You write something sugary sweet and heartfelt about your children, and then they drive you insane.

I’ll spare you the details, but an Alvin & the Chipmunks DVD from the movie rental store almost became roadkill because two little girls were fighting over who was going to hold it.

Can’t we all just get along? For five seconds?

No matter, as they are staying with my mother overnight while the hubby and I go out to celebrate our wedding anniversary.

Woo hoo!

Sonia Sunshine sent out a group prom invite and I have to admit I had to dig deep into the memory banks for senior prom 1987.

One of the best memories of my senior prom, besides my date (more on that later), was my dress. It was a baby blue Zum Zum tea length dress with a cool diagonal waistline. I bought it off the rack at the local mall. Oh, how I wish I had kept that dress because Zum Zum is still rockin’ the prom wear. Back then I had bigger things to think about than saving my dress for posterity, like making sure my Clairol hot rollered hair was sufficiently plastered, because apparently I needed a hair style that would withstand a hurricane out on the dance floor. I wish I had kept the dress so that I could share it with the girls, but in a fit of late teen stupidity, just one of many I might add, I gave it away. Not that I’d be able to squeeze myself into it as I think I weighed 95 pounds soaking wet 21 years ago, but still.

Senior prom was a classy “Never Say Goodbye” Bon Jovi themed event held in the school cafeteria. My date picked me up in his mom’s white family sedan. We posed for photos in the entry way and out on the lawn.

I had the fake tanning bed glow. He had the cheesie moustache. By the time the evening closed he and I had had a serious parking session in his mom’s car in some country cow field off the main highway in town and I reeked of Polo cologne. This was a happy event that was just the start of a cruel summer that would have made a perfect John Hughes movie. I left for college that August and generally went hog wild boy crazy, spending my weekends developing a taste for cheap keg beer (you know, when I wasn’t studying), finally out of the house and feeling a little wild and carefree since my mother had always been rather strict. Meanwhile my boyfriend at home finished high school and generally felt trapped in a town where he didn’t feel he quite fit in, writing me long love letters and probably wondering why he still loved me when I was generally an immature girl who played his emotions in a mini melodrama that would have been great inspiration for a big hair metal band ballad. I’d drive home for the weekends in my little white sports car and revel in the status of college life, only to take off again and leave him in small Southern town-ville.

My senior prom date may have “just” been a sophomore, but he was, and still is, an old soul. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed brooding type who typically arrived late to school, he wore a denim jacket and stood out to me in a sea of boys who drove pick up trucks and listened to Hank Williams Jr. My date listened to Jimmy Buffett and the Eagles. He hung out with the older guys from my class. He bought cigarettes and cheap beer at the local corner market. He made mediocore grades, but was smart as a whip. He did crazy things on the weekends, and I marveled at how he never got caught. He had a bad boy streak, but I knew him as a kind, sensitive, super intelligent guy. He was nothing but a gentleman to me and the epitomy of politeness to my mother and he won her over immediately.

Good thing I finally grew up and figured all this out, since our 11th wedding anniversary is this Saturday.

Photo courtesy of Fail Dogs.

I walked out of my office last week and saw newly planted pansies bobbing in the sunshine and nearly started crying. Today I heard “Lucky Man” on the radio by Montgomery Gentry and did start crying. Boy am I embarrassed to admit that. And no, I’m not pregnant.

The hubby and I have a date night tonight while the girls spend the night with his parents and it couldn’t be better timing. I’ve been in an intermittent funk all winter and have had a hard time shaking it. What better way to celebrate the first day of spring with a date, even if it’s going down to 37 degrees tonight?

This George Michael song pretty much sums up how I feel right now about going out tonight.

I don’t know if it’s because I’ll be 40 next summer, but I feel caught in an odd transitional place in life, somewhere between not being quite middle-aged, yet definitely not in my 20s any more, somewhere between feeling like I should be incredibly thankful for what I have in my life, yet restless and wanting some sort of change, somewhere between being in awe of seeing my children grow up but not wanting them to do it quite so fast. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m in denial about the fact that I really need reading glasses, in addition to my contacts. Damn you presbyopia! I do know I have so much to be thankful for, but sometimes that just doesn’t seem to be enough and I am ashamed to admit that.

It’s time for me to shed this winter funk. The sun is shining, there’s not a cloud in the sky, I have two adorable little girls, an understanding husband who is an awesome cook who works like crazy, and I have my swank new purse.

I know some of my blog friends are going through post-winter blues. Maybe it’s in the air?

p.s. Because I am a wealth of information, and also because I get depressed when I read about new TV shows featuring characters my age with teenage children (OK so I had my first child at nearly 33, that’s not that old), did you know there is talk of a Beverly Hills 90210 spinoff?

And also, because I just found Shamelessly Sassy and to coordinate with the butt title of this post, you have to check out this bizarre medical story she blogged about.

Miss C after watching Barbie in The 12 Dancing Princesses last night:

“Mommy I want to get married some day when I’m older…like 48.”

Miss C after seeing a Disney World commercial this morning on Nick Jr.:

“I love Disney World.”

Miss A:

“Me, too!”

(Note, they have never been to Disney World.)

I want to post a big thank you to the hubby for taking the girls to the park yesterday and for taking them for a long ride in our bike trailer while I basically laid in bed and popped Ibuprofen and swigged Gatorade and tried to keep my fever at bay. He also went to the grocery store and cooked dinner. Am I lucky or what?

I’ve got a doctor’s appointment this morning. My fever is down to about 99 but yesterday and Saturday it spiked to over 102. Not fun. Not fun at all. I’m not sure at this point if Tamiflu will help or if they’ll even prescribe me anything, but I’m going to go in and get checked out just in case.

I was feeling run down Friday night and yesterday morning, sure enough, I woke up feeling downright horrible with a 102 degree fever.

Did you know the Murphy’s Law of marital romance states if a Victoria’s Secret package crosses your threshold that someone will start hacking or sneezing within the next 24 hours? The hubby came down with a cold just in time for Valentine’s Day, and now I have some sort of heinous crud, which I hope is not the flu but I really hope is not pneumonia because I’ve been there, done that, thank you very much and it’s not fun. I’m not sure which is the lesser of two evils, so hopefully I just have a random last hurrah of winter/three-day weekend/your kids are cooped up and flying around the house like rabid monkies virus with a fever and horrible headache. Because if you’re going to be sick, you might as well do it up right!

Thankfully the hubby and Miss C picked out a lovely G-rated bottle of lotion at Macy’s for Valentine’s Day that I’m enjoying, because my new lingerie is collecting dust and the only small lacy thing I want near my body is a handkerchief.

Ladies, if you are currently engaged or just dating, make sure you marry the kind of man who will take the kids out for the day while you are sick. Hubby took the girls out to lunch and to the mall and video store. Wouldn’t you know they are saying we still have this DVD, but I clearly remember dropping if off in the return box and doing a little happy dance. If we end up paying for that movie? I will weep.

I’m overjoyed to report that Miss A happilly complied at daycare and washed her hands all day Friday, because honestly a sick mama weekend begs for some TV and DVD time and I would have been up a creek without a remote had she not been able to watch TV. When I told her how proud I was of her and heaped on the praise, she looked at me and said, “I TOLD YOU Mommy!” This was immediately followed by the command, “I WATCH TV!” Unfortunately she sh*t in her pants right before the hubby picked her up, but I didn’t pray for her to be accident free now did I?

Miss C and Miss A’s hands, February 2005

(Because lately it’s nearly impossible to take a peaceful photo of them together.)

I keep having fantasies of these wonderful holiday traditions that are very Martha Stewart, but then I run out of time and energy. I had big plans to cut out pink paper hearts last night and leave a little trail to the den early this morning but it was late and I was tired. I gave the girls hilarious sucker pops with big plastic lips that may not be Martha-esque, but are so funny.

The girls also got new heart tights to wear to school today. Miss A’s tights have silver glittery thread hearts and Miss C’s do not so there was an uncomfortable moment of “her tights are cuter than mine!” Women. Petty jealousy rears its ugly head so young.

Do you have any traditions you remember from childhood? My mother always gave us a small Russell Stover red heart box filled with chocolates. My favorites were, and still are, the caramel filled ones and I still remember tearing open the cheery red cellophane.

Hubby and I ate lunch together since we’ve got a hot date tonight with a blonde and a brunette. We were going to go to our favorite little Italian spot but it’s closed for lunch so instead we went to a burger and beer type place, where I ended up ordering the shrimp etoufee on special. Besides, we needed a hearty lunch so we have enough energy to cope with Miss Wired on Sugar I and Miss Wired on Sugar II Electric Boogaloo tonight at the pizza place.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and you and you! You look fabulous, by the way. Is that a new shirt?

p.s. Belated thanks to Amy at Milkbreath and Margaritas, fellow blonde and working mom, for a Your Blog is a Treasure award and to Piper of Love, who blogs at Bliss in Bloom, for a Blog of Love award! Be sure to read this sweet post from Piper about going on a date with a very special man in her life. And this post written by Amy for her daughter Sugarplum? Just beautiful.

Updated to add: They just called AGAIN. GD Earl does not live here people! Earl, you must owe some people in Twin, Cities, Minnesota money.They said they’d take you “off their list,” though. Whatever. Effin’ Earl. Sorry. Had to vent a bit. Plus the hubby has changed our home phone ring to “Old McDonald” and it’s about to drive me insane.

The phone rings and I glance at the caller ID. Seeing that it is the same unknown person in Minnesota who keeps calling the house every day and not leaving a message on our answering machine, I do the mature thing and ignore it. The hubby answers it and it’s a wrong number. Someone calling for Hank or Earl or some such. I comment to the hubby that they will hopefully quit calling our house.

Me: “I knew it wasn’t T, because he would leave a message and he’s the only person we know who lives in Minnesota.”

Hubby: “T lives in Wisconsin.”

Me: “Ohhhhh. You’re right.”