Making Robin Leach proud, one massage at a time

We’re sorry, but you have reached a blog that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this blog in error, please check the URL and try again.

Wait – just kidding! I’m still alive and kicking. I’ve just temporarily checked out while being MAJORLY pampered at the Golden Door Spa in San Diego.

You should all be very, very jealous. I’m even jealous of myself and I’m here.

I won’t go into detail about my day, lest I turn off a reader who is turning green with envy. Let me just sum it up this way – three different people have rubbed my feet today. Translation: I got a massage, a facial, and a pedicure. And in between I tried belly dancing, did yoga and went on a hike. Are you drooling yet?

I am living the lifestyle of the rich and famous, although I am neither. I know what you are wondering: “But Mountain Momma, hasn’t your blog brought you untold wealth and fame?” Ummm, not exactly, unless you count that time the paparazzi hounded me and Kaya at the grocery store because she had on high-heel shoes and rumor went out that she was Suri Cruz.

I’m not a gay actor’s fake wife (at least last time I checked), just someone who is fortunate enough to have a generous grandmother who can afford such amazing places, and likes to invite members of her family to tag along. It’s kind of weird to be living a life of luxury, surrounded by women who can drop $8,000 in a week and then tack on a couple of $200 extra spa treatments because they can, when your bank account is $0. Well, actually make that -$50.

But we can pretend, cant’ we?

So, until I have to go home on Sunday and face the reality of my empty bank account, a daughter who hates her preschool and a son who won’t eat anything other than pizza and quesadillas, not to mention the articles that have yet to be written, I think I’ll soak up every moment of my week of star treatment.

After all, I don’t think Katie Holmes has been to the Golden Door yet. So don’t tell them I’m not her. They might kick me out before I get my lavender and avocado body scrub.


Maxi-pad Discipline

Kaiden has been doing this thing lately where he sticks his hand down his pants, grabs his wiener and then – and this is where it gets weird – brings his hand up to his nose and smells it! I sure as hell don’t want to know what it smells like, but I am curious – is it a good smell? Does it smell like roses? Chocolate? Little boy wiener smell? What is it that compels him to do this at all hours of the day? Is it like the kids in my fifth grade class who couldn’t stop sniffing rubber cement?

Oh my gosh, is my child addicted to penis smell?

This reminds me of a girl who was in my cabin at Camp Tawonga in sixth grade. Shoshauna. She was a weird one. Before I go any further, let me clarify that she was not obsessed with sniffing penises, if you think that’s where I’m going with this. Her addiction was almost stranger.

She was infatuated with smelling her maxi-pads. While they were in her panties.

Swear to god.

I know this because it’s not like Shoshauna would inhale the scent of her Stay-Frees while in the privacy of a bathroom stall. Oh no. One day I looked up from my bunk bed and there she was, pants pulled down around her knees, head bent over her crotch, sniffing away.

I was like, “Eeewww, Shoshauna, what the heck are you doing?!! That is, like, totally gross.”

“I’m smelling my pad. I like the way they smell. They’re scented.”

I was left utterly speechless for a moment. You’re kidding me, right? I mean, she liked the smell of her scented Ultra Super Maxi Pads with Flex Wings enough to bare her ass to her fellow campers and stick her nose in coochie blood, just to get a whiff of what? Flowers? Talcum powder? Sweaty tween underwear?

Shoshauna clearly had a problem. I mean, we were in the middle of Yosemite, for christ’s sakes. If she really wanted to smell flowers, she could just go outside and inhale the aroma of the great outdoors.

I was living with a sick, sick girl.

We had no choice. We had to help her. Being only 12-years old and not yet aware of any Maxi-Pad Rehab locations near Yosemite, or Scented Female Hygiene Products AA classes nearby, we did the only thing pre-teen girls could think of – we put Nair in her shampoo.

Looking back, I see that that was the wrong course of action. Just like someone would confiscate a pack of cigarettes from a friend who was addicted to smoking, clearly we should have taken away Shoshauna’s beloved Kotex, buried them on Half Dome, and substituted them with a box of tampons. Unscented tampons.

Shoshauna did look good with no hair, by the way. Well, it didn’t all fall out. Just chunks here and there.

As for Kaiden, if I catch him with his pants down and his head between his legs inhaling a big whiff of whatever it is he smells down there, I’ll have no choice but to revert back to being 12-years old.

I’ll force him to smell scented Stay-Frees.

That should teach him.

Go ahead, make my day. I dare you.

So with Mountain Momma’s one year anniversary coming up, I thought some blogging reflection was in order. I have learned a lot about the blogosphere in this past year, and it’s turned out to have both exceeded my expectations and also underwhelmed them. On the one hand, I have met a lot of hilarious women out there – barefoot foodie, brilliantsulk, aiming low girls – who have wowed me with their wittiness and at the same time showed me that us moms are all going through the same things, and to rejoice in our imperfectness.

I have learned that there is a whole world to blogging, that even more than Facebook blogging can be a major time suck and you could spend your whole day – if you so choose or had the luxury – of reading other blogs and commenting on them, or reading blogs about blogging. And just like magazines, there is a blog for everything, and a blogging community for everyone.

My blog has evolved since my very first posting. At first, I thought I would write more about politics, but after two postings on the subject I realized it was a lot of work and writing about my comedic adventures in motherhood was much more entertaining, and enjoyable, to write about. And truthfully, takes a lot less time.

The one thing I have been disappointed in is that my readership has been so slow to grow. When first starting out,  I had fantasies of hundreds of people flocking to Mountain Momma on a daily basis, advertisers lining up at my feet, book deals in the works, and my husband rejoicing in my successful “hobby” because now he could quit his job and play and be dad and worship the ground I walk on (not to imply that he doesn’t worship said ground already). Well, I haven’t exactly been able to quit my day job yet. Mind you, I have had great days – I think my record is 700 hits in one day. But that seems to be more of an anomaly. Most days I get around 20 people reading my blog. Some days it can go up to 30-something, some days down to 5. And with very few people commenting on my blog (if you are reading this, don’t be afraid to leave a note; I promise, I won’t bite), most days I feel like asking, like Julie in the movie “Julie & Julia,” “Hello? Is anybody out there?” Is anybody reading this besides my mother? (Mom, you better be reading!)

People ask me why I blog, why I put my life story in cyberspace for the world to read. The answer is three-fold: because I love to write, because I love to make people laugh (if only myself), and because I love when I find out that someone else has enjoyed my blog, whether it be someone I know in person or a stranger who comments on my blog for the first time.

So come on, make this blogger’s day – tell me how you feel, tell me if you like the blog’s new look,  if I make you laugh (or cry), even tell me if I suck. Just tell me something, for god’s sake, so I don’t feel like Dick Cheney – I’m talkin’ loud, but does anybody really care or even listening?

Breaking Spring

Whoever invented spring break did not have kids. Or else they had some fancy second home on a tropical island and a private jet to whisk them off to it. Or the courage to brave Disneyland during a holiday.

As I have none of the above, and Siigo just returned from a 10-day trip (yeah, that was so much fun for me. not.), we are staying put for spring break. Which means I have 2 kids with no school and no scheduled activities and back-to-back snow storms. Which translates as cabin fever and craziness for yours truly.

Living in a small mountain town, my choices for things to do with the kids are limited. I can’t take them skiing since I am six months pregnant, we have about exhausted Kaiden’s best buddies for play dates, I am afraid to set foot in the library because I have so many overdue books and already lost one princess book and a Mary Poppins video and I don’t want to get yelled at by the cranky librarian. So we stay home. And I grow bored.

Of course, I still have my taxes to do. This would be the perfect opportunity to work on those. I just can’t imagine why I am putting it off – they are so much fun to do. But why should I break a 5-year streak of turning my taxes in late and always getting an extension? I am sure the IRS just expects me to file late. If I filed on time, I would probably get audited. This is all part of my master plan.

Normally, on a Monday, I would be taking Kaiden to school and Kaya to ballet and picking Kaiden up from school and then going to the store and half the day would be gone. But not this week. Now we sit and watch the snow fall. And I watch Kaiden lying on the living room floor still in his pajamas at 1 p.m. playing with his wiener and singing a nonsense song while he waits, impatiently, for a friend to come over. (“Mom, how many more minutes until Cooper gets here??? How many more minutes since the last time I asked you one minute ago?” How long is half an hour? Can I just watch a cartoon?”)

I remember back in the day when Spring Break was something to look forward to – carefree trips to Mexico, laying in the sun, drinking beer and margaritas, flirting with boys, parties. Now, I look forward to bed and sleeping in late. Geez, I feel old.

The only thing keeping me going is that I asked my grandmother if I could come on her annual trip to a spa in San Diego this month. I am waiting to hear from her to find out if they still have rooms available. Come on, Grandma! Save your favorite pregnant granddaughter from boredom and insanity.

If not, I just might be the one to break this spring.