Last but Pretty Important Text

Dear Momma Phelps,

My friend Carol emailed this to me. I got quite the kick out of it, because I was just guessing before. I hope you are at least getting a free wardrobe for life.

(Go Traveler's Collection. 30% off one piece this month. (Those of you under 50 will totally not get what I just said. And Paul. Paul from the Carribean won't get it either. I'm pretty sure he's never heard of Chico's. Paul, it's a "Mom" clothing store that sells quite the zingy fashions that hide a multitude of sin. Which is my way of saying figure challenges. Although they have fashion for the unchallenged as well. They sell Mom jeans, and Mom tops and Mom jackets, and Mom chunky belts, and Mom chunky jewlery and Mom scarves of which I have many. Moms love it. Even Olympic Moms are seduced by it.) )

Love,

Mommacita

PS I think you raised a nice boy and he has agreed to marry me. Sort of.

PSS My daughter mocks Travelers Clothes but I just don't listen to her because they feel like pajamas. I'm all over anything that feels like yammies. I hope your 2 daughters do not mock your Traveler's Collection Clothes. If they do, they are just ignorant of it's pleasantries.

M.O.C.M

Today I watched an episode of "Baby Story"

This is a show that has a camera follow an expectant mother around thru the later stages of pregnancy and the birth process. The results are always positive and a baby is always born, and the mother can never ever ever believe it is true.

I was hoping that I would get some M.O.C.M (Mother of the cute Mother) pointers on that show. There were none. I'm at a loss. How about all of you out there? Got Tips? I need to know my boundaries. I might end up sending text messages to the person that puts those nasty drops in a newborn's eyes.

I have never been a M.O.C.M. before. I've been a mom, I've been a M.O.C.D (Mother of the cute Dad) before, and I've been a C.B.B.M.C. (child being born, maybe cute) although obviously I can't remember that. Here are a few questions I might have.

How do I know when to back off, aka shut my mouth?

What if I can't remember what you do with a brand new baby?

What do new mothers want, need, do?

Do son in laws want you around piping up in that butinsky mother in law voice?

If I get yelled at, will I know it is hormones, or will I want to put her in time out and take away her cell phone?

Are there new products that make having a newborn easier?

What are those?

What should I be stocking up on?

How often and what will she eat? (new mother)

Will she break down on me?

Then what?

Obviously some of my readers (Paul in the Caribbean) will not be able to answer any of these questions except for the one about the irritating mother-in-law voice. But the rest of you out there, I've never asked for much of you. Oh, yes, I've grovelled in an unseemly fashion for a comment hear and there, but I've never asked out of real human need. So this is your time, your one moment in time. Hum a little Celine Dione in your head to get yourself going and then help the Mommacita. You must.

PS. I know you thought I might be done with it, but I may have to do some more Olympic Texting because of the Synchronized Swimming. I hear there's controversy. And c'mon. It's synchronized swimming

PS. I still haven't opened my mail just so you know.

Things I Meant to Do

Blogging can be a distraction from doing the stuff you are supposed to do. You tell yourself that you are doing something decent by blogging, when in fact, you are only making up fake little text messages about Olympic Athletes, who in reality are the real people who are really doing something real with their lives. Could I use the word real any more in a sentence??

I mean when you sit around and think about it, (by symbolically putting the Fake Texts (the thing that You really do do) in your left hand, and symbolically putting the person who gets Olympic Gold Medals (8 of them) in your right hand..... and then you do that thing where you move your left hand up and say 'Text Message' real loud and then as you move your hand down you move your right hand up and say 'Gold Medals (8 of them), real loud, and then you keep repeating that whole scenario over and over and go faster and faster until one of them wins and then ideally you know which is more important) and as you sit around and think about all of that you sometimes get the idea that there are things you SHOULD be doing other than watching the Olympics and taking notes on what would be good in the blog.

Is it really important for me to be sending a text message to a very well groomed horse that jumped around in the Beijing Olympics?

That's how neurotic I am people. I did not raise my children to send text messages to horses in China. Or Hong Kong rather. Or whereever it was.

Yet my children are the very ones who are egging me on, so something must have gone amiss in the raising portion of their lives. (I'm liking that I found a way to blame them....liking that very much)

I think I meant to teach them to tell me to quit playing that little tee-teer tot-ter hand game to make life decisions by. And I meant to teach them that they should speak up to their mother if she starts to avoid opening the mail because she is busy seeing if she can achieve a sillier level of silly on the Internet. Yep. There's a bunch of stuff I meant to do.

Now pardon me while I forage for chocolate. I'm pretty sure that by going into this arena, I have compromised my powers of reason. And other stuff.

Are You Sick of These Text Messages?

Dear Ian Thorpe, aka. Thorpedo,

Thank you Thank you Thank you. Thank you for saying my boyfriend could not do it. They showed your face around the world when he did do it, Mr. Thorpedo. I certainly enjoyed that. Thank you, and G'day.

Love,

Mommacita

Dear World Wide Web:

Time to be singing that Queen song. All together now:

My Boyyyyyyyfriend's the champion of the world,

And he, kept on fighting till the ennnd. duhduh da a

He is the champ pion

He is the champpp pion

No time for Loooooooosers (like trash talking frenchies and auzzies)

Cause He is the Champion (gold medal champion, in fact 8 of them, not silver or bronze)......of the whuuuuurld

Dear Michael Phelps:

You know you're big when Kobe Bryant is jumping around and chanting your name. Please watch out for ruthless female types who want you only for your endorsement deals with General Mills. You are the Bomb-acita Boyfriend of the 21st Century. I LOVE YOU TO PIECES. Nicely done boyfriend, nicely done. Let's get married.

Love,

Mommacita

PS. Here are some Folks who were seen flashing the victory sign for you as soon as you punched the wall for the 8th time:

Winston Churchill. I heard he invented the victory sign. All for you Michael. All for you.

Paris Hilton. Because you're hot Mike.

Yoko Ono. Because she loves you. And Herself.

Some Random Guy Graduating from USC.

Hope. Hoping that's the victory sign

Super Mario. Lots of gold coins for you now Michael.

Yoko Ono again. She must like you a lot because there was a truck load of pictures of her flashing the victory sign for YOU, little cute stuff.

Dear Chinese Equestrian Park Designers,

I've got to say, aren't you the fancy pants designing all those ritzy jumps for the horses to jump over? Zany colors! And those little pagotas and bushes that look like dragons? Me O My! Disneylandesque! I think every one of those horses felt like they were on a giant Candyland board. I'm pretty sure a horse would like that.

Love,

Mommacita

Dear Horses that Competed in the Olympics,

It looked hot for you to be running around performing with a fur coat on. I could hear alot of you breathing heavy. When you got to the little set up that had a pool with water in it, were you tempted to stop and splash around a little?

Love,

Mommacita

Dear Women Marathon Runners,

I know you love what you do, however, I needed a nap and some extra Carbs after watching you come into the Bird's Nest.

Love,

Mommacita

PS I enjoyed the Carbs

Dear Dara Torres,

Sorry about getting your name wrong before. Take your 41 year old self and put on one of those red hats and go to lunch with your other red hatted friends and celebrate that medal. The gals on the View are going to be lovin on you.

Love,

Mommacita

Cheers

My Phone is Burning Hot with Text Messages to China

Dear Bob Costas,

You finally got it right. Putting a cam on Bela Karolyi watching Nastia do the women's floor exercise was the funniest thing I've seen all week. I laughed myself silly all by my little silly self in my silly little family room. Then, after I laughed at Bela, I laughed at myself laughing. Thanks for the laughfest Bob. Good times.

Love,

Mommacita

PS I could totally put pictures of your lighter hair on this blog and compare them to your darker Chinese hair, but I won't now, because of the good laugh.

Dear Bela Karolyi,

First of all, thank you for not dying your hair to go to China. I know that may seem weird to you, but trust me, I have my reasons. Now let's get down to business:

You are corrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrect sir. She IS an Olympic Champion! SHE IS AN OLYMPIC CHAMPION!!

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIGHT!

Love,

Mommacita

Dear Nastia,

Nastia, Nastia, Nastia. You are a household word in the Mommacita house. Beautiful. Inspiring. Lovely. Everything I said in previous text messages? Supersize it. Congratulations!

Love,
Mommacita


Dear Rebecca Soni,

Watching your face when you won that Gold Medal was pure joy. I wiped a couple of tears away and that's the truth. You did amazing.

Love,

Mommacita



Dear Ryan Lochte's Father

Watching your face when your son won that Gold Medal was pure joy. I wiped a couple more tears away and that's the truth too. Good job dad. Tell Ryan the world is proud.

Love,
Mommacita


Dear Boyfriend,

Only a little longer. You can do it, because, as I'm finding out, you are a machine.

Love,

Mommacita

PS. I think you might want to meet Rebecca Soni at the After Olympics Mixer. If you two hooked up, (which is GET MARRIED in Mommacita speak) you could create the swimming super race. I'm OK with it. And I think Momma Phelps would approve. I'm guessing she'd like grandchildren, and well, I'm just not in commission for that scene. But you can still be my boyfriend until the Olympics are over.


Dear People in China who Made the Gold Medals,

I'm not so sure I would have caught this detail myself, but next time, when you make those gold medals, you might want to make Michael Phelps' ribbon real long and the women's gymnastic medal ribbon real short. As it stands, Michael's gold medals hit him just below his pecs and the medal around that Chinese gymnast almost hit her in the you know where. I think I saw her whince as she climbed off the bronze medal podium. Just something to think about there, medal makers.

Love,
Mommacita

Dear NBC,

Thanks for some great reality TV. TOTALLY enjoying it.

Love,
Mommacita

Bela, Bela, always the giver.

Tri Tri Tri (Sounds Chinese, eh?)

Dear Michael Phelps, my golden boy,

I just thought you might like to know. The word for the day in the Mommacita household is TRIAD. Please make sure you use this word 3 times today. It will bring gold.

Triad–noun
1. a group of three, esp. of three closely related persons or things.

2.Chemistry. a group of three closely related compounds or elements, as isomers or halides.

3. Music. a chord of three tones, esp. one consisting of a given tone

(Mommactianess and Timoteeness) with its major or minor third and its perfect, augmented, or diminished fifth.

4. Military. the three categories of strategic-nuclear-weapons delivery systems: bombers, land-based missiles, and missile-firing submarines. (personally, since I don't have to raise them, I prefer this military definition. It reeks of machismo)

Schneebes: MANCHILD in November Larsa: MANCHILD in January Jenesha: MANCHILD in December.

Even More Text Messages to China

Dear Park Tae Hwan,
Congratulations on your Silver Medal in the Men's 200 meter Freestyle Swim. I bet Korea is proud of you. Too bad my boyfriend Michael Phelps beat you, but whatcha gonna do? I was just wondering Park, does any one else besides me ever mistake your name for PAR-TAY?

Party on Park Tae,
Mommacita


Dear Chen Ye Pen,
While you don't have a name that sounds like party, you do have pretty strong arms, as was demonstrated tonight in the Men's Gymnasty Event on the Rings. Do your arm veins ever pop wide open and gush blood? Because they look like they might. You were pretty incredible up there hoisting around on those things. And I think there might be endorsement deals for you in the Chinese advertising world. You just wait and see, Chen Ye. That kinda rhymed.

Love,
Mommacita


Dear Boyfriend Michael Phelps,
I heard tonight your feet are size 14. And that you flap your arms 3 times before you swim. The camera zoomed in on your feet and Rowdy Gaines called you a condor. Does this bother you Michael? Maybe I need to text Rowdy?

Love you the mostest,
Mommacita


Dear Cameraman at the swim meets,
How does a young man feel who has size 14 feet when the camera zooms in on them making a big ol' deal out of them? I think not. I have my eye on you mister.

Love, Mommacita

Dear Momma Phelps,
Do you shop at Chicos? Me too!!

Love,
Mommacita

Dear Eric Shanteau,
Good luck on your swim tonight. You seem like boyfriend material as well, and Leigh didn't specify that she wanted Michael Phelps for her new daddy, she just wanted an Olympic Athlete. You MIGHT become my boyfriend. I can have two. You boys won't care, because I'm 53. I am pretty sure you will beat that cancer. Stay hydrated.

Love,
Your Mommacita

More Texting to the Olympians and the Affiliated

(Olympic Sized Fireworks: Boom Boom Crackle Sprinkle O-OO Ahhhhh Sigh)

Dear Michael Phelps:

You might want to be my new boyfriend because Scheenbers wants you for her new daddy. LOL Michael!! What do you listen to on your IPOD right before you swim?

Love,

Mommacita

PS Have you ever thought of a neon cap that has a few little lights in it? I'd like to see where your head is in the water. Just a thought Michael.

Dear American but with a Russian Name Nastia:

You are my favorite gymnasty. Your lines are elegant and beautiful and I am rooting for you. And let's talk about those leotards. Hoo-Shiney!

Love,

Mommacita

Dear Bob Costas,

When you interviewed President Bush why didn't you stick to the Olympics? Aren't you a sports guy? Why so Katie Couric-ey?

Love,

Mommacita

Dear President Bush,

Wow, how about that jet lag, huh? I just wanted to thank you for bringing up the religious freedom thing to China's President. I for one am grateful to you for that. Gold Presidential Medal to You George W. Bush. You deserve a ceremony, with medals and flags and flowers and pretty chinese girls. You are right. How could it possibly hurt? Way to plant some seeds on the Sabbath. Nice work.

Love,

Mommacita

Dear Rowdy Gaines color announcer for men's swimming,

Just wondering, where did the name Rowdy come from? Is it French? Or did your dad dream of hearing the name Rowdy Gaines over the loud speaker someday?

Love,

Mommacita

Dear Swimmers in General,

I've noticed alot of nervous touching and adjusting before a swim. I totally get it, but I'd like to send a BIG OLD AMERICAN thank you for keeping it mostly around your goggles, cap, and face.

Love,

Mommacita

Dear Men's American Relay Swimmers that Beat the Smack Talking French boys,

To quote the illustrious Rowdy Gaines: Who's Talkin' Now???

Congratulations on the Gold !!

Jason Lezak: Thank you for keeping the dream of 8 gold medals alive for my boyfriend Michael.

That was a couch slapper.

Love,

Mommacita

Text Messages to Olympians or Folks Who are Affiliated

(Loud Olympic horns)

Tada-daaa Na-nana Tada-daaaaaa

Tada-daaa Na-nana Tada-da

Dun Dunnnnnnnnnnnnnn, Dun!

In case you didn't recognize, that was one of them there Olympic tunes they play.

Dear Bob Costas,

I remember your hair to be lighter. Why did you darken it? You don't look Chinese even with the darker hair. I'm not sure I can take you seriously anymore.

Love, Mommcita

Dear Gold Medal Winner Woman's Fencer,

Good on you about the gold medal! And that was a pretty fancy fencer outfit that lit up. There might be a 'Fancy Nancy Fencer Edition' book that copies your story. Only the illustrator will probably make your fencing outfit pink. And a north westerner beating a Yalie was a nice thing as well. Thank you for being such a good role model for little girls who want to grow up and wear a fancy fencer outfit.

Love, Mommacia

Dear Woman's Beach Volleyball Team,

Please watch the victory hugs this year. You can never take back what happens on camera. And then others have to watch it over and over and over and barf a little.

Love, Momamcita

Dear Michael Phelps:

Because of all the press hype, and because of your beefy shoulders, I'm really pulling for you. I was pounding the couch with my fist during your first gold medal win. I usually don't give a rip so that was kind of fun Michael.

Love, Mommacita

PS Thank you for throwing away the speedo.

Dear Dara Fores,

You go you 41 year old girl friend who just had a baby 2 years ago. Swim on.

Love, Mommacita.

Dear Chinese Techies,

Next time Michael Phelps wins a gold medal, let's not be cutting off the American anthem too soon. Pretty embarrassing faux paux. Can you spell international incident?

Love, Mommacita

PS I just want everyone to get along.

Bob Costas said there are less bicycles in China now. Strike two Bob.

Conversation with a Selfish Idiot

Did anyone notice I took a blogcation? No? I'm a bigger deal in my own head that I ever imagined? Well, I didn't imagine much, but I would have been excited if I had been a bigger deal in my own head than I imagined.

I had insomnia.

You would think that I would have gotten up from tossing around in my bed and blogged my brains out but I was afraid I would copy the poop poem that my niece Annie wrote when she had insomnia, and her mother got red in the face. Now that my mother reads this thing I can't be talking about poop because I am worried about mother embarrassment because of what happened with the Annie poop poem. I'm thinking only three poop references per blog are allowed. And I've now used up my ration. I used the word ration because it's a WWII word which is Mom's era, and I thought that mom would like that and then allow me another poop. That didn't sound how I intended it too. Anyway.

Let's get a way from the subject of hmmmmmmmm, stpoop. Let's move on to this...it's what is on the minds of ever young single voting American. White Black or Otherwise.

Insomnia Self: blink blink blink blink

Sleep Self: What are you doing? You are acting like an idiot!

Insomnia Self: I'm enjoying the dark. And the POWER. I am POWER DRUNK

Sleep Self: Do you realize I have a taxing day tomorrow?

Insomnia Self: (fingers in ears) La La La La I can't hear you

Sleep Self: You know that tomorrow I have to have energy. You know that I will be driving down the freeway at 10:00 at night with crazy drunk truckers.

Insomnia Self: Not my problem. How many Gilmore Girls do you have DVRed on this thing?

Sleep Self: Did you say Gilmore Girls? Well OK. Let's watch the one where Rory goes to the Debutante Ball. Or maybe the one were Kirk gets scratched up on over 90% of his body in the bathtub by Kirk the cat. I have an affinity to people who name their family members and their cats the same thing.

Sleep Self: It's 2:30 now. Aren't you the least bit tired? Think of the truckers. And me on the road with them.

Insomnia Self: Am I hungry? I think my stomach might be eating itself. I think I need a little something. How's about we get something we shouldn't eat and then we turn on a "Lifetime Movie For Women" and watch some woman get messed over by a man, probably her husband and she will take her children and run to other women who always help other women and then she will become the CEO of a business that manufactures something that she invented that is something only women can use. Like a new man beating stick or something.

Sleep Self: No. NoNoNO. How's about we turn of the light and try it again? It's 3:30. Not that I keep looking at the clock or anything.

Insomnia Self: Go ahead LOOSER. Did you hear that? I'm talking smack here. LOOSER. Love the smack talk. LOVE SMACK!!!. LOOSERLOOSERLOOSER. We're staying AWAKE ALL NIGHT LOOSER. TRY AND STOP ME!

Sleep Self: Um. It's 4:30. I'm starting to wonder if we are working together here? And by the way that's not a rhetorical question for the group that's gathered here tonight. That means you need to ANSWER THE QUESTION.

Insomnia Self: I love Smack. I love Power. I love the dark. And being wide awake. And Bugging you. And TV. And the moon. I love watching you look at the clock every 15 minutes. I love watching you try the left side. Then the right side. Then your back. I love hearing you sigh and blow air through your lips like a horse. I love you thinking about how awful tomorrow is going to be without any sleep. I love the anxiety. I love the PRESSURE! I love having control over the world. It's a trip Mommacita.

Sleep Self: I NEED REST! whatamIgoingtodotomorrow whenIhaveexcpectations thatIwillbetootiredtofulfill becauseyouaremessingaround youstupidlittletwerp?

Insomnia Self: Just so you know, you have something in your teeth. Dubers would not be pleased.

Sleep Self: Take this Pill.

Insomnia Self: No. I already did that.

Sleep Self: Take this Pill. We have gone the allotted time since the last one. And you're going down. You are SO such a pitiful part of history you little low life.

Insomnia Self: Waaaaaaaaaaaait unttttiiiiiiillllllllllllllllll tommmmmmmmmorrowwwwww nightttttttttttttttttttttttttt. I'llllllllllllllllll gettttttt you myyyyyyyyyyyyy pretttttttttttttty.

Sleep Self: (triumphant smiley face with one eyebrow raised despite the fact that it is 5 am)

No sleep makes you crazy