Miss Boo’s preschool homework last night was to dictate a pie recipe, then draw the pie.  Here is exactly what she said to me:

Hey! Check it out!  This is my Thankgiving pie recipe!

Miss Boo’s Princess Pie

1 cup of peppermint powder

1 cup of princess pink sugar

3 cups of cherry jelly

1 pink princess crust

4 pink cherries

Mix ingredients and bake for 10 seconds in a pot. Let cool down and serve in pink dishes with pink whip cream, pink mint ice cream, and top with a cherry.  Sprinkle with pink blueberry sugar. Each person gets 12 bowls. This is only for the beginner cook and should only be served on  birthdays when wearing sleeping beauty dresses with pink hair. You will get a sugar stamp with Hello Kitty on it with a heart apple when you eat this.

She added in her own handwriting at the end of the page-  I HAVE BAKED THIS!!!

Jaden says: If you make this, let me know how it turns out once you awaken from your sugar coma.

There’s a lot of hooplah over suburban moms and housewives right now. The money, the dysfunction, the craziness.

Let me tell you something. City moms and housewives are just as crazy. I’m one of them and if that isn’t enough proof for you, I don’t know what would be.

Let me give you a peek into my day as an example.

I get home to find a message on the machine from another City Mom. She’s one of my working mom friends, so I don’t see her as often as I’d like. Picture a stylish and professional blonde married to an accomplished husband living in a city home that always gives me house envy.

Now picture her leaving a message on my machine, asking if she could come over to my house… and vacuum.

Yes, you read that correctly. She wanted to come over and vacuum.

Yeah, like I’d turn that down!

My friend  was giddy as she brought in her brand new Dyson. She said, “I told my hair stylist today that I was so worried I offended you by asking to come vacuum. It’s a sickness how much I love using this thing.”

“Offended? I was overjoyed. Have at it!”

I made dinner while Matt played with the kids while my friend vacuumed the house. She told me I didn’t have to help or shadow her, just sit down and eat. She was happy vacuuming.

TWO HOURS LATER, we said goodbye.

Two hours later! That woman moved furniture. She cleaned under beds. She vacuumed baseboards. And emptied tankful after tankful, filled with gray fuzz.

At one point she moved the ottoman, saw a pile of those new multi colored fruity Cheerios, and said, “YES! Orgasm time!”

I was embarrassed at first that my grime was exposed. After an hour, I just relaxed and figured hey, she was getting her jollies and I was getting clean carpeting.

I kid, but I was actually extremely appreciative. With surgery next week, I won’t be able to vacuum, so she was really doing me a favor. The stroller, the vacuuming, and the laughs we shared made for a memorable evening.

There may not be white picket fences and four car garages, but we City Moms are just as nutty as our suburban counterparts.

It’s more fun that way.

This weekend we took All My Children to Starbucks. Mommy Brain made me space out on the two kid-friendly coffee houses in our “zone.”

I forget what I was saying to Matt when we approached Starbucks, but it ended with, “…is such a pain in the butt.”

Three year old Boo said from the back of the car, “Butt! You said butt! HAHAHAHAHA!”

Then Boo sighed happily and said with much enthusiasm, “Butt is such a great word!”

We walked into Starbucks with Boo saying, “I love the word butt.”

While the fire in the fireplace was so delightful, the other patrons were not there to listen to three kids squealing, and barking, yes barking, and shouting, “Butt is a great word!” We quickly made our exit.

Boo is finally going to perform that soup song at school during the Thanksgiving play. Not a moment too soon. What an ear worm, that song. I often find myself going about my day while singing, “You’ve heard of chicken soup and turkey soup and chowder made with claaaaams…. ”

The older kids are singing a song about America. Boo began singing the song at dinner.

Boo: (singing) America! America! With liver-tea from sea to sea!
Me: Liver tea? I’d love a cup!
Matt: Sounds tasty.
Me: What is liberty, Boo?
Boo: Liver-tea is a big castle in America.
Matt: Technically, America was founded after the time of castles.
Boo: Liver- tea is a mountain with a castle covered in ice cubes.
Matt: Sounds like Superman’s fortress.
Boo: Who’s Soup Man?
Me: Soup Man drinks liver- tea
Matt: No soup for you!

My kid just walked past wearing a green plastic lei.  Then the other kid walked past wearing a purple plastic lei. Leis with pink tutus and bunny ears. Is it Mardi Gras or Pride Fest at my house, I can’t tell!

Plastic leis give me the heebie jeebies.  They bring back a nasty memory. A nasty, sweaty, gross, disgusting, horrifying memory.

Yars ago I had gone to a bar with my girlfriends to celebrate being young and cute when this big red sweaty jowly drunk guy approached.  He was wearing several mutli colored plastic leis.  He took one off and slurred to me, “Here, sweetheart, come here, I got somethin for ya.”

I wanted to say, “I don’t want any somethin you got for me, you cheese covered meatball.” *gag* But I’m an annoyingly polite Midwestern gal.  I just stood there when I should have run screaming in the other direction. He practically stumbled on top of me, then steadied himself,  took a plastic lei from his neck, placed it around mine, and said with much machismo,  “There ya go.  I just gave you the best lei of your life!”

The lei was sweaty.  It was hot and sweaty- dripping with sweat, actually.  It was so soaked, the dude’s sweat ran off the lei and down the back of my cute little black dress, landing in a pool at the base of my back and slowly soaked into my undies.

Gag with me now. *GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG!*

You guys know what a germaphobe I am on the best of days.  So you know how skeeved out I was in that moment. I couldn’t get that lei off fast enough.  I didn’t mean for that last sentence to sound dirty cuz it wasn’t dirty. Certainly not dirty good.  It was dirty baaaaad.

Since I am and always have been me, I tried turning the awkward encounter into a joke with,  “Not tonight dear, I have a headache.”

He stood there confused and bloated from ego and Budweiser and shouted back, “Your loss, honey!”

And now every time I see a plastic lei, I shudder. Plastic leis should make you want to drink froo froo drinks and dance around barefoot to played out party jams.  It should not bring up memories of stinky, sweaty, disgusting drunk guys.

Damn him for ruining plastic party leis!  But hooray for him for giving me a funny way to dance around the worst lay of my life question.  Ooh Jaden, such a clever girl.  So good at getting others to spill their guts and even better at hiding my own.

Conversation I had with myself while checking the stats for my little internet show blog.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Oooh! Take a look at this! Someone from E! Entertainment Television has been watching my shows!

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
That must be typo. No way would someone from E! be interested in your show.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Yeah, look! Twice!

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
Unless of course, they’re reaaaaaaally bored.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Who cares! Someone in the “biz” watched my show!

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
An bored intern trying to get his kicks during lunch. He saw Mom and Video, thought woohoo free p*rn, and then saw you.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Maybe it was Ryan Seacrest!

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
Yeah. Ryan Seacrest has nothing better to do than watch some Midwestern mom give a video tour of Grant’s Farm.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
It would be so cool if it really was Ryan Seacrest.

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
What’s this sudden obsession with Ryan Seacrest?

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Well, Ryan was an unknown TV show host, right? Then came American Idol and it got huge and suddenly Ryan has a big contract with E! and hosting all kinds of shows and formed a production company and is also a producer. He’s successful doing what he loves to do and he’s making killer money. Not a bad life.

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
You want to be Ryan Seacrest don’t you.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Well…um… ok! Yeah, ok! You happy? I want this. Dammit! I want this!!! I don’t care if people are laughing at me or will be laughing at me if it doesn’t happen. I am proud to tell the world I WANT THIS DAMMIT!!

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
Ok, ok, calm down you big freak show. Well, did the folks at E! contact you? Does someone think you’re the next big star of do it yourself television?

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Ooh, I got an email on the Word To Your Mutha Show account!

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
It’s Ryan Seacrest. He wants to produce your show for his new production company. Keeping up with the Kardashians wasn’t doing it for him. He sees the future and it’s Mommy Programming.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Damn. Another email saying I’ve won the Irish lottery.

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
Well there you go. Someone out there thought enough to email you.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Would have been cool if it was Ryan Seacrest.

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
Would have been cool if you actually won the lottery.

Dreamy Impulsive Me:
Yeah, that’s an option, too! Then I could REALLY make my show!

Practical Pain In The Ass No Fun Me:
You’re so cute when you’re being unrealistic.

Miss Boo discovered the joy of drawing late in life. While her peers began drawing and coloring at about two years old, Boo only became interested last month and she’s about to turn four. The frustration I had with trying to get her interested in coloring has been replaced with the joy of teaching her to draw her favorite objects. Like flowers, butterflies, and Captain Toilet.

From what I have gathered from the drawings, Captain Toilet has a toilet seat for a head and wears a long cape. Mrs. Toilet has the same head, but wears a dress. She has long eyelashes and 20 fingers on each hand. Then there’s the baby toilets. They are round and expressionless.

Today Boo drew the Toilet family and added a small round-ish object with a long tail next to the baby toilets. I asked what it was. She replied, “Duh Mom, the baby toilets unraveled the toilet paper!!”

Once she tired of Captain Toilet, I showed her how to make a Christmas tree. Triangle tree. Square trunk. Round ornaments. And a round tree topper. She’s not quite ready for stars.

Boo drew a series of trees in various colors, loaded with ornaments and lights. The trees appeared to be topped with long hair. I asked her what that was about. Her reply? “Christmas trees are covered in fur, Mommy.” I asked if she meant fir, instead of fur? “No, they’re covered in fur. That’s how they stay warm outside.”

Boo paused while drawing a hot pink fuzzy Christmas tree:

Boo: Mom, his name is Edward.

Me: Huh?

Boo: The boy who plays ham. His name is Edward.

Me: Oh! Mystery solved!

Boo: It’s ED-ward. Not Egg-ward.

Me: You were calling him Eggward, weren’t you?

Boo: Yeah….but he’s ham.

Then Boo put down the colors and began running back and forth across the room, picking imaginary flowers and singing this song:

What kind of flower can you be?
What kind of flower can you be?
If you want to be a flower you can be!
Flower, flower, flower flower!
If you want to be a flower, you can be!
You can be a daisy or a rose.
If you want to be a flower you can be!
You can be seaweed.
That’s not my favorite flower.
That’s not a flower.
What kind of flower can you be?
If you want to be a flower, you can be.
If you want to be a flower you can be!

What is that kid going to be when she grows up? I’m hoping that imagination of hers makes her very very very rich.