I’ve been covering pretty non-serious topics here lately but today I need to veer away from that and mention something of Utmost Importance. I’m hoping someone out there with some power hears me and does something about it.

I’m not talking about oil spills or world peace…I’m tackling the topic of women’s jeans and the way they fit. Or don’t, actually.

I thought it was just me.

I thought I was odd-shaped, the misfit, the impossible-to-clothe one. I’ve always kind of thought that, really, because jeans almost never fit me, no matter what store I shop at.

But the other day, I was discussing women’s jeans with a friend and, lo and behold, they never fit her either! In particular, we brought up a specific low-priced store with an annoying mannequin ad campaign where in order to get jeans that fit over your hips, you have to deal with a waist that’s about 6 inches too big. It’s like wearing a gargantuan tulip around your middle. Sure, we could use a belt, but…a belt can only do so much. With that much extra material, you really need steel reinforcements to cinch them in appropriately.

Yes, my hips and butt are as big as the moon but I have a hard time believing very many people are the proportions this particular store seems to make clothes for.

So before you think I’m just bitching for the sake of filling a blog post, I want to reassure you my friend and I came up with a solution.

Adjustable-waist jeans for women. Just like they make for little boys and girls now (thank you God).

We want the little elastic strip on the inside, with button holes at different increments, so you can cinch in the jeans internally. And then maybe a belt would do the rest of the trick.

Beyond the initial fit the day you try them on in the store, think of the other implications: On fat days, you just let them out one notch on both sides. After that one week where you dedicate yourself to working out every day and you lose 6 pounds of water weight, you can take them in. Then after rewarding yourself with cake, French fries and string cheese for your gallant week-long effort, you can let the jeans back out and avoid making an official switch to your fat clothes.

So…someone with jean power out there, why have you not made non-ugly women’s jeans with an adjustable waist? Is it because you want to sell us 3 different sizes for our 3 different weight ranges we all seem to have? You would make more loyal customers if you just let us be an adjustable size ? year-round.

…and not the good kind that cook and clean.

You know how there’s a little sock fairy living in dryers all around the world, stealing one sock from each set so you can never find a match? Well I think he’s expanded his operations in our house. That or hired a distant cousin to stake out our kitchen.

Ever since we moved to Wisconsin, we’ve been losing dishes, glasses and, well, spoons.

Okay, part of this is no mystery and it’s my fault completely. I’ve been on a breakage bender, dropping glasses, smashing them into things (on accident, I swear) and dropping a plate or two. Even if you take out the ones I’ve destroyed, though, we are way short on eating hardware…down from 10 dinner plates to 5. From 8 glasses to 4. 12 spoons to…maybe 6 on a good day. From 10 bowls to 6. And we’re low on both kinds of salad plates as well.

Apparently the Kitchen Gnome is subject to temper fits and bad days. I’ve found multiple plates and bowls shattered on the floor while I’m away. And then…there’s the mystery of the spoons. HOW does 50% of the spoon supply disappear in a house that isn’t that big???? Really, I probably don’t want to know.

So anyway, if you drop by our house for dinner and we serve everything on matching paper plates with plastic utensils, just act like it’s normal, please. As soon as we exterminate the gnome, we’ll buy more of the good stuff.

My older son will be in 5th grade in the fall and apparently 5th grade is when kids become bigtime enough to…gasp…play a band instrument! Which is all fine…I played a couple in my time and enjoyed it (or maybe I just enjoyed shamelessly tormenting the band director). Music lessons are good, especially for my anti-sports son. It’ll work out the math side of his brain and teach him dedication (or not. He took piano lessons for two years and we’re already done with that phase.)

So…okay, fine. They’ve been learning about the different band instruments in music class and one day soon, the band director (not the one I tormented…I’m sure he uses a walker if he’s even still alive) will let them actually try out some of the instruments so they can choose what they want to pursue.

Cool. That’s more than I remember when I was in grade school. I have no idea how I chose the clarinet and kettle drums.

So I told my son this was coming up and suggested he start thinking about his preferences. He promptly informed me he already knows what he wants to play.

The violin.

Shoot me now. The sound of a newbie squeaking away on a violin is the soundtrack of my nightmares. If I could pick my least favorite instrument for my kid to play…Bingo. The freaking violin. (No offense to violinists out there…master violinists make beautiful music. Beginners…not so much.)

Okay, so strings. Orchestra instead of band. Whatever. I can be flexible (as long as I get some earplugs.) So was it wrong of me to push the cello, even if it would be bigger than him? (He’s having none of it, by the way.) At this point, I’d even take a drum kit over the violin.

Anyone out there survive a kid learning the violin? Ideas for dissuading my guy? A good place to buy earplugs?

When we lived in Kansas, I refused (adamantly) to join the PTO. Everyone knows that to go to a PTO/PTA meeting=VOLUNTEERING, right?

When we moved to Wisconsin, I agonized over the thought of joining PTA because in the past, I’ve committed to too many volunteer hours in my kids’ classrooms (even though I avoided PTO. Go figure.) When you work at home, the lines between stay-at-home mom and working mom are seriously blurred and it’s up to you to make boundaries. As it turned out, I sucked at making those boundaries.

But moving up here, I knew nothing about the school and wanted to get a feel for it. And…I knew NO ONE. So…I joined. *gasp*

Not only did I join, but I went in with the knowledge that I WOULD have to volunteer. And that, of course, calls for Strategy. (Contrary to the beliefs of certain friends of mine who call me a sucker whenever I mention PTA…certain Superromance authors I go to conferences with…I won’t mention any names. *g*)

So PTA Strategy 101, if anyone needs an overview:

1. You look at the list of “volunteer opportunities” they hand out.
2. You quickly cull out the “nightmare” jobs that would make you want to poke dull needles in your eyes. (On my nightmare list: Carnival coordinator, among others.)
3. You find the least of all evils, and you sign up for it before you even attend your first meeting. For me, this was the Bookfair Chairperson. CO-chair. Books and someone to share the responsibility. Very doable. And a built-in excuse for not volunteering for other tasks.

That’s it. Tried and true strategy for keeping your PTA career under control.

The spring bookfair is this week, and I’m still calling it very doable. A couple hours at school today, maybe one hour tomorrow, and then a couple more on Friday to take everything down. That doesn’t, of course, count shopping time. So far, in the weeks of planning and coordinating the fair, I’ve made a couple of mom friends, gotten to know the school a little better and…my skin hasn’t burnt up and fallen off yet, nor have I turned green or purple!

Now I sound like a PTA spokesperson and I am so not. I just think it’s sad that in a school with 280 families, we have approximately 12 people at each meeting and a group of about 20 moms who run EVERYTHING. So um, if you needed a nudge to PTA-out, this is for you. It won’t kill you. Bookfair’s mine though.

My activity du jour: Registering our vehicles in our new (kind of new?) state

Yes, I am behind. Yes, I should’ve done this months ago. No, I still don’t feel like it. But I’m off to the blessed DMV.

Pray for me.

So what have you been putting off for ages (ahem, months?) that you DO. NOT. WANNA. DO?

And he’s driving a PLANE.

As I was coming home from taking the boys to school this morning, I spotted a little yellow airplane, and I mean maybe a two-seater, flying overhead. Low. So low that I watched to see which tree he hit and where he landed.

I can’t decide if I’m happy or not to report that he did not crash on the other side of the neighborhood because he’s still out there and he’s doing fly-bys over my house like some Top Gun moron on a moped.

His little tin box plane is rattling my house like a 747, and he’s missing the tops of the trees by maybe 20-30 feet.

So tell me, who does one call when one suspects a plane might hit their frickin’ house???? And where can I sign up for some anti-aircraft missile protection?

*grumble*

Guess I’ll see how many words I can write before he takes me out…

(Note: If my son knew I was broadcasting this on the internet, I’m quite sure he would avidly save his allowance to hire a hitman to off Mom. So please don’t tell him. Unless you want me offed, then I guess it’s a good way to handle it.)

Last night we went to dinner and my 8yo son was talking about his field trip to a movie theater to see Planet Earth Oceans. After getting all the info on the movie itself (“It was okay. Funny in some places.” Um…really?) I went for the really important details and asked him who he sat by on the bus.

He named a boy for the way there and then…began acting Odd. Pretending he couldn’t quite remember the way home for a second, pretending it was no big deal and then told me…A GIRL’S Name.

And blushed.

And dug into his food.

And I said, “ohhh?” starting to suspect that for the first time, my little boy, the one who gives his 10yo brother TONS of grief over girls and girlfriends and crushes and kisses, might have his first crush.

He nodded awkwardly with that look like, you heard what I said, woman, don’t push it.

But I pushed it, because the other two males at the table were missing it and…the little dude has a crush!

Except…I miscalculated.

It turns out the 8yo can’t take it nearly as well as he can dish it out.

I was gentle, truly I was. I just said, “ooooh” in that very understanding, I GET it, tone of voice a few times. I smiled at him like I understood. And okay, probably my eyes were a little animated because, hello, this kid is the king of dishing it out.

And he promptly broke out into tears.

Okay, I may be up for Mean Mommy of the Year, but I’m not cruel. I immediately reassured him it was okay, stopped any form of teasing, told my husband (who was sitting right next to him) to give him a hug, and I dropped it. And he cried for a good two minutes until we could make him laugh about something entirely unrelated to girls, crushes and bus rides.

So…if by chance you happen to be my son’s future therapist, you might keep this episode in mind for why he is so warped. Just add it to the long list of ways we traumatize our children in the Knupp house.

Being a Libra, making decisions isn’t one of my strong points. And being someone who doesn’t enjoy cooking, deciding what to cook every night is kind of torture.

Thanks to a friend’s post on Facebook, though, I finally have a solution (Warning: not for those with sensitive ears…or eyes):

Dinner Planner With Attitude

*applauding*

So I’m thinking this set-up should be expanded, especially for those of us who are decisionally challenged. My two favoroite suggestions, in case someone out there has time and programming skills:

What the f*ck should I wear today? (And this needs to have two sub-parts….one for fat days and one for less-fat days. Because the wardrobes are separate.)

What the h*ll should I blog about today? (Seriously…bonus points if someone can do this one before Friday.)

Others? Anyone? Anyone….Beuller? (Okay, how about what movie should I watch tonight?)