

I wish I knew, and I feel like it's something really, really important.

I've been on a quest to remember The Thing all week. I think about it when I first wake up, on the ride to work, and during meetings when I should be paying attention.

I stay up at night trying to remember, and I end up going to bed much later than I should.

I constantly check e-mails, in the hopes that something will jog my memory. I look for it 0n Facebook, Twitter, and even Words with Friends.

Okay. So I know I won't find it playing Words with Friends, but I can't help it. I'm addicted.

Looking for The Thing has seriously impeded my ability to focus. This blog has taken me longer to write than usual because I keep getting distracted. It seems like I'm supposed to be doing something else.

In my search, however, I've remembered a whole bunch of other things. I contacted an old friend and scheduled lunch for next week. I brought in some Tupperware I've been meaning to give to a coworker, and I finally made good on my promise to design some letterhead.

But The Thing is still out there.

Well, when I find out what it is, I'll let you know. For now, Words with Friends is calling. I have several heated battles going.

Happy Birthday Mommy!

My mom's birthday, for as long as I can remember, has never come and gone without any fanfare. My brother and I thought that this year should be no different, especially because we are so thankful that she is still with us. So about a month ago, we decided it would be nice to have some of her friends over for a small celebration.

It was supposed to be easy. Food, folks, and fun. But when it comes to my mom, things never play out as you expect.

First, we had to deal with the guest list. Trying to keep this soiree to 20 people or less was like trying to keep a mob of teenagers from the Jonas brothers. Every time I called one person, they had a suggestion on who else I should invite. By some miracle, mostly due to the prior commitments of invitees, we had 18 guests. Plus, we didn't tell our dad about the party until two days out, knowing full well he would have invited half the city if he had know about it sooner.

The second major hurdle was keeping Mom in the dark. I'm not a fan of the surprise party, so I was perfectly happy telling her about it upfront, but B wanted her to be surprised. "Somebody's going spill the beans, " I argued. "You know our people can't keep secrets."

Not one person breathed a word! I swear, if I had said this was a surprise, somebody would have called her and told her all about it. Go figure.

We ended up telling her anyway. Mom's a glamour girl, and I couldn't think of an excuse to get her in a jazzy outfit without raising suspicion. Dad suggested telling her we were going to O'Charley's. That just wasn't going to cut it.

We had the party this past Saturday, and Mom loved it. She was decked out with chandelier earrings, two necklaces, two rings, a bracelet, an ankle bracelet, and glittery shoes (I didn't say anything. It was her birthday after all.)

Despite a mixup with our party wings order, we had plenty of food and drink to go around. Mom walked from room to room all night, mingling with her guests. My aunt even took her to the casino afterwards.

I was bone tired the next day, but it was all worth it.

Kindergarten Screening

I went into the office late this morning so I could take my daughter to meet her new teacher.

We started the morning with a bevy of questions as to why we were abandoning the standard routine. "I thought I didn't go to my new school until next week? We're having water day at my old school. I wanted to go!"

I assured her that our visit would be brief, and that she would be back at daycare in time for water day. Once the crisis was avoided, we made it to school with a few minutes to spare.

Mrs. L. explained to me that I had to wait outside while she and my daughter went through the skills assessment. Like any good mom, I sat in the hall and tried to eavesdrop. I heard them discuss block building and shapes, and although the janitor was buffing the floors down the hall, I could tell E was doing well.

"I want you to finish a sentence for me." Mrs. L said.

"Okay." E's voice had a serious tone.

"A boy is a brother, and a girl is a ... "

"Sister!" E giggled.

"A door is made of wood, and a window is made of ..."

"Glass!"

"Birds fly, and fish...."

"Jump!!!!"

Jump? A few seconds later, I heard their voices move closer to the door. I pretended to check text messages.

"E did really well on the screening." Mrs. L beamed.

"Is that so?" I asked. E held out a zebra sticker and wiggled her hips.

"Oh yes, she'll have no problem picking up the curriculum."

The next student was there for her appointment, so I shook the teacher's hand and headed for the exit.

"Sweetie," I said as we walked to the car. "What did you tell the Mrs. L about fish?"

"You know, they jump in and out the water like this," she said as her arm made a up-and-down wavy motion.

"What about swimming?"

"The like jumping. It's more fun."

I have to appreciate the creativity.

Baby Nostalgia

Where did the summer go? For that matter, where have the past five years gone? It seems like only yesterday I was a new mother navigating my way though sleep depravation. Now I have a bright, energetic five-year-old daughter starting kindergarten next week.

My little girl is no longer a baby. She's a kid. (She's pointed that out to me on several occasions.) I promised myself I won't cry when I drop her off for the first time, but I know better.

Sometimes I miss the baby days. I spent the afternoon with friends yesterday, and one of them had her six-month-old son in tow. He was a cutie, and he giggled when I made funny faces.

Then I discovered he was smiling because he pooped all over his car seat. My warm fuzzy feeling was replaced by the smell of baby poo.

I realized I've got it pretty good. My kid can take herself potty, I get a full night's sleep, and every day, I get the best hugs ever.