About Vi

I'm a person. I'm a wife. I'm a mother. Preferably in that order.

We Have to Get Naked

Dear PDV readers, I turned 40 this month! And for that I get a mammogram. In honor of getting to be a part of this wonderful rite of passage into awkward adulthood, I’m rerunning an oldie but a goodie (much like me) from my former blog Childhood Relived

I have a question that’s been gnawing at me for nearly 25 years. It relates to something that really traumatized me as a kid.  Continue reading

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Today I Didn’t Eat Lunch with My Kid at School

BobbyBettyPicnic

It starts off a typical Friday morning, where I stand in the shower and meticulously plot out what to do with my 2.25 hours of allotted free time for the week.

Husband has the cute suggestion that today I should go have lunch with our kindergartner, Kid #2.

Husband had lunch with Kid #2 before and it was no less than the highlight of Kid #2’s life since October 2009 when he first breathed air.  Continue reading

Why I’m Quitting Stickers

Stickers

Here they are, waiting to take over my sanity.

I’m quitting stickers, I decided today.

Done. Cold turkey. NOT A SINGLE ONE MORE. Adios, stickers.

From this day forward, I vow to make my household a sticker-free zone.

That includes fancy-schmancy fundraiser nametags that screw up my fake-satin shirt. That includes irrelevant product ads that cover up the front of my newspaper. That includes hanger-on-Frozen-Elsas attached to the bottom of my boot.

Over!

I should’ve learned from my mother.

It was 1989. She was standing in my brother’s newly-evacuated room with a Parkay margarine tub of hot water and a butter knife in hand. There my mom sweated and scraped the day away, trying in vain to remove the saucer-sized Captain America that had leeched onto the side of my brother’s old dresser hutch – like that birthmark on Gorbachev’s head when he tore down that wall. Perhaps it was easier to rid the western world of communism than remove that unsightly blotch.

And now here we are. Wait, where? How did we get here, here covered in goddamn stickers?  Continue reading

Motherhood on Tour: Wardrobe Malfunctions

Recently I crawled out from the Havin’ Lots O’ Babies cave where I’d been not-sleeping the past 8 years and heard some amazing news!

*** JANET JACKSON JUST RELEASED A NEW ALBUM! ***

Here is what you should probably know:

  • I am unsure whether this album is actually still “new.”
  • I am unsure whether the word “album” is actually still relevant.
  • I am unsure whether this is the proper way to use bullet points.

Unfortunately, as the above will illustrate, I am no longer cutting-edge enough to make an intelligent comment on this breaking news, nor do I definitively know what those polka dots are supposed to be doing next to those words up there.

Here is what I know about Janet Jackson:  Continue reading

There Will Be Blood

PsychoAllow me to set the stage for a recent Day in the Life story that occurred last week.

This took place during my “family vacation” – if by “family” you mean “lots of people crammed in one van,” if by “vacation” you mean “lots of people crammed in one van moving from one geographic location to another geographic location.” But call it what you like.

We were staying at a cabin on a lake near Minneapolis and decide to drive into the city to visit old and new friends. These old and new friends don’t know one another. But we typically like to make things more convenient for us them by awkwardly forcing everyone in a room together. One stop shop, if you will.

The Cast:

  • One family of four:  mom, dad, two young kids.
  • One family of five:  mom, dad, three young kids.
  • One male friend. Single by choice. Childless by choice. Works as senior event planner for fancy art museum. Will thus be called fancy friend going forward. Knows a living room couch’s proper ratio of down-filled pillow to carefully-placed Egyptian cotton throw blanket. Gets extra descriptors here in case automatic response to reading “childless by choice” is “well…but maybe someday.” Let’s just shut that right down.

Continue reading

Why I Don’t Like Caitlyn Jenner

Mae West

Call her Mae. Not Madison.

I’ve been holding back for a while now and I must get this off my chest. I don’t like Caitlyn Jenner. Not one bit.

Caitlyn Jenner was not meant to be Caitlyn Jenner — and you know it, too.

Oh, I’m very much okay with Caitlyn Jenner the person. I’m very much okay with Caitlyn Jenner not being Bruce Jenner. And the switching out of pronouns. And that I get to be judgmental now about how well she plucks her brows. All of that.

What I’m not okay with is Caitlyn Jenner. The name “Caitlyn Jenner” is all wrong.  Continue reading

Licensed to “I Don’t Give a Shit”

Bette DavisI’m turning OLD this year. But I’m taking it all quite well, really. There are benefits to aging of course. Social benefits, for example. And one in particular I find quite tantalizing.

Since I’ve always been a tad socially-reckless — over-sharing, stirring the pot, making listeners squirm — what I’m most looking forward to with turning old is my newfound license to I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit (IDGAS). Surely you are already aware there is an entire fleet of IDGAS behaviors that growing old affords, whether it’s IDGAS driving, IDGAS dressing (or undressing), IDGAS civic involvement, IDGAS bodily functions and so forth. For now let’s focus on the latter, specifically the kind that derives from one’s mouth. Continue reading