Holdin' Holden

The elusive "Daddy Bragger"

2012-02-02T21:00:00.005-05:00

In our time spent as parents, no matter how long or short that time may be- we have ALL come across what I like (or hate) to call "Mommy Braggers"- hell, some of us might even BE a habitual Mommy Bragger. We've all fallen into the trap of competing in the Baby Olympics at least once, but then we realize how fucking stupid and petty and ridiculous it is and swear to NEVER do it again... because it's bitchy and annoying and makes other moms whisper about you behind your back that either you're snorting baby powder or the placenta you must have eaten drove you mad.

We ALL know your six month old can't solve a Rubik cube in under 3 minutes. We ALL know your 6 month old can't do a fucking thing but GNAW on a Rubik cube- WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO FOOL??

And even worse than the Mommy Bragger is the Mommy Bragging One-Upper.
The one who, when you randomly let slip your child's achievement in front of others because you are genuinely proud, automatically thinks it's a competition and suddenly their child has done the exact same thing, only better.

"My little Timmy got an A on his spelling test today! I'm so proud, he has struggled a long time with spelling so this is really a great step forward for him"
"Oh, well MY little Tabatha got 110 on that same exact test because she not only spelled them correctly in English, but in Spanish too. Isn't she just amazing? It was so easy for her! I'm thinking of enrolling her in Harvard."

It's times like those where you wish you didn't have so much restrain and a fear of being in jail with a large terrifying woman named "Bear" so that you could punch a bitch in the throat.

Believe it or not, there is something far worse, far more obnoxious, and far more deserving of a punch to the jugular than a Mommy Bragger... and that is the ever-elusive DADDY Bragger.
YES LADIES, they DO exist! BEWARE, and have your good punching fist ready.

I don't know if it's that Daddy Braggers are actually MORE obnoxious than their female counterparts, or if it's the fact that they did not carry their own spawn for (technically) 10 long months like women do, but for SOME reason I just find it infuriating. Especially from those Dads who aren't at home 24-7 with their children (whether that be choice or not).
Whatever the reason- they are COMPLETELY UNRELENTING in their braggery.

A woman, upon realizing that she cannot prove that her precious is the most beautiful and unique flower in the entire garden will back off, in a huff of course.
A man on the other hand, DOES NOT CARE, as he does not have this wonderful thing called estrogen coursing through his veins that tends to get those of the female persuasion worked into a complete tizzy when things don't go her way.
And because he does not have this thing called estrogen, he cannot possibly understand the world of hell he is going to bring upon himself by repeatedly poking at it with a stick.

He, instead, even when it is VERY clear to everyone else in the surrounding 5 mile radius, that you are getting pissed-the-fuck-off, will CONTINUE to ramble on and on about his perfect little bundle of snot who can absolutely positively do NO WRONG. EVER. NEVER EVER! GOD NO, NOT MY CHILD! MY PERFECT CREATION!
Well, OF FUCKING COURSE you think your kid is the fucking shit if you work all the time, do not have estrogen, and never see the evil fucking shit they pull. I even catch Thomas doing it, and it makes my skin crawl.

We ALL think our kids are the best fucking things on the planet, but the majority of us are aware of just how annoying they can be, and in a rational non-man-brain, it tends to equalize, making the bragging ring in at a bare minimum.

I DO NOT CARE how much you love your kid. Really, I don't. I KNOW you do. You SHOULD. As should we all.

But be fucking realistic for fuck's sake! They aren't perfect. Not all the damn time, I do not care what you say- THEY AREN'T AND WE ALL KNOW IT!
If they are, you should be concerned for your life and keep one eye open at night because it's likely they are plotting to suck the life out of you while you sleep.
DO you have a Child of the Corn? No, i'm seriously asking, DO YOU? because that is the only way the level of ridiculousness in the Daddy brag could ever possibly be true.

THE BRAGGING MUST END!
Now, I realize, between mothers- it will NEVER go away. If you grow a human on your insides, and then spend however much time screaming and forcing them out of your own damn vagina into this world- of course you're going to think they're the best damn thing since sliced bread. While I don't necessarily agree that your 2 year old is a fucking genius, I realize the trend is never going to go away, so instead of a right jab to the throat, I choose not to associate with people who participate in the Child Olympics. It's better for everyone that way.

But MEN! MEN SERIOUSLY, sit the hell down and read this. STOP. Being proud of your child and bragging to the point of making other people feel like their child is the biggest fuck-up on the face of the earth because you are either insane or cannot possibly see any negative side to your own creation (well, doesn't that sound familiar? I think I may be onto something).
Back on point- MEN. YOU.MUST.STOP
You know not what you do or what you mess with.

As a mother who has been puked on and at, had to clean up rotten puke from neck folds and the insides of toys; been liquid shit all over, picked boogers and wiped asses, screamed at relentessly for hours on end- EVERY SINGLE DAY, MULTIPLE TIMES PER DAY.... I have to tell you, if you are not a stay at home father- you DO NOT GET IT, and therefore should not brag infront of someone who has a very loose grip on sanity due to the things listed above. Not if you want to live, or continue life with a penis.

Trust me when I say, I am trying to help you and the future of our planet- for if this fuckery continues there are going to be a lot of dickless dudes wandering the planet- and then what good would you be to us?

Busy days and exploding ovaries

2012-02-01T21:00:00.000-05:00

What is it with us women? We are so fucking fickle. We say over and over again; insist, beg, plead, bitch and moan for ONE thing... and once we get it? We change our minds.
DO NOT LIE Vagina possessors. Don't do it. You don't have to admit to it out loud, as I know we all love to have men thinking we know what we want at ALL times and do not change our minds like they do so easily- so you can just nod in agreement, that is all I ask.

As a stay at home mother, especially with children NOT of school age and therefore in no after-school extra curriculars... we ache to get out of the house. I have written I don't' even know how many blogs about how I am going to be pulling out the rusty spork if someone does not free me from my gilded mommy cage.

We have enough of the boring monotony of sitting at home- we want to get out, get AWAY get "me time", get peace and quiet for ONCE IN OUR LIVES CAN SOMEONE JUST PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP?!

And then you get slapped with the busy day and you begin to think perhaps you were insane for shit-talking down-time so much.
Or at least, that's what happened to me today.

After my recovery period yesterday came to a close, I decided to turn in early because yet again- I had PT at the asscrack of dawn and needed to actually be ABLE to crawl out of bed and not look like a troll. I am still kicking my own ass for deciding to make the appointments as early as humanly possible so the husband unit wouldn't have to miss so much work. I still have not been rewarded for that random act of kindness.

Before I leave for this appointment, WHAT, praytell, do I notice? Oh, hello vagina! I didn't know you were bleeding! Thanks for the warning!
So now, I had to leave the house with my uterus in a vice grip and go stretch in front of strangers.. praying not to either shit my pants (period shits, again, DO NOT LIE, you know exactly what I mean) or bleed through them. Those two rank in my top 5 of things NEVER waning to have happen to me in public.

After narrowly escaping public humiliation, I come home and have just enough time to shove food in my face, brew a pot of coffee, and get the kids dressed before it's time for Parker's speech therapy- which I am not allowed to be online during or texting throughout as it is frowned upon- not that the kid listens to me anyways.

That lasts an hour and then I have to immediately shovel a snack into the kids before it gets too late and will ruin lunch. They bitch and it lasts longer than usual. CURSE YOU TEDDY GRAHAMS FOR BEING SO FUCKING DELICIOUS!

Once that is done, I can maybe, MAYBE check the internet, get some home-schooling for Holden in, do a little bit of home PT so that I don't tear out my back later in the day- and it's time to make lunch.
Make lunch, argue with kids about getting up in the middle of lunch to shit when I TOLD THEM SPECIFICALLY to empty themselves beforehand.

Due to events of the day, lunch runs late, so I then have to force them into submission immediately following lunch.
Spawn one, aka Holden? REFUSES TO NAP. Cue an hour of me fighting with him and I am JUST NOW sitting down to relax.
And later? I'm taking the kids outside since it appears that it is not colder than a witch's tit but will be tomorrow, and then we are going out to eat with my family for a belated birthday dinner. In a fancy restaurant. With the kids. That ought to be interesting. And by interesting I mean awful.

FUCK BUSY DAYS! I know I said I wanted one, I wanted to get out, I wanted to not be bored out of my skull but damnit... I want my lazy back! I miss my lazy!

Or did I ever have lazy days since reproducing? I'm not sure I know what lazy IS anymore. Not real lazy anyways.
Even on my "down days" where I don't go anywhere and consider buying stock in the Sporks industry and embroidering smothering pillow... I cannot just sit on my ass and do nothing as those who get to experience the TRUE "lazy" do.

What I wouldn't give to do that. JUST FOR ONE DAY.
To sleep in past 7:30am, to not deal with anyone needing anything from me, to not hear shrieking and whining and bitching (other than from myself)... but i'm constantly being pulled in every direction.

Mommy let's play with playdoh! Mommy I have to doodoo! Mommy read to me! The floor needs cleaned before someone breaks their neck. There's too much piss in the toilet and it stinks so I must clean it. No one has clean clothes so I need to now do 27 loads of laundry. FUCK the dishes from lunch still aren't done. Did I do my makeup yet? What the hell is for dinner... SHIT I forgot to take something out and now I have to put the meat in hot water. Grocery list.. what do we need...
MOMMY, he hit me! MOMMY he took my toys! MOMMY can you help me with this or that or this other thing that I don't ever need help with but i'm going to scream at you about it anyways? Can we go outside? I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE. It's nap time, BUT I'M NOT TIRED! I'm hungry, BUT I DON'T WANT THAT MAKE ME SOMETHING ELSE! Go get it for me! Are the children upstairs? what are they doing upstairs? FUCK now I have to clean the upstairs.

As bored as I may feel, I am never actually TRULY bored.

Moms- we're fucked either way! I guess we should just learn to suck it up and roll with it, no matter what the day brings....

Did I say that with a straight face?
I much prefer bitching, sorry! (ok, no i'm not)

The Hungover Mommy Chronicles

2012-01-31T21:00:00.001-05:00

I have no problem freely an openly admitting that I drink. NO, I AM NOT AN ALCOHOLIC. NO I DO NOT NEED REHAB OR HELP- so before you even attempt to go there, if you're attempting to go there, shut it down.
I drink because I like to and because i'm a grown ass woman who can make my own decisions on what is and isn't appropriate for me. And I drink because my kids are fucking insane and occasionally after I finally force them into submission for the evening, it helps me wind down and and keep that little grasp on sanity I keep saying I still have.

Generally, I know my limit. After a few incidents of puking in front of friends, verbal diarrhea spraying all over the place, and making a complete ass out of myself (and I wonder why no other adults ever hang out with me!)- I HAD to learn my limit. And generally I stick to that limit, because I don't need to be waking up in the morning and wondering who the fuck I embarrassed myself in front of.
Also because no matter how bad I dream of it, there is NO day off from children. No matter what, you have to wake up and deal with them... and usually they are very loud. This is bad if you have a splitting headache and are barfing last night's dinner into the pot.
I like to avoid all of the above.

However, as most of you know, last night was my birthday. And tell me, is it not customary on ones anniversary of their day of birth to getting completely shitfaced drunk? I've been pregnant 2 out of my last 5 birthdays, I have time to make up for, and considering that I had absolutely no plans this year, and it would just be Thomas and I- I didn't have to worry about looking like a complete asshat in front of anyone but him- and that dumbass married me so he's sort of stuck with it.

We got the kids to bed an hour early as to be able to have more time to actually enjoy the evening adult style without screaming children running around as they had been all day- and started pouring drinks. I had fully intended on pacing myself- because FUCK if i'm going to fall asleep before my birthday is ACTUALLY over. I planned on milking it for all it was worth (this includes forcing husband to do everything for me... well, everything except wipe my ass). .

DO NOT ask me how it happened, because I swear I don't know, but I went from perfectly fine to completely sloppy drunk without any realization of this happening. Slurred speech, stumbling, incooherent muttering of 4-letter words and laughing at absolutely nothing kind of wasty-face drunk. I do not remember a whole hell of a lot after that, but what I do know is that I woke up with a face full of crusty makeup and feeling like I had a sweater on my teeth. Winning.
I also know that I felt completely like shit. It's been YEARS since i've gotten a head-pounding day-ruining hangover, but I felt like death warmed over. Exhausted, beaten down, and my back, my poor sad back was killing me.

I was more useless than a bag of smashed up assholes. Dragged myself out of bed, fed the kids breakfast, and then laid myself out on the couch with ice on my back- wondering how I was ever going to get through this day, and swearing for the billionth time that I would "NEVER.DRINK.AGAIN!"

I wondered if perhaps the children would completely destroy the house, as they could clearly see I would not be able to muster the energy to even give a fuck and therefore they would get away with it (until Daddy got home that is)... but they surprised me.

Parker walked over to me and handed me his beloved stuffed animal "Dee." The one he never lets ANYONE touch. The one he cried for 2 hours over when it had to be washed because it smelled like rotten drool and body funk. The one he snarls over if anyone else DARES to pick it up unless it's being handed straight to him. The one he WILL.NOT.SLEEP.WITHOUT.
He gave it to me. And left it with me. He then covered me with a blanket.

Now, i'm not sure if Holden began following suit as to receive praise, or just to be sweet- but either way I will take it- he asked what he could do for me. Since I was already warm and snuggled up with a "lovey", I told him he could draw me a picture. He leaves for a few minutes and then comes back in the room. I manage to crack my eyes open enough to look. He's drawn me a picture of a heart. I didn't even know he KNEW how to draw a heart, but he drew me one. Then he attempted to smother me with 13 pillows, 3 blankets, and 12 more stuffed animals, y'know, just to one-up Parker.

Is becoming Wastyface McDrunk and waking up with a massive hangover all I have to do to get the kids to be perfect angel children? REALLY?

Yeah.... not worth it.

Stories of bad birthdays past

2012-01-30T21:00:00.000-05:00

That's right, TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY. PAY ATTENTION TO ME FOR I AM THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE!!!!

Ok, not really.. it's more like duck and fucking COVER because I have a long standing history of terrible birthdays, things going awry, and just all around suckage.

I'm not being whiny (for once), really i'm not. It's just well known FACT around these parts. I now look back at birthdays past and laugh. I can even KIND OF (grumble) take a deep breath of relief that I have absolutely no plans tonight because it means less of a chance for things to get ruined.

Allow me to give you some examples from the past few years... if I can remember that far.

Birthday 23- Pregnant. Some may think awesome, I think all day long horrid nausea. And this was the time where I was the first of my friends to get knocked up and they all thought I had the fucking plague and avoided me as such.

Birthday 24- Went out with friends, most of whom bailed on me after dinner. Wanted to go bowling, bowling alley CLOSED (seriously, what bowling alley closes before 11 on a Saturday night???)

Birthday 25- Alone. In an empty house. With no heat. In February. Oh, and did I mention unknowingly pregnant? That was a good one. Freezing while nauseous for seemingly no reason in a dark cold empty house that you fear a serial killer or cannibalistic blood sucking clown could creep out of the corners at any second is not exactly my idea of a good time to be had.

Birthday 26- Snowed in. No really, SNOWED THE FUCK IN. So much snow and ice that EVERY restaurant in the entire area closed down, effectively ruining my reservation at my favorite restaurant in the world. When I finally got to reschedule after the roads had cleared, even CALLED to make sure they'd be open? Got there, closed.
Have I mentioned how much I hate snow?

Birthday 27- After days of everyone in the house having the stomach flu, including myself (15 hours straight of puking) I had finally felt well enough to go out. Plans of karaoke were in motion... only I could not stop shitting. COULD NOT STOP. I blew up that smoky bar's bathroom so many times I can't even count. AND I was on my period. Shitting, bleeding, and next in line to sing.
You try belting out a tune while feeling like your ass is going to leak at any moment and see how that goes for you.
Plus I smelled like an old ashtray for a week afterward.

This year it looks like it's going to be a mix of chronic pain and zero plans. Perhaps all the taco bell, cheesecake, and rum I plan to slam into my face will make both of those things not seem so bad. Here's to hoping, right?
Plus, someone told me today that it's clinically proven that those who have birthdays live longer, so what is there to complain about really?

Other than the wrinkles... and my new found embarrassment to admit my age, the gray hairs that seem to be popping through more frequently that are SO silver I could decorate a Christmas tree with them, boobs that will slowly begin to point toward the equator regardless of their lack of size, and a child who thinks i'm 60..
Yes, other than that, what could there be to complain about??

New baby

2012-01-30T20:00:00.001-05:00

Guest written by our friend Gladys Fuentes

My best friend just had her first baby. I was visiting her at her house and helping her out with some cleaning and laundry. The doorbell rang and she said it was the guy coming to install her new home security system. She said that now that they have a baby, she just wants to feel safer. We do not have kids yet, so that is something that I have not even thought about. I think we are going to start trying to have a baby within the next year or so, and it probably would not hurt to go ahead and look in to having a security system installed in our house. I asked my friend how she decided which one to use. She said she went online to homesecurity101.com and the website answered all of her questions. I went home that night and talked to my husband about it. I told him that we needed to have a security system installed before we had our first baby. He said that we don’t have to worry about it yet because that is still at least five years away. I laughed at that statement. I always have my ways of winning him over.

Late napping weekend hell

2012-01-29T21:00:00.000-05:00

Every weekend it's the same old shit. It never fails.

I've been cooped up all week long with two whiny kids and I am ACHING to get the hell out of the house. I swear multiple times during the day that if I don't get out I will absolutely lose my damn mind. And I can't afford to lose that sad strained little thing. It's kind of important to keep it around, y'know, 'cause otherwise all my kids will see is a drooling pants shitting dumbass and I am attempting to break them of all three of those things.

While a lot of weekends I don't look forward to Thomas being home 2 days in a row because he starts to irritate the piss out of me (what can I say, I get stabby)- but it's also nice because it means I can actually GO OUT. With them, mind you, but OUT. Taking the kids out by myself during the week with chronic back pain is ABSOLUTELY NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, so the weekend is my hail mary, my dash for the end-zone, sprint for the exit. And I like to take full advantage by this to finding SOMETHING to do outside of the house. I don't care what the fuck it is- but i'd better be doing it.

In typical child fashion, the kids find a way to throw a wrench in my plans to not be home. How? NAP TIME. Fucking.nap.time

I love nap time. I REALLY LOVE NAPTIME. It's like crack. I am addicted. Not for me, but for them. I appreciate and crave and desire the silence that naptime brings. I hope it never goes away (although I know eventually it will).
On the weekends, in between the scrubbing of toilets caked in toddler piss, picking up messes that have just been picked up and recreated, exploding our water bill with 8 loads of laundry, arguing endlessly over what the fuck to have for lunch, and scrubbing crayon off of various surfaces- naptime unfortunately becomes an afterthought.

We spend too much time fucking around and before we know it, it's lunch time... or 30 minutes past lunch time. And immediately following lunchtime is naptime- so we can't go anywhere and ruin naptime or we ALL pay the price.... If we wait until after nap time, it's too close to dinner time since the nap was pushed back due to the late lunch, so what happens? Stir crazy mommy gets stuck the fuck in the house for the 6th and 7th day in a row.

All work and no play makes Mommy highly consider making the threat of the embroidered pillow a reality.

I find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place, every single weekend. Do I sacrifice naps and leave this cage... I mean...house, to save a tiny piece of my sanity but chance having gigantic assholes for children when the clock strikes 6pm? Or do I sacrifice a tiny piece of my sanity and stay in and give the could-be-asshole children naps in hopes of having a peaceful evening because they are well rested?

HOW IS ONE SUPPOSED TO DECIDE BETWEEN THOSE?!
What a wholly unfair conundrum we mommies find ourselves in.

Fuck it. I say go with the sanity. The assholes can be put in their rooms indefinitely... but once your sanity is gone, it is GONE, and then you find yourself actually ENCOURAGING the children to play with moon dough. On the carpet. For six hours straight.

Don't be that person.

Daddy's (not so) disappearing act

2012-01-28T21:00:00.001-05:00

Tonight's post is a guest blog written by friend, blogger, and fellow author, Deb, aka "The Monster in Your Closet"

Be sure to check out her blog and Facebook page!
Blog: http://deborah-bryan.com/
Facebook: The Monster in Your Closet

“Sunshine Girl” was my long-running nickname, but it hasn’t always been sunshine for me. My karaoke song, for example, was Everclear’s “Father of Mine.”

If you haven’t heard that song, you should listen to it now. I’ll wait.

OK. So now that you’ve heard it, you know it’s not the most upbeat song about fathers. It’s a perfect expression of how I feel about my father, or felt about him until I decided he wasn’t worth the energy.

My honey, a.k.a. “Ba.D.” (for “Baby Daddy”), wasn’t too keen on his own absentee dad. His own father’s mistakes were ones he wasn’t interested in repeating with our son. I took heart in this as we prepared to meet that son in late 2009.

Two years later, Ba.D. deeply loves our son, Li’l D. He doesn’t do this passively, but rather in very active, engaged and caring ways that win Li’l D’s heart ever more by the day. Indeed, one of the best parts of my day is when Ba.D. gets home early enough for Li’l D to hear the front door key turning in the lock and shout, “Daddy!” before hurtling toward the door for a tackle hug.

And yet . . .

To talk to my son outside the apartment, you’d never guess it. You’d think, “Aw, poor kid. What’s his dad’s story, anyway?”

A few weeks ago, we all went for a stroll along the water. Ba.D. ran off to grab the car, a fact Li’l D barely seemed to note until some strangers walked by.

“Daddy ran away,” he said sadly, leaning his chin on his tricycle’s handlebar.

“What?” asked the dad of the trio.

“Daddy ran away,” Li’l D repeated.

I laughed and said, “No, no, Daddy just ran to get the car. He’ll be right back.”

The next day at the grocery store, we got a replay with new families. Several of them.

This morning, we got on our apartment’s empty elevator. Instead of going down, the elevator rose to the third floor, where two young women stepped on for the trip downward.

“I miss Daddy,” Li’l D proclaimed without preface, looking plaintively at the taller of the two women.

“Where is he?” she asked. Both women smiled.

“Hiding at home,” Li’l D explained in reply, shaking his head.

“Oh, sweetie,” I said. “Daddy’s just getting ready for work!”

There are lots of moments like these, so please: if my son tells you his daddy’s run away or is in hiding, confirm with me before attempting to soothe him.

My son’s adorable, yes. He’s reasonably articulate for a 28-month-old.

One thing he is not, yet, is reliable.

I think he’ll keep him anyway.

Of all the things i've lost.... wait, what did I lose again?

2012-01-27T21:00:00.002-05:00

Every day following the birth of my children, I have felt not only my sanity, but the capacity at which my brain functions slowly slipping farther and farther away. I've tried that brain-age shit, i'm not sure it does anything but frustrate me.

Every day I seem to lose a little more of my brain. I don't know where it's going, but I hope wherever it is, it's being put to good use.

It's been nearly 4.5 years since Holden, and 2.5 since Parker. I can no longer blame it on post-partum brain, can I? The fluffy loose-skinned tummy skin I will always blame on them (and maybe laziness too), damn kids, but can I blame the deterioration of my smarts??

Back when the children had just been expelled from my insides, I liked to call it "post-preggo brain."

As mothers, we are all aware of the level of ultimate-DUH we can reach while expanding due to the growth of a miniature human inside of us. I liked to believe that in order to develop their tiny little brains, we had to sacrifice a little bit of ours (ok... maybe a lot). Once they tore our nethers apart and re-lit the vacancy sign of our uterus, slowly, we wouldn't have so many brain-fart moments. And over time, we'd be back to our incredibly smart and charming selves (even if our hair was frazzled from hours of repeated attempts to rip it out). And witty, don't forget witty (although I almost did).

Over time talking to other Mothers, we have all come to the stark realization that it NEVER really comes back. Not all the way. Try as you might, deny it all you want- but deep down you know that the pause between witty retorts, extreme forgetfulness, the filter we once had to talk about ANYTHING other than children and diarrhea, and DUH moments after kids are far more frequent than before.

Yesterday I searched for something for a good 30 minutes. I swore to the sweet baby jeebus husband had took it with him, I just KNEW he took it!!! And I proceeded to get incredibly stabby with him.
Found it in my pocket 4 hours later; the pocket i'd checked at least a dozen times in a fit of rage.

Do you ever hear one annoying toy make noises so fucking much that even when it's off you STILL think you can hear it? I do. All.the.time
They say hearing your phone ring when it isn't is the first sign of insanity- but what about children's toys??

What did I have for dinner last night? eeehhh...errrrrrr.....
yeah, no damn idea. I forget. Give me a few minutes and I might be able to remember.

Diminished capacity for adult conversation? Check. I go out so infrequently and attempt holding conversation with adults other than my husband even less that most of the time I don't even know how any more. It certainly makes for embarrassing situations when you walk away from a conversation KNOWING those bastards are thinking "what the fuck happened to her?"

I walk into a room with a specific purpose and within 5 seconds have completely forgot what that purpose is. Some days I remember it a few minutes later; if i'm REALLY lucky i'll remember before I leave the room... but most days? I never remember what the hell I was doing in there in the first place.

Name Flubbing- something my Dad used to do (and does more often the older he gets) that I swore i'd NEVER do. He calls me by my step mothers name, calls my kids by other family members names- and is probably one of the only things he does that drives me absolutely insane... and I am ashamed to admit that now, I do it too. Holden is Parker, Parker is Holden- they both look at me like i'm a complete idiot.

What day of the week is it? Fuck if I know. I hope it's Friday or I might lose what VERY little is left of my mind.

I've begun to wonder (as much as I can without straining myself) if i'll know when I slip from preggo brain into age related dementia. With the way things are going, it will likely be a smooth and completely unnoticeable transition. I won't even admit to how long this blog took to put together, but i'm sure you can assume it wasn't fast.

People may say Spongebob rots kids brains, but KIDS rot my brain.
That's my story, and i'm sticking to it.... until I forget I wrote this, that is.

Tales from the Mom of a picky eater

2012-01-26T21:00:00.001-05:00

Before my children came screaming into this world, I did what most parents do- made all kinds of ridiculous promises of the things I wasn't going to do/be/say as a parent.

ONLY educational programming like Baby Einstein. We'll do crafts every day! No cursing around them, EVER! Only healthy food at all times, no junk food and no candy! I won't let them whine until they come into bed with me- I will put my foot DOWN! I won't ever give in to their insane demands! I will never let my kids play with toy weapon of any sort! I won't EVER let them use a pacifier or suck their thumb! I won't let my kid be a picky eater, they will eat what I eat- EVERY meal!

And like a new years resolution- it didn't take long for me to break nearly every single one of those. We want to be so awesome as parents before we ARE parents and know the sheer insanity that it is, that we actually think these things can be avoided.

To some? Ok, sure, maybe you have the willpower and restraint of a saint- but for most of us... on some days.. it's just easier to give the fuck in and get some much needed peace and quiet than worry about the extra 20 minutes of TV the kids are watching and how it will effect their future endeavors to become the President of the United States.

I thought i'd done pretty good with Holden in the food department (even if nothing else)- as he is quite possibly the least picky eater on the face of the earth. A child who will literally eat ANYTHING and loves vegetables (yes even the green ones)... and then we were graced with Parker.

As has been detailed monumentally in this blog, he got very sick at 3 months old, and due to that sickness developed an extreme aversion to food. So extreme that we didn't even get him off of baby food until he was over a year and a half old.
There went my dreams of not turning into a short-order-cook, at the whim of a toddler who just so happens to be the pickiest eater on the planet. There are more things on the list of things he won't eat than will, and some he will only eat under certain circumstances on certain days of the week under partially cloudy skies (ok, not really, but to those with picky eaters, i'm sure it sometimes feels that way).

Little dude says absolutely NOT to real bacon, but bacon bits he hoovers up.

Banana bread? My delicious home made banana bread? You'd think I was trying to kill him, until I told him it was like a cookie made from bananas, and then he stole it from me and ate it faster than I could blink.

He refuses to eat any kind of chicken (or really meat in general), but he clucks at it and asks for it constantly. Yes, i'm going to waste my time making you something I know you won't touch! Actually.. I will.. and then kick my own ass for it.

He hates icecream, and not just hates it, but LOATHES it. WHO THE FUCK HATES ICECREAM? Not even people allergic to dairy hate icecream, but my picky eater does.

The only kind of sandwich he'll go anywhere near is a peanut butter and jelly- and he won't eat it himself, you have to feed it to him. Any other kind of sandwich and he'll look at you cross-eyed.

If the old saying of "you are what you eat" is even remotely true, he will turn into a fucking noodle, because 75% of his dinners are noodles since he refuses to have dinner with us and as much as i'd like to put my foot down and rule with an iron fist- letting your kid go hungry is slightly frowned upon in modern society.

It took him so long to even touch food without gagging (and gagging HARD), though, that much to my dismay, and no matter how many times I said i'd NEVER EVER DO IT (and meant it), that I now have to take on the role of short order cook and make him whatever the fuck he wants because as long as he eats, we are happy.

Sometimes i'm so happy, yet so afraid when he tries something new that I turn away and pretend i'm not watching just so he doesn't spit it out because he notices that i'm staring at him like a knife wielding stalker. Yes, it's that serious.

I suppose if i've gone ahead broken my parenting resolutions, I should at least make good use of the "skills" I have picked up along the way.
I'm not sure what us parents of picky eaters will do with our new-found lightning speed to whip something up in the kitchen to appease the beast refusing what everyone else is having for dinner. Go on one of those timed cooking competitions? Work in fast food (fast food that is ACTUALLY fast and not just claims to be)?
No no, neither of those will do...I don't think any of us will want to become chefs, as cooking food is no longer fun but more like laborious torture..

I guess if worse comes to worse, we can just blame our husbands- seeing as how they contribute half of the genes in our childrens pools- and OF COURSE they don't get the picky, stubborn, or assholish ones from us- therefore us breaking our parenting resolutions- the ones we KNEW we would hold strong to no matter WHAT- is their fault.

I most certainly am not a picky eater. Just sayin'

The issue of specifics when it comes to sadistic genies and defiant children

2012-01-25T20:55:00.000-05:00

I was reminded a few weeks ago when a friend brought her kids over for a playdate- and she told me a story of how she told her son to spit after brushing his teeth and he walked into the living room and spit on the floor- of something very important. Something pertinent. Something all parents need to know and may not realize until it is just too late... and after yesterday? I suggest you DO NOT BE TOO LATE.

Let's get straight to the point here, shall we? You don't have much time.

Children are sneaky little shits. We KNOW this. If you don't know this... I'd like to know what you're smoking and how much it cost. I digress, they are sneaky, sometimes manipulative, and always plotting something in those oversized heads of theirs. Always something up their sleeves, whether you know it or not.
If you underestimate said sneakiness? They will find a way to FUCK your world, and then laugh at you for being so painfully stupid afterward.

Dealing with children is like making a wish from a genie, if you aren't specific, and I mean VERY FUCKING SPECIFIC- you're screwed. On an epic scale.

Wish for a million bucks? They'll have you robbing a bank or kill off a rich relative.
True love? Pregnant best friend's husband. Good luck with that.
100 more wishes? Sure, but you'll have to split into 33 people in order to get them.

Just like a sadistic Genie, if you don't make the parameters VERY clear, with every single loophole closed, cemented with an air tight seal, whatever it is you ask for, whatever it is you've said not to do WILL BACKFIRE.

Case in point:

The boys have a chalkboard. This of course came with chalk. I SPECIFICALLY instructed my spawn not to draw on my walls with said chalk. How exactly could that backfire on me? DON'T draw on the walls with chalk means DON'T DRAW ON THE FUCKING WALLS WITH CHALK!
How in the hell was I supposed to know that Parker would get around this rule by coloring on his hand, and then smearing his HAND on the wall- thereby coloring on my damn wall with chalk WITHOUT COLORING ON MY WALL WITH THE CHALK!

Yes I could certainly be mad, and oh I was- but if I DIDN'T tell him not to, specifically, did I have a right to be? He didn't color on the walls with chalk, he only rubbed his hand on the wall with chalk on it. Loophole.

Taking into consideration his reaction at the gigantic time out he received (justified or not!) after this little incident, I figured his wall decorating days were over.

And then this happened:

pretty!

Once again that sneaky little shit found a loophole. What you see there is marker- which both children have been told a thousand or more times that if they ever put a squishy tip to one of my walls their ass is grass- but not just ANY kind of marker. It's DRY-ERASE marker, and have I ever specifically said "no DRY ERASE markers on the wall"? No. No I haven't. FML.

This, my friends, is why being almost obsessively ridiculously overbearingly specific is key to saving your walls, your furniture, your carpets.... your sanity.

Now when I could say something as simple as "don't color on my walls"-
I will instead say:
"Don't color on my walls. Not with markers, crayons, pencils, or color pencils. Do not color on your hands and then SMEAR it on the walls. Do not throw a crayon at the walls in hopes that it makes a mark. Do not close your eyes and 'mistakenly' bump into my walls while holding a coloring utensil. Do not use your shoes to make marks on the walls. Do not use food or any kind of beverage. Basically, don't EVER TOUCH THE FUCKING WALLS AGAIN!"

I suggest you do the same.

Marriage: the full time job, and the embroidered pillow

2012-01-24T20:58:00.000-05:00

Before I wrote the letter to my husband (and posted it as a blog) in a fleeting attempt to revive what felt like a drowning marriage, i'll be honest, I wasn't sure I wanted to. I was at the edge of a cliff ready to jump; staring single motherhood in the face and terrified of what my future and my children's future might hold because I just didn't think I could take it anymore. What stopped me was a group of friends slapping me in the face with the reality of the situation, and forcing me to take some time to reflect and remember how things used to be. Why couldn't they be that way again?

Madly, butt-crazy in love. Nothing else mattered but each other, being together. At one point I risked nearly everything to be with him, I knew he was the one. Not just someone, but THE one. The one I was absolutely meant to be with for the rest of my life. I even called it fate more times than I can count.

Couldn't we get that back? Was it too late?

No one ever told me that marriage was WORK. Hard, dirty, manual labor. It's not just signing a piece of paper and going on your merry way. It's not just an agreement recognized by the state; it's a commitment you not only make to yourself, but to your partner as well. To love them and stand by them 'for better or for worse'- and didn't this count as worse?

How can one walk away when they've never really tried? REALLY tried. When we made those vows 5 years ago, we meant them, and they deserved to be respected enough to try to follow through on them as best as we possibly could.

Real, TRUE love doesn't just fade away. It doesn't just disappear one day when you're not looking, never to be heard from again, never to be felt again. It is always there... but sometimes it gets lost in the mix of busy days, stress, and money problems and has to be found again. And that's where we are now.

I wish it were as easy as putting a GPS chip in it, flicking a button and being able to say "Oh, there you are" and putting it right back where it belongs... but anything that's worth anything is NOT easy; and that has been a hard lesson to learn, one i'm still learning and probably will be for the rest of my life.

As much as old dogs don't like to learn new tricks, we both have had to make adjustments. I had to learn to stop being so angry about the little things because i'd let everything build up for so long that everything started to annoy me, and in the process I learned there was really no reason to be annoyed about these things in the first place. He had to learn that he can't just come home, be here for 5 minutes, and start in on how badly the kids have been acting "all day" when i'm the one who deals with them.

After writing the letter, and his response, I think we both not only felt a little raw, but also scared to say anything to each other. We were afraid that any showing of anger or frustration at one another would result in another blow-out fight between us, and neither of us wanted one of those again. After a day or so walking on eggshells, the guard finally came down and we both realized that it's OKAY to feel stabby with each other sometimes. Even the best marriages have those "I could seriously punch you in your stupid face right now" moments- and a lot of what made us who we were before the kids and the money problems or anything else took priority was the fact that we could joke around with each other like that.

Agreeing to help me write a blog from his point of view and then he bails out at the last second so I have to write the entire thing myself? That might make me want to inform him that i'm going to smother him.

Waking up at an UNGODLY hour to take the first available physical therapy appointment just so my husband doesn't have to go into work late? I told him this morning it was smother-worthy.

Having one of the kids use two walls as a personal coloring book, and then spending an hour attempting to scrub it off with a Magic Eraser, and then having the first thing my husband asks me be "Did you try the Magic Eraser?" I'm getting out the sewing machine and embroidering his name onto a pillow. I figure if i'm going to suffocate the life out of him, it might as well be with a special personalized pillow- and he knows this.

back in the goofy days

As insane as it sounds, this is us getting back to how we used to be. Joking, sarcastic, a little dark- that was US. The us we have both missed so much for a very long time. The us we both want to get back and haven't known how. Who would have thought that just letting down our guard and being comfortable again would open that door?

I know we have a LONG way to go to get back to the "us" we once were, but this is the first time that I have truly felt as though we could do it.
In part thanks to a joke about an embroidered pillow.

Mommy's self advocate is Mommy.

2012-01-23T20:53:00.000-05:00

I am writing tonight's blog because I need to be reminded, and maybe you do too.

For months now, I have had chronic pain in my back and neck. I am still not all that positive how or why this happened to me, but it is what it is,.

At first the pain was so severe that I could hardly move so I grabbed the kids and dragged them to the doctor with me. It was such a long and horrid experience for all of us that I just couldn't be bothered to go back when the pain lasted more than the "few days" I was told that it would. I didn't want to put them through such a long and horrid experience, didn't want to inconvenience them. It didn't seem worth it to me. I figured the pain would eventually subside and I could just suck it up and deal with it until then.

Wouldn't you know it, days turned to months, and the pain that had seemed to be waning began to get worse. That's when I finally woke up and wrote the blog on realizing that in order to really care for my children, I had to take the time to put MYSELF first every now and then.

And I did it. I was not only proud of myself, but relieved. I felt like this would be it. I was getting help, and soon I would feel back to my normal self again, able to play with the kids without feeling so much pain that I had to stop. Able to not have to tell the boys I couldn't pick them up, couldn't sit at the table and help them color or play with playdoh. I wouldn't have to tell them "no" when I so desperately wanted to say "yes!"

It's been a month since that blog- and i'm sad to say, there has been no difference in my level of pain. I feel no different, and some nights, I feel worse.
At my last follow-up, I explained this to the doctor. I explained that the pain was debilitating and that I could not care for my children properly and the anti-inflammatory he gave me was NOT helping. I am not, by any means, a pill seeker, but I do believe that I need something in order to allow me to be functional. What did he do? Gave me another anti-inflammatory that has side effects of dizziness and drowsiness. How can one care for small children while feeling that way? That's almost worse than the pain.

I was devastated. How could he not help me? Did he think I was lying?

As I spoke with some friends, I was encouraged to call back and try again. I was told "advocate for yourself like you did with Parker"
And they were right. I absolutely did advocate for him. When I didn't get the answer I wanted, the help I thought he deserved, I yelled screamed and stamped my feet. If that didn't work, I went to another doctor and another and another until he finally got the help he needed.
Our children have us, the parents, and ONLY us to look out for them, to advocate for them. At such a young age they cannot stand up for themselves, so if we don't- no one else will.
But who do we, the parents, have to do the same for us? No one.

We don't have someone bigger than us looking out for us at all times, someone who if we fell down would pick us back up and clean our wounds. Someone to stand up for us, to tell us what to do, and to help us in serious situations. No one that is considered our representative, our guardian. We are the adults now, and it is up to us, in the end, to take care of ourselves.

And I know i'm not the only one who has absolutely no problem advocating until i'm blue in the face for my child who depends on me, but cannot seem to do the same for myself. Even when I know that I have to, like now.
In a situation as serious as chronic debilitating pain, I HAVE to stand up for myself. I have to advocate for myself as I would my own children. I'm worth it. And my children are worth having ME back.

We need to remind ourselves, not just occasionally, but CONSTANTLY- that WE are important too. We can't expect to be the "best we can be" if we don't feel 100%, and we need to do whatever it is that we can in order to get back to that. Whether it be letting the living room be a mess or the dishes go unwashed for a day just to get a mental break. Sleeping in one morning because we are SO exhausted from being up all night, getting the hell out of the house to refresh ourselves, or cussing out a doctor who doesn't take us seriously to get the help we need and deserve.

Advocate for yourself; if you don't, who will?

Potty modesty and black fuzz

2012-01-22T21:00:00.002-05:00

For the past few months, any time we are in public and Holden has to unload his bowels or empty his piss-tank, and I am kind enough to offer my services and take him- he bitches.

"But I want to go in the boys bathroom! Not the girls bathroom!"

To which I have to remind him that I do not in fact have a penis, and therefore cannot take him into the boys bathroom- so it's either go into the girls with me, or attempt to hold it, because he is not old enough or coordinated enough to be letting him wander into a bathroom alone and go for it. He then mutters under his breath and relents.
I don't really get what the big deal is. A urinal honestly can't be that exciting to pee in, and Holden is still at the age where when he pees, he's dropping pants and underwear to the floor and is ass out. Doing that at a urinal, in public... well, i'd rather he didn't.

Holden's bare ass and testicle zone does not need to be broadcasted to complete strangers, but he has not yet hit the bashful stage. He does not care who sees it, or where he is when they're seeing it, or how many people are around.

Not bashful, but it seems that he is becoming more aware of the fact that he IS a boy and likely shouldn't be going into the girls bathroom, so it's progress, right?

And it would seem that he is not alone in this new found insistence on using the boys bathroom exclusively. Perhaps it's a "coming of age" type of thing, because while out to dinner with Mom-Troversial, this situation arose once again. She has a son, whom she calls Hurricane, about 6 months older than Holden or so, who like Holden, wants to use the boys bathroom whenever humanly possible. With dads that work, these chances are sometimes few and far between, so in the middle of dinner (like fucking usual) when Holden decided he absolutely HAD to take a wazz and wanted Thomas to take him, Mom-T jumped at the chance to send Hurricane along too... and to say the child was excited would be an understatement.

It was what happened behind that boys bathroom door that makes me glad that I have a vagina and am restricted to the door with a skirted stick figure.

You see, the bathrooms in the restaurant were small. Very small. Only two stalls and not a lot of waiting room. For some reason, it wasn't the ladies room that was crowded last night- I guess pizza and beer makes dudes gotta go, because they were filing in and out rather quickly.
In order to expedite this entire process of having two preschoolers in the pot together (and likely to make sure neither got kidnapped or covered in urine), Thomas crammed them into one stall.

Holden went first, and apparently this made Hurricane quite uncomfortable, because he instantly went to the back corner of the stall, faced the wall, covered his eyes with both of his hands and exclaimed
"I don't wanna see his junk!"

Being that this is the opposite of how Holden is about his neither region, Thomas was slightly puzzled, but went with it. And when it came Hurricane's turn, he figured the kid would like some privacy to do his business so he stood behind him in the stall with Holden and waited.

Hurricane then pauses for a moment and says "I've got black fuzz on my junk."
Probably similar to the reaction you're having now, Thomas, in a state of confusion, said "what?"

And that is when bashful little Hurricane flipped around, and yells "LOOK! BLACK FUZZ!"

Confusion turned slight shock. Thomas tilts his head to one side. Sure enough, there was black fuzz. Everywhere.
The child who was too bashful to look at anything other than subway tile while another kid is taking a leak turns around and flashes his without a second thought. I guess when you're a little kid and you find that your penis is suddenly a different color than it usually is, you might be confused enough to forget about your inhibitions- and would be a little too young to grasp the concept that new underwear has the tendency to... rub off...

It's a very good thing I was not the one to witness this black fuzz situation, as I likely would have either pissed myself laughing or cracked my head open when I fell the fuck over from overdose of pure hilarity.

For my own health and safety, I think I will allow Holden to continue down this path of accepting his boy-ness. Hopefully soon the modesty will follow.

Is TV really the root of all evil?

2012-01-21T21:00:00.002-05:00

Tonight's post is by the fabulous and funny Mom-Troversial. If you haven't yet, I highly suggest you check her out on her Facebook Page and her brand spankin' new blog. You're getting in at the beginning, so be sure not to miss anything!

"Is TV really the root of all evil?"

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I will have to get back to you, I am watching TV……
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OK sorry… lets chat while there’s a commercial …I get this question all the time from fellow mommies and daddies. Why do “experts” insist TV is so bad for our kids? Limit the time every day? Well if I do that….OH LOOK Press Dough! I should buy that for him for his birthday, then we can spend some time together and make cool cookies!….Sorry where was I? Ok, so I need to limit my sons TV time each day. I can sort of understand how the “experts” feel. But at the same time…Nick Jr is “like Pre-School on TV” and it totally buys me time to…..OH….check that out! I did not even know they made Snuggies that have sports teams on them. Maybe I can buy my husband one of them for his birthday….. Ooops sorry… hang on while I turn the volume up so he can hear his show…… Back to the TV debate. I get the experts being concerned about the amount of TV we let our kids watch. Kids today do NOT get enough time outdoors. They do not have as much imagination or creativity as they used to. Right? I mean the fact my son watches 2 hours a day is apparently akin to murdering him… OH murder…I almost forgot…I need to program my DVR to record that special on serial killers….

This Box will kill our children....

On to the serious part of this conversation. Look, I totally understand why people may look down on TV and kids. The above is an almost exact commentary from an ACTUAL conversation I had on the phone with a friend of mine a few nights ago. Between the two of us we were distracted by the shiny box about 30 times. I DO understand the controversy. Here is what it boils down to….

Letting your kids watch TV is not the end of the world. If it were not for the Qubo channel I would NEVER get anything done. EVER. With my husbands work schedule, and mine (I am a working momma) our house would NEVER get clean. EVER. I can do what needs to be done courtesy of Nick Jr or Qubo. The thing is, you have to watch what they watch and see what they see. Is it helping or hurting? As I have stated in the past…I do use TV to help me babysit my kids. But at least it is Qubo not FearNet. (and as an FYI to all people with Verizon FiOs, it should be channel 491 for you. You are welcome)

My son’s newest obsession? Rescue Heroes. And as a result of that show he never ever fights me on using his seat belt. Thanks to that Moose thing in between shows on Nick Jr, he turns off lights and likes to help me sort the recycling. Thanks to Sid the Science Kid he got his last round of shots without a lot of fuss. Because the shows reinforce what values I, as his parent, am trying to teach him. My own mother in law used to get frustrated with TV. THEN she saw what I am letting him watch. And she started to ask him, where did he learn things… “Oh well I talked about it with mommy and daddy after we saw it on Diego.”

He knows all kinds of insane words and has a vocabulary of a 9 year old, at age 5. Why? Because I never ever tolerated baby talk with him, and because of a little show called WORD GIRL. He is learning his letters and life lessons from me. And a little reinforcement from Super Why is not going to hurt a thing. Thanks Alfred the Hedgehog for showing him to “deduce”. We made him a detective kit and went out and collected clues to find his missing Spiderman. I can not begin to thank the Jim Henson company and Children’s Television Workshop enough for a little invention called Sesame Street. It opened the doors to a whole new world of programming. All of which, if you keep an eye and ear on it, is really NOT so bad. Some of it is nothing but mind numbing horror and madness. Pointless drivel. But not all of it.

So this is what I say to the experts:

Dear Experts,

While I appreciate your concerns that my child watches too much TV, I respectfully ask you to shut the hell up. If I see he is not getting enough exercise or starts having behavioral problems I will re-evaluate my parenting skills. But to tell me TV is the cause of all his problems? You are full of shit.

Sincerely,
Mom-troversial

Bathtub water: Fountain of youth?

2012-01-20T21:00:00.001-05:00

Although I was once a child, a gazillion years ago, and at times my maturity level leaves a lot to be desired- I am far out of touch with many of the things small children are obsessed with today.

Spinning in circles until I fall down? Yeah, no thanks, i'd prefer not to see my lunch again.

Climbing on furniture and then purposely falling off directly onto my skull? Hmmm, i'll have to take a pass on that one, just doesn't sound like a good time!

Watching the same episode of the same annoying fucking show a billion and one times, all in one week's span? Why the fuck isn't one or TWO views enough? At least give it a year before you watch it again.

Insisting on sleeping with things that wreak of piss and sweat? Why, on god's green earth, would I EVER want to do that? I prefer cleanliness.

Although... I do have to admit that jumping on the bed, even as an adult, is a good fucking time to be had, but don't' EVER tell my kids I said so or i'll deny it and call you a filthy fucking liar.... but I digress.

There are many times where kids make not a damn bit of sense to me (like the scenarios listed above), and one of the MAIN reasons currently is bathtub water.
Yes, bathtub water.

Personally, I don't like to sit naked in a warm stagnant pot of my own filth, but I can see how some might find it relaxing- but my spawn and spawn all over the world seem to take great pleasure in DRINKING it.
WHY?!?!

Can someone, for the love of all that is holy, explain to me what the FLYING FUCK the appeal is of dirty tub water?? I'd really like to know. I must know! Am I missing out on the fountain of youth or some deliciously refreshing beverage? It seems my kids would think so.
Is it the murky grey color of the water after multiple dirty asses have been sitting in it? The luke-warm temperature? The hair carelessly floating around? The possibility of ingesting toe lint or dead skin particles?

They will drink this filth water ANY way they can get it. They will fill up tub toys with them and slurp it out like it is the most magnificent beverage on the face of the planet, and when I catch them and am completely horrified and take the toys AWAY? Well, they just stick their faces straight into the water. No need for the middle man; so i'm thinking, there MUST be something i'm missing here.

Is this why their skin stays so smooth? Or why they have an endless source of energy? Have they unlocked the secret of everlasting life? If so, i'll be gulping that disgusting liquid up by the gallon... if not... I think the kids need muzzles in the bathtub.

Playing the "Mom Card"

2012-01-19T21:00:00.000-05:00

As parents, we learn over time what works and doesn't work with our kids. What they like to eat and what they absolutely can't stand and act like is killing them and don't we DARE ever make it again; How long it takes them to go to sleep and what helps them get knocked the hell out faster; what types of things set them off spinning into a face melting tantrum... and of course, there are some things we NEVER figure out (like the appeal of putting plastic bags over their own heads or completely covering every bit of bare skin on their bodies with stickers).

Personally, I find one of the most important lessons (and one of the hardest ones to learn and stick with) is learning to choose your battles wisely. Ohhh because there will be SO MANY, and after time you begin to figure out... some just aren't worth fighting, and that you should really only pulling out the "Mom Card" when absolutely necessary.

If you have spawned children from your nethers (or had them cut out of you), you know what a Mom Card is.
It's that particular face with a particular scowl and that specific tone of voice we pull out of our pocket, that when we use them all together, our kids KNOW we mean fucking business.

Even sometimes if the kid does something REALLY FUCKING FUNNY, like let a curse word slip in public, or smack daddy over the head with a plastic hammer, a Mom Card usage is necessary... because technically, it's not supposed to be funny. Put that face on and your foot down.

BUT- and I say that with emphasis- we have to use our Mom Cards very very wisely.
Pull it out too much, too often- and it becomes old, worn and COMPLETELY loses its effect.
What the hell is the point of giving yourself wrinkles with that "I'M NOT FUCKING AROUND" face if it isn't even going to work??

The day your Mom Card gets declined by your bundle of asshole is not a day you want to be greeted with.

It has been an uphill battle for me not to bitch over every annoying and obnoxious thing they kids do. Things that COULD deserve a wicked bitching, but just aren't worth it because of the juice on my Mom Card i'd waste over it.

Holden wants to wear his pants backwards in public? FUCK IT, let your freak flag fly! Don't be surprised if I call you Kris Kross though. And yes, i'm fully aware you'll have no idea what that means.

Parker deciding to wear a jacket over his hoodie indoors... without any pants on? Let's just call it a fashion statement.

You say you want to get your hands completely fucking filthy by eating pizza crust first (even though it's not stuffed crust)? Well... as long as you're eating.

You want to sing at the absolute top of your fucking lungs the same gibberish song along with dancing like a cracked-out maniac to the Leaptop for an hour straight? Go for it, you'll sleep better tonight.

Those... as much as the bitchy hovering annoyed and frustrated Mom part of me wants to bitch and yell STFU... I don't. It's just not worth it!

I am saving all of the juice on my Mom Card for the more serious matters that will need the most impact they can get: thumb sucking, nap battles, toy throwing and fist fighting!
I'm going to need an overabundance, I already know it. I'm going to max out my mom card and be fucked when it comes to the teenage years. For my current sanity's sake... it will be worth it, though I may have to take out a loan later.

My weird little love story, if you can call it that

2012-01-18T20:58:00.000-05:00

After the last two nights blogs (which you can find here if ya haven't read yet), I figured it would be slightly more inappropriate than I usually am to go straight back to talking about what is or isn't coming out of my ass or the weird things flying from my children's mouths.

I thought what would be more appropriate for a blog on a day like today, after what has been admitted to in an open and public forum and i'm feeling slightly vulnerable and a little embarrassed (but very touched by the responses), is the story of how Thomas and I met. It's a good one... or a weird one... i'm honestly not sure which.

Now is the point where I wave my hands in front of you and your screen gets fuzzy.

It was my senior year of highschool. I was dating some assfaced abusive douchebag, for reasons unknown to me really- I think because every other girl told me how hot he was and I wanted to date a hot guy?

I had a friend in from out of state, and one day to kill time, along with her, another friend, crazy-boyfriend and his friend, we decided to drive about 30 minutes away to a really nice mall to window-shop (because we were teenagers, and we were all pretty broke).

For some reason that I can't remember because it was eleventy-billion years ago, the crazy-bf and his friend decided to take a separate car than us. We could have squeezed, teenagers love to cram themselves into cars like sardines.
We followed behind them on the drive, and were stuck in some mild traffic when I noticed crazy-bf's car pull off of the highway. Being that this was in a time before everyone on the planet had cellphones, I couldn't just call him up to ask what the hell the problem was, so I assumed due to his asshole nature that he and his friend were just ditching us- and since us girls really wanted to go to the mall (typical)- we didn't follow him, we continued on.

Once we got to the mall, we basically wandered, and being that I was the only one with a boyfriend in a group of 3 girls, we went trolling for boys. Wouldn't you know it, there just so happened to be a group of 3 boys walking around to match up perfectly with our group of 3 girls. Everywhere we went, we saw them. I'm still not sure to this day if they were following us, or if it was by chance, but we took notice.
Especially my friend in from out of town, who had absolutely no shame and was not shy in the slightest (like me. in highschool I was almost painfully shy outside of music).

We'd been at the mall a few hours when it became time to eat lunch, so we decided to go to Chili's, which was situation in the food court, and like always- there was a wait. The line wrapped all the way to the outside, so it was probably going to be a while.
Wouldn't you know it, during our wait, who showed up again? The 3 boys. All the way across the food court, but they were there, and from what I could tell, they were looking at us.
What did my forward-without-shame friend do? Decided to invite them to eat with us. Took her happy ass, walked all the way across the food court, and told them to join us. Much to my surprise, they actually did.

Now, i'm almost embarrassed to admit this, being as I am married to one of them now, but they introduced themselves with nicknames. One was Taco, one was Sherman, and one was Peabody. I was kind of a stuck up snob, so I refused to call any of them by these names. At this point it's been so long that I don't remember any of them other than that Thomas was Peabody.

We chatted in line and then sat down to eat, Thomas (groan.. Peabody) sitting across from me. The entire time I thought he was good-looking, but a colossal dick. And of course, in typical teenage girl fashion, I found this charming. But I had a boyfriend, right? It seemed like this Thomas character hated me anyways.

The 6 of us ended up hanging out for the rest of the evening, even went up onto the roof and unfortunately had to listen to the sound of a Creed cover band coming from the music venue across the street.
When the night came to a close, everyone began exchanging phone numbers, AIM screen names (you remember that, right?) except for me. That's when 'Sherman' walked up to me and very quietly asked for my phone number. I was a little surprised, being that we hadn't chatted much, but I went ahead and gave him my information thinking maybe we'd chat online a few times and that would probably be the end of it.

That night when I got home, I found out what happened and where crazy-bf had been all that time: His crappy car broke down, and once he got it running, instead of coming to meet me, he decided the better option would be getting high (and I would find out months later, cheating on me). Being that I was a stuck-up-miss-prissy-pants, I was LIVID. I went home and put him on silent-treatment, and the phone rang. Can you guess who it was? Thomas. And after chatting on the phone with him, realizing he'd talked his friend into getting my phone number because his douche-bag persona was really just him hiding the fact that he liked me, I was smitten.

Four years later (and almost NONE of that spent together) we were married. If you want to know the rest of the story... well... you'll have to get my book! And trust me.. it gets.... better.
And by better, I mean ugly.

So that's the weird little story of how we met. Had it not been for my asshole-cheating-douchey-boyfriend's car randomly breaking down, it never would have happened. Thanks for that, psycho.

Dear Husband, part 2: Love Letters?

2012-01-17T21:00:00.006-05:00

Last night's blog wasn't just a blog to me. It was a pleading attempt to save my marriage before things got so far that there would be absolutely no coming back. It wasn't just a blog, it was an actual e-mail I sent to my husband, trying to get through to him. We've gone so far off the grid that we felt uncomfortable talking about our feelings with one another, so I did what I thought I could do best, how I thought I could get my feelings out to him without arguing or being mean or saying the wrong thing- I wrote.

I had no idea what the response would be, what he would have to say to everything i'd expressed- but he had told me that he wanted to reply, and spent all night writing back to me, responding to every little letter i'd written, and I wanted to share with you all our letters to each other.
I think this goes a long way to show that maybe even if we feel like there is absolutely no hope left, we're at the end of our rope and it seems as though the only option is to walk away- that if we just TRY, even the smallest show that we're still here, still wanting it to work- that it can have some amazing results.

Dear Husband,
I'm writing you this letter because things have changed between us. Things have changed and neither of us are happy. We aren't the people we once were, we aren't the couple we once were, and I am afraid for us. I'm afraid that if we continue down this path there will no longer be an "us."

Dear Wife,

I have feared this letter for a long time. I am very afraid for us too. You are right, things have changed, we have changed, and it has made us both unhappy; however, we do have the ability to change again.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that you feel like I no longer want there to be an "us." The truth is that i'm honestly not sure what I want anymore, and most days i'm not sure what you want either. And not because of you, or even because of me, but because I don't feel like we are that "us" anymore, and I don't know what to do to get "us" back.

Dear Wife,

I want you to be happy. More so, I would like you to be happy with us. We have to be happy with ourselves, each other, and we have to be able to make each other happy in order to get back to us. I don't want you to think that it can't happen because it has before.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that you feel the blame for what has become of us lies solely on you, when I know that I am equally to blame. Not one of us is at fault here, WE did this.

Dear Wife,

That's not entirely true, I have felt that I have placed so much blame on you, it wasn't fair. Especially, when it was my fault. I am sorry for that.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we let our marriage fall to the bottom of the priority list, behind absolutely everything else including stress and petty bullshit. We were more important than that. We are more important than that still, aren't we?

Dear Wife,

I feel that we are more important, a great deal more, than a lot of the things that we have placed before us. We have to make us a priority again if we are going to make it, not just us together, but us alone as well. We both need our time together and away.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we've been wrapped up so much in how we ourselves feel that we have never taken the time to consider each other. And i'm sorry that I just expect you to know how i'm feeling without ever actually telling you.

Dear Wife,

We have been very concerned about ourselves for too long. Our marriage should be about us, together. We have both done the same thing, I have expected you to read my mind and respond the way I want, although neither of us have that ability.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry I don't feel that i'm beautiful enough to let you tell me that I am, and that I have resentment toward you for never complimenting me when i've never allowed it.

Dear Wife,

You are beautiful, I want you to know it and believe it.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we've both stopped feeling as though we are appreciated and that the things we do are shot down instead of acknowledged. Little do you know that I have no idea where i'd be without you.

Dear Wife,

You do so much for me, for us, for our family. It's impossible to think of how I could ever manage that alone. I wish I had told you that more often.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we fight constantly about nothing at all, and then refuse to talk about it until it's gotten to the point where we're bitter and unhappy and there's nothing left to say.

Dear Wife,

I don't want to fight, I hate to fight. I especially the hate fights about nothing at all. I'm sorry for the fights that I have caused. I regret having made you cry over pettiness.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we no longer have the courage to say what we really feel to each other because we have avoided doing so for so long that we no longer know how, and are afraid of the fight it might start.

Dear Wife,

It's surprising that we aren't more vocal about our feelings, I want to be able to tell you everything. I want to know how you feel and I want you to know how I feel. We should talk and more importantly we should listen to each other.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we've waited until it may be too late to save us to even realize we needed saving.

Dear Wife,

I don't believe that it's too late to fix this. Too late is splitting everything in half, including ourselves and our family. We have realized early enough that we need saving, we can start now.

Dear Husband,
I have no idea where we'll go from here, or if we'll make it- but how can we know if we never even try, REALLY try, and not just keep saying we will with no intention to follow through? No more promises. No more. This is it. We can't make any more excuses.

Dear Wife,

No more excuses. This is us we are talking about. We have to try, we need it, we deserve it.

Dear Husband,

I'm in.

Dear Husband, these are all the things I wish I could say

2012-01-16T21:00:00.005-05:00

Dear Husband,
I'm writing you this letter because things have changed between us. Things have changed and neither of us are happy. We aren't the people we once were, we aren't the couple we once were, and I am afraid for us. I'm afraid that if we continue down this path there will no longer be an "us."

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that you feel like I no longer want there to be an "us." The truth is that i'm honestly not sure what I want anymore, and most days i'm not sure what you want either. And not because of you, or even because of me, but because I don't feel like we are that "us" anymore, and I don't know what to do to get "us" back.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that you feel the blame for what has become of us lies solely on you, when I know that I am equally to blame. Not one of us is at fault here, WE did this.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we let our marriage fall to the bottom of the priority list, behind absolutely everything else including stress and petty bullshit. We were more important than that. We are more important than that still, aren't we?

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we've been wrapped up so much in how we ourselves feel that we have never taken the time to consider each other. And i'm sorry that I just expect you to know how i'm feeling without ever actually telling you.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry I don't feel that i'm beautiful enough to let you tell me that I am, and that I have resentment toward you for never complimenting me when i've never allowed it.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we've both stopped feeling as though we are appreciated and that the things we do are shot down instead of acknowledged. Little do you know that I have no idea where i'd be without you.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we fight constantly about nothing at all, and then refuse to talk about it until it's gotten to the point where we're bitter and unhappy and there's nothing left to say.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we no longer have the courage to say what we really feel to each other because we have avoided doing so for so long that we no longer know how, and are afraid of the fight it might start.

Dear Husband,
I'm sorry that we've waited until it may be too late to save us to even realize we needed saving.

Dear Husband,
I have no idea where we'll go from here, or if we'll make it- but how can we know if we never even try, REALLY try, and not just keep saying we will with no intention to follow through? No more promises. No more. This is it. We can't make any more excuses.

Mommy's mental health day

2012-01-15T21:00:00.001-05:00

Being a stay at home mom may come with a lot of perks... but we are missing the things that are great about having a "real" job.
We don't get breaks, lunch hours to fuck around, drama-whoring coworkers to laugh at (actually.. on second thought, maybe that one), no paid vacation and DEFINITELY no sick days.

That was the only thing that I miss about being in the actual workforce: paid.days.off. And almost always used when I wasn't actually ill.

With kids, we all know there are no days off. You're "on the clock" so to speak for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and every damn day of the year for 18 years... sometimes more depending upon how much of a leech your crotchfruit is.

I get plenty of "me" time, the kids, thank the sweet baby jesus, are decent sleepers- but what I really want... what I really crave.. is ALONE time. OUT OF THIS HOUSE.
I spent so much damn time trapped in this house because the thought of taking two psychotic children out in public alone exhausts me so much that I never do it, that I rarely ever get out. I'm stuck here, with them, ALL.THE.TIME.

Usually I handle it well. It doesn't even bother me. I've become a recluse and a hermit and most days I rather like it... but there are days where suddenly the walls begin to close in, the children are screaming and fighting, and the husband is being a complete douchey fucknut and I start to panic.

Suddenly my insides are screaming for me to run away and join the traveling circus.

How did I get myself into this? Who was the idiot who talked me into getting married to this asshat and having these two demon children? Oh that was ME? FUCK ME!

It doesn't happen often, but when it does, everyone needs to look out. And the problem is that i've done a fantastic job at being a hermit because my frantic texts to friends telling them to save me before I smother my husband really do nothing but confirm the in their minds that I am a psychotic old housewife who likely shouldn't be allowed to be around other functioning adults.

If you can't tell by now, today was that day for me. I feel broken. Twitchy. Sweaty and panicky. And irritable. Especially irritable.

I fully believe that in order to properly care for our children and not smother our significant others- us moms need to GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THEM on occasion. Maybe even a frequent occasion. Even if just for an hour or two.

I'm calling in a mental health day to work. I hope the bosses don't mind.

The unholy ritual

2012-01-14T21:00:00.000-05:00

Tonight's blog is a guest blog by Ranting & Raving All the Way to the Kitchen
If you like what you read (and I think you will!) give her a like on Facebook and follow her blog!
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it begins at approximately 8pm every night. the conditions must be perfect, the timing precise, the planets aligned... well, ok, that might be going a bit too far... but not by much.

what i am referring to is the unholy ritual of getting my youngest child to sleep every night. this child, i believe, is my punishment for all those i times i bragged about my boys and how easy it was to get them to bed. a little snack, a bath, a story, and off they would go, without a single objection. i lived this heavenly existence, shaking my head at those harried-looking mothers who complained of late nights and whiny children, thinking that their troubles were simply due to a dreadful lack of structure and routine. ignorance is bliss.

then #3 made her appearance. while i won't lay the blame completely on her {partly because i fear her wrath}, she truly is the most stubborn, hard-headed of my brood. below, you will find a step-by-step breakdown of what i go through on an average night for the little ~~tyrant~~ angel.

1. THE YAWN
god help me if i so much as THINK about starting this nightly ritual without the appearance of at least 3 "big ones". of course, i am referring to yawns. and not just any regular yawn. it has to be one of those total body, stretching her mouth so wide i fear for her jaw kind of yawns. with the first one, stealthy preparations must be made. lights slowly turned off, music gradually muted, tv volume lowered precisely 3 notches. at this point, it is of utmost importance that she be unaware of the preparations, and it's best to pretend to be busy with something, so that she thinks that yawn went entirely unnoticed.
after the second yawn, it is merely a waiting game. again, i must make sure not to let on that i know that she is tired. because if she knows that i know, there is no hope for a peaceful ritual and this poses a significant risk to my sanity.
the third "big one", the most challenging. not only must i pretend not to know that she is tired while at the same time sneak about with blankies and "bee-bees" and "cuppy", i must also contain my excitement over the impending break from ~~the iron grips of cruel tyranny~~ mommyhood. no theatrics, no jumping up and down {as much as i want to!!}, no tears of joy if i can help it.

2. PREPARATIONS
before i get into this, grab some fucking duct tape and put it over your mouth. i know i might not going about this the "proper" way {whatever the fuck that is}, but it works. kind of. plus, i'm resistant to change, as is my little girl. and we don't want to anger her. please PLEASE don't anger her. ok, is everyone sufficiently gagged and restrained? alright.
my daughter will not fall asleep in her room. at least not without much screaming and attempts at summoning the fires of hell itself. and i'd rather not have to subject myself, let alone my sons, to that high-pitched, head-splitting devil's scream. additionally, my next door neighbour is an old lady, and i have no desire to shorten her lifespan any more than necessary.
anywho, back to subject at hand. she will not fall asleep in her room. therefore, the couch must be made up nice and comfy for her. then, her cuppy must be filled with ice water and set in an inconspicuous, yet accessible area and her movie collection must be located. her current go to bed faves are rio, alvin and the chipmunks, and fern gully.

3. EXECUTION
within a few minutes of the third "big one", it's time to make my move. i scoop her up, turn on the dvd player, hit play, and then lay her down. while changing her diaper, i nonchalantly pass her the cuppy. next, the blankies. there is always 2. always. one for her body, which she prefers to have tucked in under her arms and over one shoulder. even if the first does indeed cover her toes, i must take the second one and lay it over her legs. a kiss on the forehead, and i must make myself scarce. at this point, is it extremely tempting to go to my room and into bed. i have found that giving in to this temptation almost always proves catastrophic. so, i must silently slip out of the living room and into the kitchen, without making too much noise and staying in her peripheral vision at all times. once in the kitchen, i must stay by the island {thankfully, it has an outlet to plug my laptop into}, and stand there. i am not permitted to move from my post until i am absolutely certain that she is asleep. it is at this point, that the entire ritual is in jeopardy. any deviation, however slight, will cause her to leap from the couch and continue her rampage. at which point, the entire ritual must begin again, from the start. ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE YAWN-WATCHING.

4. EMERGENCY MEASURES
there are times when the ritual doesn't proceed as smoothly as i would like, yet has not deviated from the beaten path enough to require a complete do-over. swift action on my part is still required, however, because there is still danger of upsetting the delicate balance enough to warrant a do-over. additionally, these "emergency measures" must also be implemented, without delay, when she is sick or in any kind of discomfort. these additional steps proceed as follows: restart movie. locate feet, place them in my lap. gently rub bottom of each foot simultaneously, without breaking rhythm. when ~~the devil~~ baby has been motionless for several minutes and her eyes have a slightly glazed, zombie-like appearance, foot rubs may stop. however, DO NOT remove hands from feet. if, once the foot-rub has stopped, she begins to fidget or stretch, rubbing must resume IMMEDIATELY. if she remains motionless, hands should remain where they are and pressure should be constant. only once her eyes have been closed for at least 5 minutes, should any attempt at hand-removal be made. at this point, the temptation of going straight to bed makes a comeback. however, this must be avoided at all costs. remain seated for another 5 minutes. at the end of this time, if she has still not stirred, SLOWLY stand and back away silently, like a ninja.
it should be noted at this time that foot-rubs may also be replaced by back-rubs; however, the feet must still be placed in my lap for the duration of this portion of the ritual.

and there you have it. this is the unholy ritual that dominates my life every evening. strangely, all of these~~retarded~~ completely reasonable requirements are not necessary for nap time. all that's needed for nap time is complete silence, cuppy, and bee-bee the doll.

right now, you may be tempted to offer advice or perhaps refer me to a skilled exorcist. please refrain from doing so, ~~lest we anger the beast~~ since i really don't mind this little bit of quality snuggly time with my darling little girl.

someonehelpmepleasesendhelpohpleasesbeforesheseesthispleasehelpmeohmygodhereshecomesohmygodhelllpppppmeeepplllllleeeaaaseeeeeRUNNOWRUNWHILEYOUCAN

A walgreens change

2012-01-14T16:01:00.001-05:00

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Walgreens for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

For years my family has used Walgreens as our only place to go to get prescriptions. It's close, it's convenient, it's cheap, and most importantly- reliable. A change has been made lately that has put us in quite a quandry between Walgreens and Express Script.

Our insurance uses Express Scripts, but due to negotiations being unsuccessful, the contract has ended and Walgreens is now no longer a pharmacy provider of Express Scripts.

Only those who use Express Scripts are affected, like us- because now Walgreens is no longer covered under our insurance plan, forcing us to drive farther and go somewhere we aren't comfortable with and don't know as well as we know our local Walgreens. I know I for one am feeling disappointed by this, but all is not lost.

Express Scripts has already said that their members who switch will not see significant savings by doing so, they may even see an increase in prices. And to ease the burden, Walgreens is offering a discounted rate to their Walgreens Prescription Savings Club.

An individual can join the prescription club for only $5, or $10 for a family plan and save on up to 8,000 brand name and generic medications during a special January promotion. A normal plan is $20 for an individual and $35 for a family.

Support Walgreens by folllwing Walgreens on Twitter or liking them on Facebook here: Walgreens on Facebook. You don't have to lose out on your favorite neighborhood pharmacy!

What the acorn is going on here?- the saga of cursing

2012-01-13T21:00:00.001-05:00

It's been a battle ever since Holden was born to hold my foul little tongue. I'm honestly not quite sure why I turned out as filthy minded, and even more filthy mouthed as I did- but I have to say- I enjoy it immensely.
Unfortunately, it's considered bad etiquette and improper parenting to go all FUCKSHITCUNT in front of your children while they are still of an impressionable age.

The past few years have been an uphill battle to curb the seemingly never-ending stream of profanity that used to flow from my mouth on a daily basis- I mean, really- some things just REQUIRE a "FUCK"- it's at times nearly impossible to resist, and I won't lie and say that I don't slip (often)- but i've come up with sort of a system of replacement words... when i'm thinking enough about what i'm saying before I say it (not usually).

The children should really be happy about my modified cursewords. Instead of calling them assholes all the time- I have watered it down to "spazhole"- and isn't that much more fitting anyways?
When i'm really conscious of my mouth, and I mean REALLY conscious, I replace "fuck" with "fart" and the ever-popular "damnit" with "dangit"- yes, it most certainly does make me feel like an elementary schooler, but sometimes we have to sacrifice for our children... and as much as I didn't want to, I sacrificed a couple of fucks.

In the act of full disclosure, though, I do have to tell you (as if it hasn't already been implied in this very blog) that I DO in fact curse in front of them. Yes, yes I do. It's a sick compulsion. It's like picking my nose- I can't NOT do it.
Regardless of my lack of restraint, I am very proud of Holden's. We've taught him pretty well about what words only ADULTS can say and what words he is allowed to say... but we all know how kids are. The allure of "no" is oftentimes too strong to resist, but Holden has been using word replacement for a long time now.

At first it started out pretty cute.

"What the poop?"
"I don't give a fart!"

How can you resist giggling at that, especially when tumbling out of the mouth of a 3 year old?

My new personal favorites are:
"aw nuts!"
and
"What the acorn is going on in here??"

I suppose the alternative could be much worse but occasionally he gets too close for comfort to the real thing.
It seems now that any time he gets really mad at something (generally a toy that isn't functioning the way he'd like)- he yells at the top of his lungs
"DANGIT!" or on some occasions "DARNIT!"
which I KNOW he learned from me and my word replacement. It's funny he won't repeat the REAL things, because he knows his ass will be done for, when he even CONSIDERS in that giant round head of his saying a 4-letter word.. he stops in his tracks and bleeps himself. "What the....." and then he'll look at me- maybe to see if i'm going to yell at him, maybe to see if I have a look on my face that says 'yea, i'll let you get away with it, just this once'- I never do, so he never does...but he'll repeat the fake ones until he's blue in the face. Maybe I should have just stuck with FUCK in the first place and he'd have stuck with "what the poop?"

Don't get me wrong, I have always and will always LOVE cursewords, but there is an age appropriate issue going on.
I certainly don't want to get a call home from Holden's kindergarten teacher saying that Holden called some little girl a "vapid cunt" because she wouldn't share her crayons.
That'll be the fucking day!

How old am I again?

2012-01-12T21:00:00.004-05:00

When I hurt my back and neck in August, never did I imagine I would end up having to go to physical therapy twice a week just to attempt to make it better. While at times I feel old and decrepit, I figured I was far too young to fuck my back for life just by turning my head to the left- but I guess my body feels otherwise. Not that I can really blame it, carrying two miniature humans is nothing to sneeze at and can be hell on a body even months or years after they come ripping out of your nethers.

I wasn't really sure what to expect with physical therapy, being as how the only thing i've ever done is broken a bone and in my case, as a 2nd grader, it didn't require rehab.
How exactly did they plan on working out the center of my back and my neck? My neck doesn't have arms to weight lift with and doing an enormous amount of squats certainly didn't seem like it was going to help.

What I SHOULD have expected and didn't was the age of the other people also getting physical therapy. I was informed of this as I sat down to take a piss in the waiting room bathroom before I had it squeezed out of me (that old bladder just ain't what it used to be)- and was greeted by a lovely poster of a very old man lifting a toddler- and a caption saying something along the lines of
"Wanting to be able to support your grandchildren?"

My pee stopped in its tracks. Likely out of anger.
Thanks for that, old people poster. Just what I need, a kidney stone from holding my pee.

The waiting room full of folks old enough to have given birth to my parents didn't do much to help either. Was I going to witness someone break a hip? I didn't want to see an old person fall down, there's just nothing funny about old people falling. Kids absolutely, they bounce.

Another thing to be known is that physical therapy IS NOT FUN. There is a reason you're there if you're there, and they are going to attempt to beat it out of you, stretch you in medieval torture devices, or put you in a corner like they did to me. I guess they didn't want me giggling at the old people on the hand bicycles. WHAT?? IT'S FUNNY!

It was when they hooked me up to a zapper that I wondered what I had really gotten myself into. Old people and electro-shock?? This was beginning to sound like one of those old folks homes you hear about in the news after they get busted by the cops for abuse or drug smuggling.

If it weren't for the eye-candy... I might have ran out of the door before they strapped me down and shoved a bedpan under my ass.
WHAT? I'm a lonely old housewife, I get my jollies whenever and however I can- and if i'm going to be put through a hellish obstacle course and then zapped on my spine like a doc running into an invisible fence, I should be allowed to drool over Hotty McDoctor and his sexy ass employee.

The next 6 weeks may be hard on my back... but it is NOT going to be hard on my eyes.

NO, i'm not smarter than a 5th grader

2012-01-11T21:00:00.000-05:00

You don't need to put me on a TV show in front of the entire country for me to know whether or not i'd beat a 5th grader on a game show. The answer is NO. Fuck no! I've been out of school for too long, done too many things that have killed probably half of my braincells (um, hello? children!), meanwhile they are having knowledge crammed into their ever-absorbing brains every single day.

NO, i'm not smarter than a 5th grader... and on most days lately, i've been getting out-smarted by a 4 year old. How's that for a kick in the pants?

You go through 10 months of hell and however many hours of pure unadulterated hell bringing them into this world, and then they make you feel like a complete idiot by their 4th year on this planet. Way to bite the hand that feeds you!

Long gone are the days where Holden could be easily outsmarted and outwitted because he was too slow to come back with anything other than
"but.... but.....but...."
He now uses an array of different tactics to get what he wants, or to get out of trouble- and a lot of times I have trouble arguing with him because DAMNIT, he makes too much sense.

On his first attempt, he will try what I look to call "Whore Logic"

What is WHORE LOGIC, you say??

Whore Logic
	Redefining the parameters of a situation to justify an awful action or to claim something as true that is patently untrue, usually in order to preserve your image in the face of others Her typical Whore Logic convinces her that her life is ok. "I've only slept with four guys...if you don't count vacation sex, one night stands, drunk sex I don't remember, or those guys I don't like anymore."

Whores and small children, who knew they had so much in common?? EVERYTHING is ok if you can just put a spin on it.
No, I didn't push Parker on purpose! I did it because he was looking at me the wrong way and I was trying to get him to look at something else! Nevermind the fact that he wasn't looking at me and wanted nothing to do with me and I shoved him just to be an asshole and you witnessed me doing it.

Yup, good old fashioned whore logic. It's just too bad for him that I never ever fall for it.

When that inevitably fails- he goes on to attempting to argue his case, which he has become rather good at.

Case in point: He wanted to take his indoor toys to play outside. Things that would likely get ruined if shoved into dirt and smeared across grass. I, of course, told him absolutely not- because inside toys stay INSIDE. His response?
"Well, at the end of Toy Story 3, that girl and that boy play with inside toys outside and it was ok!"

Touche, you evil little genius! I had absolutely no response to that, because he was completely right... and because I was amazed that he outsmarted me and even had a reference to back him up. But I still said no.

When this happens, when even his outsmarting doesn't work, he pulls out the trump card. He does the one thing he knows will either get him exactly what he wants, or immediately diffuse whatever situation is about to get his ass handed to him.
He uses a jedi-mind trick.
That's right, I said it.

On one particular day, he was on my nerves moreso than he is on a typical day. At one point, I caught him STARING at me. Just staring at me. Putting that whole "i'm a little kid an many adults find that terrifying" concept to good use. Being that I had already had my fill of his shenanigans for the day, I snapped at him

‎"Why are you STARING at me?"

And he comes back with the ultimate mind-fuck

"Because... nobody stares at anybody when they stare"

Instantly, I felt calm. In fact, I couldn't even remember what I was mad about in the first place. He beat me. The little shit finally won.

If he is this good at 4 years old, I am terrified for what the teenage years have in store for me.

And just when you think I couldn't get any sexier

2012-01-10T21:00:00.002-05:00

In recent weeks, I have learned a lot about myself- more more than I ever wanted to. I knew I had no shame, that's absolutely nothing new- i'll do and say a hell of a lot of disgusting things for a giggle-but detailing the contents of my colon, puking, pissing myself and mentioning an unfortunate hair removal incident on facebook- i've really gone to all new heights (or lows, however you choose to see it).

It is my full belief that sometimes, if you don't talk about the horrible things somewhere, you will quite literally go insane, or explode, or go insane and then explode- and that is what I felt like was literally and figuratively happening to me with the poop (or lack thereof more like).

Likely to many peoples horrification, I blogged about it- and you would not believe the response. I think half the internet was trying to find ways to force shit out of me, including but not limited to spraying hot water up my hole, and going all fucking Whitney Houstin and shoving my hand up there and pulling the shit out.
Shit was getting real, and after 2 doses of miralax and a giant cup of coffee without any action below the belt, I was beginning to think so too. Anything sounded better than having to be bent over a table by a hot doctor and having nurses force my cheeks apart while Hot Doc took the jaws of life and shoved them up my butt.

As I sat on the couch, contemplating the future of my rectum and all further shits after what I assumed would either kill me or rip me in half- as Dave Chapelle would say: "I felt the rumblin'"

I thought: YES! THIS IS IT! WHAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! IT'S GONNA HAPPEN!

My ass was finally going to give birth, and I could not have been any happier than if I won the damn lottery. No jaws of life in my ass! No having to drink castor oil and ending up with sting ring and bleeding anal fissures! No having to choke down prune juice just to explode from the other end!

But what followed was not at all what I expected.

Instead of having to run to the bathroom and strap myself down with a seatbelt to keep from flying off, I farted. And not just one fart, but a series of long, silent farts.
A series of long silent farts that lasted well over 30 minutes, and with each fart, my gigantic pregnant looking stomach decreased in size; all while sitting next to my husband, WHO I DO NOT FART IN FRONT OF!

Pooping is one thing. I don't know why pooping is one thing and farting is different, perhaps because of the noise associated and the fact that farts enjoy to sneak out before you can run to a bathroom, slam the door, and make all kinds of racket so no one can hear your ass throw up- I just DON'T fart in front of him! Some things MUST REMAIN A MYSTERY! I had hoped the sound and stench of my very own farts would be the one thing he never knew about me.

The entire time this is going on, he's sitting beside me, completely unaware. My face is burning from humiliation, just waiting for the moment I see his face sour and he turns to look at me and asks the dreaded question:
"DID YOU FART?"
and I have to hang my head and say yes, because who the fuck else could I blame it on at that point?

Now, the only reason I am arguing for my woman card not to be revoked is because in the hour long toot-fest, there was no stink. NO I'M NOT LYING! I wish there would have been.. it would have made the humiliation and lowering of my very few morals worth it.

Hold the alarms and stop the presses y'all- because I think the whole poop fiasco may have been JUST FART BUBBLES. A gigantic uncomfortable baby sized fart bubble.
While I am no longer concerned about stretching out my butthole with a cannonball sized poop, I do not think farting for an hour straight bodes well for my self-esteem.

The most unsexy thing a woman can say

2012-01-09T21:00:00.003-05:00

my new band. I think it's fitting, considering.

There are plenty of things that can come out of a woman's mouth that can be found by the opposite sex to be completely unattractive. I suppose it just depends on the type of person you are and how kinky you're willing to get.

"I have an STD"
"I'm on my period, and MAN it's heavy"
"What am I chewing on? Well, tobacco of course"
"I have an unhealthy addiction to eating boogers"

But in my opinion, there is one that trumps all of those.

"I can't shit"

The one word many women find absolutely terrifying, especially after having children: Constipation- and we ALL KNOW WHY, don't pretend. And the one thing most men don't even want to acknowledge that woman do: Poop.
Now they not only know that you DO in fact shit, but that it's stuck inside of you like a tootsie-pop, and do you think they're going to want to lick to get to the center? Um, no, I think not.

In my twisted little world, i've learned to find the subject of poop hilarious. There's so much shit coming out of asses in this house on a regular basis that if I DON'T laugh it, I will be suffocated by its overwhelming properties. Everybody poops, right? It's a healthy and normal bodily function, I just happen to be healthier than others...

Until Saturday. All systems STOP. I started feeling what I thought was nausea, maybe a delayed hangover of sorts (even though I hadn't had that much to drink and had felt great all day) until I went to the bathroom and attempted to re-stock the lake with brown trout... and nothing happened. I pushed, I squeezed, I may have even strained a little... and nothing.

Puzzled. Usually when I have to go, I have NO problem with going. In fact, it's STOPPING the going that is more the issue for me.

The only other time in my entire life i've been constipated is while I was pregnant, and upon calling my OB and telling them of the peril I was currently in, I was told to flush some water up my ass. I decided the pain was the lesser of the evils, and since I was already gigantic with baby, the bloating wasn't so bothersome.

This time, NO baby, but holy fuck I could have fooled people. As the night wore on, I started getting more and more swollen. Uncomfortably, painfully swollen. So large that I easily could have passed for 16 weeks pregnant- only what I was carrying didn't have a pulse.
If there's ever been a time someone wanted to tell me that I was "full of shit"- that would have been it.
I got so big and so round that if I had auditioned for the part of Violet Bouregard in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" I would have landed it.
I started begging for the Oompa Loompas to roll me away and JUICE ME, because with each attempt to force something out of my ass, the pain only increased.

I thought for sure, given my history of poopy-nature, that by the next day this problem would HAVE to resolve itself. I thought wrong. It only got WORSE. The suggestion of a self administered enima started to not sound so horrible, or it couldn't be any less horrible than the discomfort I was currently experiencing- but I went with Miralax instead. If the poop wasn't going to come out on its own, I would give it a little greasing.

By this point I was positive i'd have some movement in the colon department. I'd tried a fuckload of home remedies, i'd tried pushing, and now I was essentially forcing the bitch out- it HAD to move.
It didn't.

I started to panic. You KNOW when you have a cannonball sized shit building up inside of you. I fear that by the time I finally got this shit (literally) out, I would tear myself in half.. or bleed to death from my ass. And considering i'd taken the poop-mover at night, and had a doctor's appointment in the morning, I feared the shit would wait until then to decide to make its way down the pipe and THEN what would I do?

And let me tell you, it didn't help that I had Hotty McDoctor putting his hands all over me and PRESSING DOWN. I could not honestly answer him (or make eye contact) when he asked me if lately I have had any bowel or bladder problems. In the past week, I have both pissed myself AND not been able to shit. I.am.so.hot. Maybe all the pressing and squeezing on me should have helped. Maybe I should have shit on the physical therapy table. Maybe then the naughty thoughts about a torrid affair with a rich doctor would have been dashed away by pure humiliation... but no. No shit. Come to think of it, perhaps i'm more like Augustus Glump: "don't poke me, i'm full of chocolate!"

So what did I do? I rushed my congested ass home, brewed up a pot of coffee, decided to go balls to the wall on my insides, and poured the miralax directly into it.
Did I realize that this could be a potentially messy situation? That perhaps I was tempting fate? That maybe I would explode poop all over the house, and who would clean it up?? But it was worth it, because I had begun to feel like if poop wasn't going to come out of the correct end, it would come out of the other. And that would be the most UNSEXY thing ever to happen.

Can you guess if by now I have pooped or not? I bet you could guess and be right.
The answer is no. NO RELIEF. And I am huge, angry and uncomfortable. I need to give birth to this poop baby ASAP but it just isn't happening for me... and when it actually does, it may be so satisfying that I will blush once it's over.

Y'know, all this talk about poop is making me want to poop. It's only too bad that I can't.

There are many bad words, but "gay" is not one of them.

2012-01-08T21:00:00.002-05:00

I was fortunate enough to grow up in a very open household. My Dad was always very straight-laced and conservative, but he let my Mom decide what was appropriate for my brother and I, and she being a grown-up (what I like to call) flower child, we were a "peace and love" sort of household.

There was never a moment growing up where I thought there was anything wrong with having skin that was a different color, or believing in a different religion, and I certainly didn't think there was anything wrong with being gay. It was to me then what it is to me now: natural. Some people are and some people aren't and that's just the way of the world.
When I learned that there were people who didn't agree with this, called it a "lifestyle choice" or hated and sometimes even attempted to hurt those that were (like in Matthew Shepherd's death), I was completely puzzled, because that's just not how I was raised. There was never even a mention in our house that it was questionable or wrong, never any negative connotation whatsoever. I never had to be taught to be "tolerant"- it was something that was just natural, and I think it's because of how I was raised. I am thankful for that.

All that being said, I also grew up in the 90s, and in the 90s- there was none of this overly-PC crap that there is today. A garbage man was a garbage man and not a "sanitation engineer", and you could call a Stewardess a Stewardess and it wasn't seen as offensive or sexist, and you weren't corrected with " i'm a Flight Attendant."

On the flip side, the lack of political correctness in the air back then allowed for some very ugly words to get thrown around far too casually; words that now as an adult make me cringe. It's not that I believe in how stuck on not hurting anyone's feelings the world has become, and the need to make absolutely everyone happy by not saying anything that could ever be deemed offensive (I happen to like being offensive)- but becoming an adult has shown me the error of my young ways and sometimes I just have to agree that there are words I once said that are now off limits in the context that I used them because they are in fact offensive- and not in a funny way. There's a fine line.
PC isn't all bad I guess.

Some of the words I feel uncomfortable even typing today, and don't know how I could say them so easily and without thinking, but when you're young and the words are popular with your friends and you don't understand the full impact or meaning of what you're saying I can see how it happened.

The dreaded 'R' word: retarded. And of course, gay (and that other terrible 'f' word that I refuse to even type). All meant to imply stupidity when you called someone it. You could even call actions gay or random household objects when they didn't quite cooperate- but did we ever mean "that Nintendo controller is homosexual"? No, that's not what we meant, but that's what the word means; and that's the only thing the word should mean unless you want to get really old-school and use Gay in place of Happy; but let's get real, no one does that anymore.

Both words I stopped using a hell of a long time ago once I grew up and realized if I was going to call something stupid, it was a hell of a lot easier and much less offensive just to call it STUPID than using a word not intended for that purpose in its place.

As humans though, we are creatures of habit, and being that Thomas was born the same year as me and grew up saying the same things- sometimes old habits die hard and he lets the big G word slip when muttering about something he's messing around with. And he did it recently in front of Holden.

"Gay? What does GAY mean?"

And because of the context it had just been used in, my immediate reaction was to say
"It's a bad word. Don't repeat that"

"GAY is a BAD WORD?"

Instantly I regretted putting it to Holden like that. He's a smart kid, but he's only 4 years old, and like most 4 year olds there isn't much of a gray area. It's black or it's white. Bad or good.

How do you explain context to a 4 year old who really doesn't even understand the boy/girl thing, much less boy/boy or girl/girl?
How do you explain that GAY itself is NOT a bad word, but when it's used in place of stupid, or used to hurt someone's feelings, it is? He wouldn't grasp that.

As best I could I tried to explain it to him in "little people" terms that it's NOT a bad word, but not to use it because he wasn't old enough to understand.
Of course that went in one ear and out the other because he's young, and he latches on to random things he hears, and now when he hears someone on TV say the word Gay, NOT negatively, he says
"That's a bad word!"

It breaks my heart, because that is the LAST thing I want him thinking. It goes to show you that words can have more impact than you think. By using a word that isn't bad to describe bad things or bad situations, to a young influencable mind- it becomes bad just by association.

I'm not sure I can ever have the "peace and love" kind of house my mother raised me in; I'm far too cynical- but I do want Holden growing up knowing that no color or orientation should ever be seen as "bad."

I hear all the time the phrase "well, in this day and age..." when it comes to certain things that in the past were frowned upon, and while homosexuality is becoming more accepted (and it's about damn time), there are still plenty of ignorant assholes out there spreading hate around like butter on bread- and I do NO want Holden to be one of those ignorant assholes because when he was 4 he overheard a slip of the tongue and no one ever corrected it for him.

It's looking more and more like i'm going to have to sit the child down and explain to him the birds and the birds. I was not prepared to have to do that so early!

If you are married to a woman, do NOT read this

2012-01-07T21:00:00.000-05:00

Tonight's blog is a guest blog by the lovely lady behind My Husband Ate All My Ice Cream. Her blog is fantastic, and if you like it, you should also go and check out her Facebook Page!
Enjoy!

Apparently, I am not the only one that doesn't do certain things in front of my husband. And I'm pretty dang sure I won't...... ever..... no matter how long we are married.

There are three things in particular that I am referring to: Peeing, farting, and taking a crap.

Let's start with taking a leak. I have done this MAYBE a few times in front of my husband. And all of them have been while I was in labor. I think I may have done it once when I was pretty drunk one night, but I'm not sure about that. But under normal circumstances, I just can't do it. Arick,on the other hand, will just whip it out and drains his lizard with the door open. If I'm blessed enough to be IN the bathroom when he's doing it, I gracefully bump him with my hips so that he gets pee all over the seat and has to clean it up. But I guess I'm in the minority on this one. Most of my friends will take a whiz in front of their significant other..... so I'm the odd one out when it comes to pissing in front of my husband.

Backing the big brown Caddy out of the garage is a totally different story though. Most of the people I asked don't do this in front of their husbands. I guess I did while I was in labor, but that doesn't count because I didn't even know until later. Our man-halves, on the other hand, seem to have a different idea about this subject. My friend, who we will call EA, said "We have one bathroom in this house. always have had one in every house we've lived in. he thinks its humorous to do open door dumps in our 1300 sq ft house, so you can't escape the stench." Arick also lets the brown snake out of the cave with the door open, and it drives me freaking crazy. The last thing I want to think about while we are doing the deed is the image of him riding the porcelain pony. Seriously.

And for cutting the cheese...... apparently, according to iusedtobelieve.com, a lot of men are under the impression that women don't 'let polly out of jail'. However, this is NOT true, obviously. Despite the fact that Arick will openly 'let 'er rip' right in front of me, I have never let a barking spider loose in front of him. Ever. That he knows about. Somehow, my body just goes into silent mode when there are people around.....lol. My friend, MA said "Never farted in front of him in over 17 years together." Given the stories on the link above, I would have assumed that MOST women were the same way as me. However, I have seemed to have made friends with the few women on this planet that DO use the redneck mating call in front of their hubbies. Here are some of their uber-classy stories:

From JG: " Every fart is for him :D"

From TC: " I walk in a room just to rip it in front of him, or scoot closer in bed and fart then laugh."
From CW: "All I do is fart." (I'm sorry, C. I know this is slightly taken out of context, but it made me laugh....lol.)
From MC: "It was 2 years before I farted in front of him."
From EA: "I pushed a baby out of my vag in front of the man. The mystery is gone!"
From RH: "Fart? Yes. With great glee. On purpose. I give myself extra points if it's at night and he's spooned up behind me. Triple points of that happens while we're both naked. I'm so effin' sexy!"

So, since I know men can't read directions very well, and most of the ones that DID end up reading this probably didn't finish, or got stuck on the picture of the girl in the I <3 to fart underwear, I think it's safe to ask this question and have you post your answer in the comments below: What about you? Do you do those things in front of your husband? What does he think? Any funny stories?

What can be learned when dredging the bowels of Children's programming

2012-01-06T20:46:00.001-05:00

As parents we are sometimes forced to sit through seemingly never ending incessant and mind melting situations. Be it whining, tantrums, horribly off-key and slightly monotonous recitals that threaten to pierce the eardrum- we do it all out of love. We do it because they like it, they want it, and we want them happy. This includes Children's shows. It's no secret that I have a deep seeded hatred for the majority of them. The little voices constantly yelling through the screen, the "ah-yuck!" of Goofy... it's all a little much for me. I wish Parker were going to school with Holden next year so I could be 100% rid of the shit, but unfortunately I have a few more years of mind-melting bullshit to sit through... so i've had to try and put my brain ache aside and see the lessons my children are being taught for what they are.

From what I can gather, this is what my children are learning:

1. Apparently parental supervision ain't all it's cracked up to be.
I mean, look at Dora. Her ass runs around the jungle likely high off of whatever magic mushroom she ate because she spends all day talking to a monkey and a backpack, and her parents are nowhere to be found. Methinks Dora's parents have a death wish for her. Max & Ruby? Where the hell is their parental supervision while Max is being a stupid little asshole and Ruby is bossing him around like she's the queen bitch? Jake & The Neverland Pirates? Well the whole POINT is to be without parents.
Parents suck and you don't need them!

2. Being an idiot will get you ABSOLUTELY EVERYWHERE!
Just look at Special Agent Oso. He's a total idiot and he's a frickin' SPECIAL AGENT. The folks over at Mickey Mouse Clubhouse? GOD FORBID their Handy Helpers break or they can't even figure out how the fuck to open the front door. And don't get me started (again) on the Sponge. That stupid idiot Sponge.

3. The proper way to treat a sibling is to be a sadistic asshole. Or a tyrannical overbearing bitch. Two words. Max. Ruby. yes they've been mentioned before but they deserve to be mentioned again. If my kids ever treated each other that way in real life i'd sell the both of them on Craigslist.

4. Terrible music is awesome and should be danced to like a crack head-
just watch Fresh beat Band, The Wiggles, Yo Gabba Gabba and the like. Have you EVER seen a good dancer on those shows? have you ever heard good music on those shows?? I didn't think so. Can't we give the kids the good shit, even if it's a dumbed down lullaby version??

Ok, to really be honest... while I hate those damn shows, I do understand and appreciate some of the things they really do teach to those a little too young (and probably too dense) to pick up on like the things above. Sharing is caring, how to tie your shoes, not to be a whiny little shit, manners (thank you JEEBUS for manners!)- but there are also things that can be learned from them by us adults, too. I know, SHOCKING right?

Here is what I have learned, or at least been reminded of (because sometimes all we need is a good reminder) from a few things directed at children:

1. NEVER put your dreams off until the last second, you never know what you could be missing all along, or who you might lose before you get the chance to make them come true.
I learned that from "Up"- crotchety old Mr. Fredericksen had a point, even if it took him a long time to see it.

2. NEVER let someone hold you down and tell you that you're nothing without them. They are wrong.
Believe it or not, I learned that from my slightly weird obsession with Tangled. Screw the evil old witch, no matter who they are in your life.

3. It's ok to be silly.
So many people put a focus on growing up, being a role model for your children and blah de blah BORING. Look, you can be a role-model, but I think what a lot of shows try to show us, as much as I hate them, is that you are NEVER too old to be a kid at heart, and it's fun... not just for your kids, but for you, too!

4. Beauty is more than skin deep.
yes, I know it's cliche'd, but I know PLENTY of adults who would benefit from learning this lesson. From the Muppets to Beauty and the Beast. You would think if every single childrens show and movie tried to push this into peoples heads, they'd get it by now. Holden certainly seemed to understand early, he had his very first profound thought while watching Beauty and the Beast "Mommy, the beauty is IN the beast"
Now... if only that would last through his teen years.

5. Be your damn SELF.
If Happy Feet can't teach you that, I don't know what can.

There are so many things to be learned when we're not being so damn cynical (or laughing at the complete idiocy of the things our children insist on watching). From the obvious to the subtle, we adults, far past our innocent stage, could really take a lot in if we just allowed it (sorry Dora, this doesn't include your stupid ass, now could you STOP YELLING?)

My favorite and most treasured lesson, one I still tell myself today when things get tough and when I think this might actually be the time I can't push through... all comes from one of my boys favorite movies of all time. Finding Nemo:

JUST KEEP SWIMMING

It's amazing the things you can take away from something so simple if you just open yourself enough to do so.
What have YOU learned from programs aimed at children?

"Perfect Parents"- A note on how I hope you fall off of your high horse.

2012-01-05T20:57:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure if it's the turn of the new year, the events of the last one, or the amount of vomit and snot that have been stuffed in the first 5 days of the new one- but sometimes a girl feels the need to rant, and now is that time for me.

Since I started my blog, there have always been those who disagree with what I have to say or how I choose to express it. It took some time getting used to, but now it's not uncommon. There is always going to be some uptight holier-than-thou goody-two-shoes "Perfect Parent" who gets their grannies in a bunch and thinks that if you don't believe that your children walk on water for 24 hours a day 7 days a week, then you are the DEBIL and you must be TOLD SO! Nevermind that lesson that has been taught for centuries by normal parents about how "if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all"- that has long since gone out the window, because Perfect Parents always have something nasty to say about what everyone is doing if it isn't exactly as they would do.
You know what my new saying is?
"If you don't have anything nice to say, you can KISS MY ASS"

Why the constant need to shit all over someone else? I've never been quite sure. I figure everyone deals with things in different ways, everyone at some time or another needs to let that shit out even if it comes out as nothing more than a string of expletives (as it usually does with me), or they will literally explode... and honestly, who wants to clean up entrails from their walls?

I honestly don't know how many times I have to try and make it clear to those certain folks who consider themselves the Perfect Parents, that life is NOT all rainbows and butterflies. We all deserve to "complain" as some might put it, rant, vent, moan, or even feel a little stabby at times and get it all out in the form of a good "old fashioned" (in quotations because seriously, the internet isn't that old).
If we sucked it up and allowed, as mothers, to put our lives on hold for 10 months; give up drinking and smoking and staying out late, be taken over by stretchmarks and cellulite, completely lose control of our bladders, and for the most part- our brains, only to finish the process by tearing ourselves quite literally in half and then go through what can be years of sleep deprivation, screaming, worrying, whining, and the terrible 2's, terrifying 3's and god awful 4's.... you're trying to tell me we can't COMPLAIN every now and then?

You're kidding me, right?

Loving our kids is one thing, OF-FUCKING-COURSE that should be unconditional, but it damn well doesn't mean we have to LIKE them all the time.
Parenting is HARD. I don't care how fucking perfect you think you are at it, you're deluded. It's hard. It's frustrating. It can be downright annoying and you may even get the urge to sell your kids to the gypsies, on the black market, or even just run away and join the circus- we NORMAL parents need a place to get all of our frustrations out so that we don't take the figurative and make it literal.
If something bad happens in my life, you better damn well believe i'm not just going to sit on it because it might poop on your glittery sunshiney day. If you don't like it, that's really not my problem.

So really, Perfect Parents, what would you rather? Those of us who feel real human emotions bottle it up and put on the fake smile i'm quite sure you do each and every day and have gypsies running around with small children and the circus be overrun and putting the freaks and carnies out of a job, or would you rather we all just get it out in the form of furiously typing fingers and have less angry energy and more actual loving energy to spend on our brats?

No wait, let me guess, Perfect Parents.... RAINBOWS, BUTTERFLIES, LOLLIPOPS AND GLITTER! Life is a fairytale and we're all just living in it! Be SO thankful for EVERY MOMENT! Yes, even the ones where the kids are shitting in the closet or vomiting down your shirt or screaming incessantly for an hour over something completely fucking asinine- THOSE are the moments you should cherish the most! You will miss them when they're gone!

Yeah... How about you fuck off and go back to the nut-farm from whence you came. I'm pretty happy being my "whiny" "complaining" "negative" self, thank you very much.

Karma is an evil embarrassing bitch

2012-01-04T21:02:00.000-05:00

Being that I haven't been able to hold my head up for more than a few minutes all day, I have to make this short, but I have a point to make so bear with me.

I've mentioned in previous blogs the history that the stomach flu has in this family; usually EVERYONE gets it, with me getting it early on and the worst out of everyone.

This time around I watched it knock everyone in the house down except me and braced myself for impact. I even took quite a bit of pleasure in seeing Thomas miserable, considering the last time I puked for 15 hours straight and he walked away with a tummy ache. I didn't full out laugh at him, but I suppose you could say it was nice to see someone else suffering for once, even if I knew in the back of my mind that it was only a matter of time until I would be the one hunched over the toilet and praying for mercy.

Nearly two days out and I was still feeling relatively normal and puke free. Everyone else had "dried up" so to speak, so I started to think "Wow, maybe I really am in the clear this time! GO ME!"
Mentally, I did a happy dance... but let me tell you, I should not have been so unassuming. Here I thought Karma had FINALLY cut me a break, let me have one year puke-free because of all the previous years I got smacked with the voms the worst... but my celebrating pissed her off. Karma is like Santa Clause; while you can earn a place on the Nice List, ONE WRONG MOVE and you've gone and fucked yourself onto the naughty list (and that came out dirtier than i'd intended.) And that, my friends, is exactly what I did.

Last night around 10:30pm I started feeling....wrong. The kind of wrong where you know there is something coming through the pipes but you aren't sure which way it's going to go.
I decided the best idea would be to put myself to bed early; maybe I could sleep the feeling off. Maybe I was stressing myself into feeling sick (kind of like a hysterical pregnancy.. this could be a hysterical stomach flu).
Well, wouldn't you know it, after a few hours of very restless sleep, my eyes shot open. That oh-so-familiar "I have to puke. LIKE NOW" feeling washed over me and I made a mad dash for the bathroom.

Without going into too many graphic details, let me just tell you how Karma decided to pay me back:
I puked so hard, so violently, that I peed my pants. That's right... totally soaked in my own pee, while puking into the toilet.
Even worse? I had to call for help. From Thomas. To go and get me a change of clothes, and he of course insisted to know why.
It's embarrassing enough to have people hearing you retching like a dying animal, but then to have to explain that you also wet your pants like a scared kindergartner? Humiliating.

Spent the entire night puking, not sleeping, and the entire day with a face-melting headache and trying to avoid even the mention of food. I'm not sure i'll ever eat pizza again.

And the last bit of punishment Karma is throwing my way? My house is a COMPLETE FUCKING WRECK. Thomas stayed home to watch the kids while I attempted to shake this bug... but they seem to have gotten the best of him; and guess who is left to clean up the mess tomorrow?
Yep. Me.

Karma's a bitch y'all, don't ever forget that.
Now i'm gonna go take my sick ass and lay back down and pray she relents soon.

A husband's first sick day and the ending of a woman's sanity.

2012-01-03T21:00:00.004-05:00

My husband, like many men on this planet, is confusing. I don't know if they just have no real clue about how they really or, how they act, how they speak or are effected by things, or if they are just trying to throw us off as to never be able to truly figure them out. Personally, I didn't think men understood the fine art of "remaining a little mysterious"- but i've been wrong before... not often mind, you, but it's happened once or twice (yes, for those just joining us here, that is sarcasm).

Thomas is one of those who loves to claim that he NEVER gets sick. Never! Everyone else has pneumonia? Nope, won't get it! My immune system is the strongest on the planet. Zombie apocalypse? Psh, fuck all that noise, i'll be fine; yes, even if you bite me.

Yes, the man who "never" gets sick is also the one who keeps me up for 3 days in a row because he is hacking as loud as humanly possible right next to me but refuses to move to the couch because, to use his words, he is "not sick."
The one who is "never sick" is also the one who I begged to stay home after vomiting for 15 hours straight because he was the only one not infected with the stomach flu, and who, like a big baby, got a "tummy ache" and slept on the couch the entire day while I watched the kids. Yeah, that sounds not sick alright!

I know that to the working folks, a 4 day weekend sounds like HEAVEN. Maybe even FRIED heaven on a stick. To many women, though, a 4-day weekend sounds like pure unadultered hell. Why? Because we have to deal with men who claim to never get sick and attempt to be mysterious which comes off as being a gigantic douchenozzel . While Mondays can suck my ass, there are many weekends that I look forward to them. MOST people are best in small infrequent doses. Spouses fall into this category (men and women both. I am not unaware that we are evil cunts at times)... especially after an 4-day stressful holiday weekend that included vomiting, diarrhea, crying, whining, and that is easily the most gigantic fight in the entirety of our 5 years of marriage.

Since Monday was a holiday, I was chomping at the bit for Tuesday to come rolling around... but last night I made the decision that Thomas wouldn't be returning to work on Tuesday, and our awful 4 days was going to be stretched into 5.

Why, you may wonder, would I EVER punish myself like this? Why- if we've been fighting and if the majority of most days I feel like doing nothing more than embroidering his name into a nice big fluffy pillow and then smothering him with it- would I be the one to tell him to stay home for another??

Well, yesterday around 3pm, he started puking. I'd love to tell you I felt bad for him, but I was so busy feeling nauseous as well (and sort of relishing the time he was sick and I wasn't for once) that I didn't have the time to do anything but go Lysol crazy.
I remember being kept home after getting over puking just so that I wouldn't be contagious to others, so putting on my 'mommy hat' for a moment, I decided it would be best for him to do the same. I certainly didn't want him spreading this nastiness to anyone else. I'd be a hypocrite if I let him turn into the office outbreak-monkey when I bitch to high hell if he happens to bring germs home.
I like bitching FAR too much to ever feel like a hypocritical asshole for doing it. I like my bitching guilt free, and that's how it will stay, so much to my sanity's dismay, he is home today.

All for the sake of bitching. Trust me, it's worth it.

Found Out

2012-01-03T20:00:00.001-05:00

Thanks for the guest post by Jonathan Curtis

When I found out Just Energy has low ratesI was over the moon – since buying this house last year I’ve been more than house poor, I’ve just been scraping by! It’s so nice to have a place that’s my own but you know, at the end of the day I wish that I hadn’t bought a house so outside my means so it wouldn’t be so worrysome having all these bills. I can’t wait to one day have enough cash to get furniture in this place and really make it something special but until then I can just be content that I’ve got four walls over my head and some stuff to sit and lie on when I need to. I just think it’s nice having a place that’s my own and not having to answer to anyone on it – no landlord, no parents, no anything like that! I can’t wait until one day I get married and we can move in here together and have somewhere to start a new life together!

Really 2012, already???

2012-01-02T20:51:00.000-05:00

Let's not go all Mayan apocalypse in this bitch. I'm superstitious but even THAT is a far stretch to me... but to say that 2012 has been off to a seemingly world-ending start would be an understatement. I do not have much time to type, and soon you will know why, but I wanted to come here and shake my fucking fist before it's too late.

When Holden came down with the stomach flu on the very last day of 2011, I figured it was just one more show of dominance from a suck-ass year. One last final power-strike to say "yeah, you were my bitch all year, don't forget about me!"
Going out with a bang. I don't like it, but I had to respect the level of whore 2011 was.

I figured once that ball dropped, all would be right with the world again. That dumb-ass year would be OVER and there would be NOTHING she could do about it. 2012 was going to take the hell over... and for SOME stupid reason I had it in my head that it was going to be a positive year. Derp.

Not even 5 minutes into the new year and I heard a thump coming from upstairs. I wait to see if i'm going to decide it's a child (Holden had finally stopped puking, but with the stomach flu... sometimes it can come back with a vengeance once you fall asleep) or another unexplainable when I see Parker at the bottom of the stairs... completely caked from head to toe in vomit. Chunky, stinky vomit.

Fan-fucking-tastic. What a way to ring in the new year!
About 20 minutes later, we got the kid back to bed and braced ourselves for the worst. You never know quite how bad the flu is going to affect any particular person. For ME? I ALWAYS get it, and I ALWAYS get it the worst. Everyone else gets a tummy ache and I spend 15 hours sweating, crying, and puking my intestines out through my nose.

Parker didn't get up again until the sun had risen, but when he did, you guessed it- caked in vomit. Him, the bed, his stuffed animals, EVERYTHING. EVERYWHERE. I have no idea how long he'd been sleeping in it. WHO DOESN'T GET UP WHEN THEY PUKE OTHER THAN DRUNK FRAT BOYS???

The rest of the day went as follows: fighting, more fighting, food refusal, nausea, no puke, no eating, more fighting.
And then today, second day of this brand new year- who hops aboard the puke-train? Yep. Thomas. And I shared his damn drink at lunch.
Fuck.me.sideways.

Let me tell you, there's nothing less attractive than vomiting. Especially loud vomiting.
And the sound of unattractive loud vomiting started making me want to vomit... and that's where I am now. Praying to the Mayan Gods to let the puke SKIP OVER ME THIS YEAR! Wasn't puking and uncontrollable diarrhea on my birthday last year ENOUGH??

I don't want to get all doom-and-gloom; a lot of people are telling me "well, you're getting the bad out of the way now" and "it can only go up from here" and all I can think is.. I FUCKING HOPE SO! Because I swear to the winter solstice apocalypse if it gets any worse i'll blow up the earth my damn self.
Two big fat middle fingers to you, stupid new year.

Good riddance 2011!

2011-12-31T15:41:00.002-05:00

Being that everyone is out having a good ass time and getting absolutely shitfacewasted watching some stupid glittery ball anticlimactically "drop" down a pole, and i'm stuck on the couch icing my back so that I don't go completely insane and tear my spine out, i'll keep this short.

I am GLAD to see 2011 go. I think I say that about every year, and that's because every year has it's fair share of SUCK. It also has a great deal of kick-ass, but when you end a year with a fucked up back, one kid puking his guts out all day, and the other one hacking so hard he cries in pain... you say FUCK YEAH to it ending.

2011 was the first year I actually made a resolution and kept it; really it's the first year I made a resolution I actually intended on even TRYING to keep. I wrote the book, I released the book, i'm happy with the book.
How do you top a resolution like that?? I certainly am not going to make the same goal because fuck if I want to push myself that hard again so soon after just doing it, mama needs a break. So what do I do? Just make a resolution to have a more positive, less whiny year? But what if I like my ranting? What if I like to bitch??
No no, being more positive just won't do.

I don't know what my resolution for 2012 will be other than for it not to suck so damn hard; I don't even know if i'll really make one.. but I do have some new years notes:

1. Don't drink and drive. Duh. DO drink and Facebook. Please for the love of all that is holy, drink and Facebook. If I have to be a lame ass who's stuck home on what is easily the biggest party night of the year- you can at least make a complete ass out of yourself on the internet for me to laugh at.
2. Don't even try to pretend like you know the words to Auld Lang Syne. It makes you look like an idiot... actually, that works for me. Videotape it.
3. Don't make a resolution unless you really plan on keeping it. What the hell is the point otherwise?? Trust me, it feels good to actually accomplish it instead of saying the old "this year i'm going to lose weight!" and then proceeding to sit on the couch and eat an entire bag of buttered popcorn. Every day. Don't do that.

So, Happy New Year and all that shit. May 2012 not be full of as much SUCK as 2011 was for the majority of us.

Good riddance 2011!

2011-12-31T15:41:00.000-05:00

Don't tell me about MY ovaries

2011-12-30T21:00:00.001-05:00

While i'd love to sit here and tell you how responsible I am, how I NEVER do anything wrong or careless, have everything in order and everything has its place; that my house is spotless and every toy has a shelf it gets put back on every single night; that I remember every single detail of every single thing and that my awards for Mommy of the Year AND Most Organized Person ever are in the mail, overnight shipping because i'm just that kick-ass... that would be a lie. An EPIC lie. It would be funny, but I just can't keep a straight face or keep myself from typing ROFL immediately afterward, so let's just keep things as they always are around these parts: honest.

I am messy, VERY messy- I am reminded of that all the time. There is no perfect place for any item... I like for shit to get put away but generally, it never happens, and I can't be bothered to care that much. I write on looseleaf sheets of paper that randomly get lost. My coffee table would make someone with OCD want to tear out their eyeballs with a rusty spoon; so would the pile of clean laundry on my bedroom floor, and I have THE worst memory on the face of the earth. Sometimes get carried away, which includes the times I drink too much, and sometimes this drinking too much leads to doing really stupid shit.

Granted, not as MUCH stupid shit as I used to do, as I am too old for all of that and really can't spend an entire day nursing a hangover- and especially far less stupid shit after Parker. It's no secret that while I love the kid to bits and pieces, he was a complete and total... surprise... and one surprise baby is enough for an entire lifetime.
Even still, stupid shit happens, and after the 7 months I spent on depo feeling like a crazy person and a nasty experience with the pill when I was 18, I am lacking in the birth control department. Yeah yeah, call me irresponsible, I already know!

Most of the time, I am all over Thomas (NO NOT LITERALLY) about buying things that do not include hormones that HE can use to prevent us from creating another spawn to wreak havoc upon this earth, and when he doesn't- it's game over...
But then there's that damn alcohol, and the damn forgetfulness, and the stupid irresponsible forgetful shit that happens because of the alcohol... Mostly the things I can't remember if they actually happened or not, and promptly forget about, because that's what I do.

I live a blissfully unaware existence this way. I've learned over the years that keeping track of my cycles? It doesn't really get me very far because I am never "like clockwork", and so this whole "being late" thing doesn't always apply to me, so why keep a schedule if the schedule is always changing?

But do you know who DOES keep track?
Thomas.
That's right. Thomas keeps track of my periods. Yes, I am completely and totally serious.
I guess either after Parker he got paranoid (since I had no idea until a doctor told me I was 7 weeks pregnant at an annual check-up, completely unpregnancy related), or sick of me, in my trusted forgetful fashion asking him "hey, when was my period last month?"- and usually, he's pretty good about remembering for me. Of course, i'd rather have a calendar instead of a man remembering when blood will be pouring out of my nether regions, but when you're as careless and forgetful as me, sometimes you will take all the help you can get.

On the occasions that I don't ask, I just don't care to know... but this month, he just HAD to up and mention to me that I happened to be "late."
What? ME? Late??? ARE YOU SERIOUS?

And being that HE always remembers and I never do, and being that I am an eternal over-analyzer and worrier, I started to panic.
A million thoughts running through my brain about what the hell I would do if I DID happen to be knocked up unexpectedly yet again. I wracked my brain for days trying to remember when my last period was, looking to see if my stomach was expanding, trying to figure out if I had any symptoms... Basically I worked myself up so much and stressed myself out so badly that I found myself intensely nauseous and nearly convinced that I was in fact knocked up.

I even took the time to spend hours searching through my Facebook for ANY mention of "Aunt Flo" or "exploding ovaries" or anything else alluding to my monthly bitch visiting me, and it took me getting back to October to figure out that it came on the 9th. From there I figured out that I did in fact have one in November, but it was later, and from there my memory was jogged enough to recall that life hates me and always *blesses* me with a period on my birthday each year, which is the 30th of January. All that being said, I may not have been late (whatever "late" is for me), or I may have been REALLY late and also REALLY wrong.

More panic; but somehow i'd begun to get over the denial aspect and decided I needed to suck it up and take a damn pregnancy test because if I wasn't, you'd damn well better believe I was going to celebrate with a drink (or 10), only this time NOT make irresponsible decisions.
I went to bed feeling a weird kind of resolve, and woke up feeling pain. Pain in that special area.

Three words: Definitely. Not. Pregnant.

As if Thomas really needed to give me ANOTHER reason to smother him- now he has once again made me panic myself into sickness because he insisted my period was late. I decided to sum up this entire story of irresponsibility, stupidity, forgetfulness and drunken ridiculousness, I would write my husband with the "perfect memory" a little letter.

Dear Husband,

Next time you feel the urge to tell me about the schedule my ovaries keep, perhaps you want to mark it on a calendar first before stressing me into a fit of feeling stabby; because guess who is going to be the receiver of the stab? That's right. You. Perhaps you should think twice before attempting to make me believe that my uterus is occupied with yet another one of your hell-spawn. Your future depends on it.

Love and big fluffy pillows,
Your NOT pregnant wife.

Needless to say, from now on, i'll be tracking my OWN period, thank you very much!

Make up your MIND, child!

2011-12-29T21:00:00.001-05:00

There are many smells on this earth that I can handle (and no, fake zombie brains is not one of them), i've been pooped on, pooped AT (yes at), had to scrub day old chunky baby vomit out of sweaty neck folds, nearly gagged myself to death in a public restroom after it had been blown up by the person who used it right before me- but there is something about the smell of Parker's two butt-buddy stuffed animals that is putrid to the point of being unbearable.
It took me a LONG time to rid the house of Parker's sweaty head smell; people must have thought we were hiding a dog in the closet- and those stuffed animals caught the head worse than the carpet or the pissy couch.

Those two mangy things were beginning to smell like... well... a dead body. It was a mixture of sweat, drool, tears, and I imagine a dash of ripe urine. The kid drags them everywhere, wipes his nose on them when he's crying, sobs into them, smears his foot-smelling sweat all over them, and refuses to ever put them down so that I can wash them. It's been months. Imagine the smell; or don't... I might not want to either. It is pungent.

Today he actually let me, after much convincing on my part of course. He walked right up to the washer and tossed not one, but both of them in... and then immediately changed his mind and COMPLETELY lost it. Sobbing Dee's name like I had taken the stupid ass dog and burned it right in front of him. I fucking wish I would have! Nearly a full hour of blowing the biggest snot bubbles out of his nose that I have ever seen., hysterically sobbing, falling down, picking himself back up just to do it again. Following me from room to room when I refused to sit and watch the floor show.

Why can't kids just MAKE UP THEIR MINDS? You say you want something, you WANT it. If you don't, you DON'T. Don't tell me you "want to starve" and two fucking seconds later be crying hysterically for the bowl of oatmeal that i've been trying to get you to eat for the past 20 minutes. I don't have time for these kinds of stupid games. This is why some women swear off men forever! They wonder why we compare them to babies all the time... but seriously, can the line be any more clear to be drawn here?
They're just like children, and this shit gets old. Fast.
Don't get me wrong, LOVE THEM BOTH... but they can both be the biggest most indecisive assholes on the planet. JUST MAKE UP YOUR MIND! Say what you mean, and mean what you say! Is it really that hard??

I swear to all that is holy, from now on- what they say, the FIRST TIME- goes.
Now, I completely realize that I will never actually follow through with this, but seriously, think about it- how awesome would it be to always be able to work that way. The kids might be hungry, or screaming and floating away in a gigantic balloon made of snot- but they'd learn pretty damn quick not to fuck with mommy.

I was honestly hoping after washing the shit out of those stuffed animals, and pulling them from the dryer hopefully rid of funk that Parker would lose interest. His territory was no longer marked, maybe that was the key to breaking the fixation...
But NO- he ran to them with open arms (the kind of greeting a parent always hopes to get upon coming home and rarely does) yelling "DEEEEEEEEE!", sniffing them with joy (because believe it or not, if you get your nose REALLY deep down in there, the funk remains), and hasn't put them down since.

I may need to buy some kerosene this weekend.

One last slightly related sidenote: It's a good thing i'm married or i'd NEVER get a date!

Grown up tomboys, Zombie brains and finding your inner-girl.

2011-12-28T21:00:00.000-05:00

Growing up, I guess you could say I was the very definition of a tomboy. Mousy, tree-climbing, fist-fighting, curse word slinging, tall and awkward thing I was. In class pictures? I was always in the back, in the center, because I towered over everything and everyone. It definitely made my early days of crushes and attempting to snag a boyfriend a difficult task, seeing as how every cute boy was about 5 inches shorter than me and not many boys that age are secure enough in themselves to date a girl taller than them; shit, most grown men aren't secure enough in themselves to do that.

I have no idea when I finally came into my girly self and grew a love for makeup and shaving my legs. I certainly can't attribute it to getting boobs because I never got those (screw you, boob-fairy!), but one day I guess it just kind of hit me that I have a vagina and perhaps I should embrace it (not literally, but you know what I mean).
The shoes and purses thing, that was never really my cup of tea- I guess old habits die hard- but everything else i'm a fan of. The clothes (NOT SKIRTS), hair, makeup, perfume, shopping; count me in.

Now, when it came to having kids, EVERYONE on the planet (and maybe the whole damn universe) knows I wanted girls. Maybe to embrace the inner-girl I shunned as my snot-rocketing younger self?

Once the anger subsided upon the arrival of my two penis-wielding boys, I began to realize I had dodged a bullet. Did I WANT to be a pretty-pretty princess? Hell no! Still not to this day! Dolls and frills and a whole sea of pepto-bismol colored clothing? No.fucking.thank you. There is a reason I avoided all of that in the first place, and it's simply because it's not me at ALL (granted if one of them HAD been a girl of course I would have embraced it just as I did my vagina).

Boys are much more my speed. Vulgar, gross, belching, loud, perhaps slightly obnoxious, blowing shit up and adrenaline pumping activities? Yes please.

I am the one responsible for buying them some of their most disgusting "boyish" toys, because I couldn't wait to play with them myself.

The one i've been chomping at the bit to play with since before Christmas? Dr. Dreadful's Zombie lab. Sure, Holden asked for it.. but I may have done some encouraging. My memories from a century ago when I was his age are a little fuzzy but I do remember having something similar and loving the shit out of it. Stirring up some fake brains, bugs, and barf seemed like a disgustingly good time- and today, after much hinting (from me), Holden finally asked to play with it. SCORE!

I tore open the box, put together the zombie head, and asked Holden which disgusting concoctions he wanted to make. Brains and bugs- my two favorite things.

We mixed it all up and poured it in, watched it foam and started our taste testing.

1.) Brains are sour, and I was honestly very surprised the boys tried them, being they're a little young for the kit and not so adventurous in the eating department.
2.) The taste is not the issue. It's not even the consistency. It's THE SMELL. THAT SICKENINGLY SWEET DISGUSTING SMELL OF PROCESSED FAKE 'FOOD'. It hit my nose like a diaper full of indian food would.

My inner girl suddenly came out of hibernation as I looked at the pink foamy brains overflowing onto my kitchen table, and the kids gobbling down gummy bugs, and I got the strongest urge to vomit that i've had since the last time I had the stomach flu. It took literally everything within me to hold it down.

I yanked out the household cleaners and started scrubbing the house down as fast as I could to get the smell out... but hours later, it still remains; and hours later, I AM STILL NAUSEOUS!
Never again! Next time I say I wan to play with Zombie brains, remind me that I am a card-carrying, vagina-having woman... Or you could just remind me that I have a weak stomach.

I think I would take the pepto-pink-pretty-pretty-princess-covered-in-frills-Barbie over Zombie Brains.
However... the bugs can stay.

Putting ourselves first

2011-12-27T21:00:00.000-05:00

For a lot of people, myself included, once we become parents we let everything else go by the wayside in order to tend to our children first and foremost because it just feels like the right thing to do.
Children for the most part are helpless, and even if they CAN do some things on their own, they shouldn't have to. We are the parents. We are the responsible party. We are the ones that are supposed to make sure they are safe, well fed, loved, happy, healthy, in other words: perfect. We do all of these things even if it means letting ourselves go, and by that I don't just mean what could be called by others 'frivolous' like getting our hair done, nails done, going out for coffee, or out to dinner with some friends- but the important things.
We forego food, sleep, new clothes (even when ours are falling apart, ill-fitting, or both), and a plethora of other things JUST so that our kids can get what they need; shit, sometimes we give up the things we need for the things they WANT, and all because we think it is in their best interest. Why do we need it if we can live without it? Why inconvenience them for us?

That is me in a nutshell.

In August, I hurt my neck. At the time I figured it was just a strain or a sprain so I let it go, and a few days later it was better... only to happen again. After nearly a week barely able to function, I sucked it up and went to the doctor, kids in tow. I hadn't been able to imagine them sitting in a doctors office for hours, through possible xrays, and whatever else without flipping their shit, so I avoided it until I literally could not take it anymore.
It was a LONG day and the kids... well, they didn't enjoy themselves- and we walked out of the doctors office with some medication and being told i'd be better in a few days.

That was in August. The pain has not gone away. And I haven't gone back because I didn't want to go through trying to find someone to watch them when Parker doesn't really eat for anyone but me, or forcing them to sit through another long appointment.
For months I have been sitting and watching instead of running and playing, all because I didn't want to inconvenience THEIR days or make THEM sit in a doctors office in order to get myself properly checked out. There have been things i've wanted to do with them that I just can't because my back hurts so badly that I have to sit on the couch with a pack of ice on it. Places I wanted to take them, games I wanted to play with them, activities and crafts and homeschooling I just couldn't manage to sit through.
In the end, me trying to do the best for them by not inconveniencing them? That ended up inconveniencing them even more because I have not been myself.

I've learned that in order to really and truly put our children first, we as parents HAVE to take care of ourselves and put ourselves first, first. You can't care for a child properly if you haven't slept in 3 days. Who the fuck cares about the laundry, what's so important about the dishes that makes them HAVE TO BE DONE RIGHT NOW? Eating is more important, naps can wait, bed times can be pushed back, and an annoying wait at the doctors office is not that big of a deal if it makes you feel human enough to be back to your normal self; ready able and willing to crawl around on the floor with the kids.

We think it's putting them out, too much of a put-out for them by doing things for us, but really it's benefiting them by benefiting us first. That was a hard lesson to learn.

Now, finding a doctor who will actually HELP you get on the road to recovery after you've sucked it up and got your ass out to them? That's another story.

That is what has happened to me.

"Some assembly required"- It's a conspiracy, man!

2011-12-26T21:00:00.001-05:00

The day after Christmas. What can be said about the day after Christmas? You spend it desperately trying to cover from a turkey and stuffing coma, and tediously picking scraps of wrapping paper out of the carpet that no matter how many times you pass over with a vacuum, just won't come up... but for the most of us- the majority of the day after Christmas is spent doing one thing; one obnoxious, annoying, completely self inflicted thing: putting together toys.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we, as parents, buy shit that on the box says "Some Assembly Required"- when we KNOW that is NOT THE TRUTH.
SOME assembly means countless hours of sweating and cursing and calling inanimate objects whores because the pieces that are supposed to go together won't fucking go together no matter how hard we shove, pound, and force.
I am guessing the definition of "some" is a loose one in the toy making industry.

As I was sitting and watching Thomas put together the boys toys today (yes, I said WATCHING. Fuck if i'm going to be the one putting that shit together. I'd either break the toy or someone's face if I tried), all I could do was thank the stars that it wasn't me doing it.

Toy manufacturers, nothing more than a conspiracy to drive parents crazy or completely bankrupt them; maybe both. Who am I kidding? PROBABLY both!
Every single toy as eleventy gajillion little pieces and confusing, half-assed and at BEST hazy instructions on what the fuck to do with them. Pieces that either get lost within 3 minutes, or broken in 10. Pieces that all end up requiring that you either buy a fucking refill pack or replace the whole damn thing- doesn't matter if we have the money or not, or just hemorrhaged money from our asses to pay for Christmas or a Birthday party, a brand new toy breaks and your kid fucking LOSES IT and you'd do just about anything to shut them up- including (but not limited to) spending more money.

Hours upon hours spent putting together a stupid-ass Handy Manny house, for the kids to get bored and walk away in 5 minutes. Fuck you Fez!
53 minutes putting together a cardboard castle for it to already be sagging and on the verge of collapse in under 20 minutes of play. And by play I mean kicking the fuck out of it and fighting inside of it even after repeatedly being told NOT to.
Three hours, a husband making up new curse words and having to remove clothing due to stress sweat in order to assemble a toybox that isn't even being used to put toys inside of.

And an entire stack of toys left that will need "some assembly" in order to properly play with.

Mommy is tempted to tell the children the toys are meant to be in a gazillion pieces and NEVER PUT ANYTHING TOGETHER AGAIN...
Oh wait, I didn't in the first place.... carry on.

What's Christmas without a giveaway?

2011-12-26T20:00:00.001-05:00

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Gift Card Weekend for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

I think every year around this time, I post about contests going on, because what's the holiday season without some contests, giveaways, and prizes, right? Santa has to exist SOMEHOW for us adults.

From Dec. 23-31st, 'Gilbert the Gift machine' will be giving away more than 100 gift cards per week leading up to Gift Card Weekend, you could win a $10 Subway giftcard,

How does one enter into this giveaway you might wonder? It's really quite simple. All you have to do is like Gift Card Weekend on Facebook. In order to get more entries (aka, better chances of winning), tell your friends! For every 'like' you influence, you get another entry into the giveaway

Gift Card Weekend only comes once a year, and other special retailers are giving special featured offers for gift cards purchased during Gift Card Weekend and redeemed Jan 6-8 2012.

Be sure to check them out

The other participating retailers are

-JC Penney

-Regal Cinema

-Sephora

-Applebee's

-Bass Pro Shops

-Adidas

-Buca di Beppo

-Lowe's

-Spa Finder

-Marriot

-Giant Eagle

Go ahead and Like Gift Card Weekend and stick around all month, they'll be having even more giveaways!

What's Christmas without a little dirt?

2011-12-25T20:58:00.001-05:00

Christmas is the time for giving and sharing and joy, and for a lot of people, getting together with those you can only really stand to stomach on an infrequent basis.

I know it's all well and good, Christmas cheer and holiday spirit and all that jazz, but let's get down to it: there are also some strange and crappy things that happen on this worldwide holiday.

I will now share with you a few highlights from mine, as i'm sure we all have a lot of recovering to get done.

1. Did your kids wake up early on Christmas morning, unable to sleep due to the sheer excitement of Santa Clause squeezing his fat ass down the chimney?
Yeah, not mine. I woke up early, thinking I could hedge them off just in case they decided to sneak downstairs and tear open all of their presents without me... and NO ONE WOKE UP. I laid there for a good 45 minutes before anyone even stirred. Even after Holden woke up, Parker didn't budge. He had to be sneakily forced out of slumber to get this show on the road.

2. The gift Holden BEGGED AND PLEADED for for months on end; the one I went to 3 different stories in 3 different cities to try and find and failed, only to have to pay more online to get it here from the ONLY store left with it in stock without having to pay a small fortune that I saved for the last to open thinking Holden would go completely apeshit because "OMFG SANTA GOT ME EXACTLY WHAT I ASKED FOR?"
Didn't.Give.A.Shit.
Which one did he choose as his favorite? The one I bought because it was 50% off in a fleeting moment to try and put more under the tree while thinking "eh, maybe he'll like this"
That, my friends, is why I don't do Black Friday. Had I busted my ass at 3am to get this thing and he acted that way, heads would have rolled.

3. I am even more positive now that alcohol should be mandatory at Christmas gatherings. And not because it makes family more tolerable (well, I guess it does that too) but because there is NOTHING ELSE that numbs the "HOLY FUCK I ATE WAY TOO MUCH" feeling next to a giant shit, and we all don't get that kind of satisfaction so easily.

4. Kids without naps and surrounded by other kids and a fuckton of gifts are creatures sent to earth by the devil himself. This I am sure of.

5. I should not have ever said in previous blogs how much Holden sucked at Hide-and-go-seek. Today at my Dad's he hid so well that I literally went outside in the dark and was calling for him before I finally found him BEHIND a chair in the sun room, absolutely silent underneath a Santa sack.
Not cool, Holden. NOT.COOL.

6. What all mothers deserve as a Christmas gift is a fucking MAID to clean up the ABSOLUTE HELLISH MESS that becomes of the house after gift opening.

7. Eggnog is a punishment. Even the alcoholic kind.

8. I wrapped up a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich in hopes Holden would freak the hell out with a "HOW DARE YOU!" kind of reaction... and he LIKED IT. fail!!!

9. I spent over an hour getting myself to look as un-mom as I could, most of that time was focused on my hair. COMPLIMENT ME DAMNIT! No one did. Buttheads.

And that's it y'all! Get to drinking, save the cleaning for tomorrow, put your feet up and RELAX. you deserve it!

Merry Christmas to you and yours from me and mine

OCCUPY UTERUS!

2011-12-23T20:55:00.000-05:00

If you are of the female persuasion, and over the age of 18 (and not living in the 18th century), I am positive by now you have been asked by an overbearing grandmother or nosy aunt or eager-to-have-grandbabies mother:

"So, when are you going to have a baby?"

If you haven't yet, be prepared, because sooner or later it is bound to happen if you haven't created new life and birthed it onto this earth for everyone to ohh, ahh, and take credit for.

Once you've gone ahead and succumbed to all the urging and pressure (or maybe you beat them to the punch), you figure this question won't come up again.

I've done my duty, i've blown my crotch out, LOOK, HERE'S THE BABY YOU'VE BEEN BEGGING FOR- NOW LEAVE ME ALONE!

It's never quite that cut and dry. At least it isn't for me.

Holden was planned, you try convincing other people of that and they likely wouldn't believe you, and holy hell the ugly looks I got. NO ONE really breathed much of a word about another child after Holden was born because the pregnancy was so ugly I guess they didn't think I would go through that again. Yeah well, Parker was as much of a surprise to me as everyone else. After two, you figure- alright, I think that's enough to appease everyone. One person can have one, another can take the other, and I can go have a fucking DRINK. DON'T ask me about another baby!!!

Vaginas can only handle so much, and I don't think mine would appreciate being torn apart for a third time. I thought i'd made that relatively clear, but I suppose my "meeeehhhhhh maybe someday" stance on more kids, and the fact that I have been completely outnumbered by penises in this house, combined with my previous obsession with having a little girl... the question comes up at LEAST once a month. Yes, I REALIZE I was in a crazed state about it, but damnit, my brain is normal now! Not all hormone-whacked and "I SAW THE SIGN" song singing.

WHAT is the obsession with the occupancy status of my uterus?? Why must everyone know if I intend on cramming it full of baby? I have TWO. Two that have caused wrinkles in my forehead (Holden will tell you that there are 3) and grays to spring up from my scalp like tinsel.

Is that not enough? Must we all, as women with vaginas and egg producing ovaries and empty uteruses, forever be asked when we're going to fill it up with a miniature human? Why does it HAVE to be occupied? Why when it isn't do people ask when it will be next???

Do we all having gigantic neon blinking "VACANCY!!!!" signs on our stomachs?

This is NOT "Occupy Uterus!" You do not need to get tents and signs and camp outside of my vagina for as long as it takes me to be convinced to get myself knocked up again. It ain't that serious! Please.stop.asking.

Now, I know that some of my friends just like to give me a hard time about it -as was the case last night when a lovely friend teased me, so this is not about her AT ALL but instead inspired by the comment and those who make them in all seriousness.

I often find myself wondering, do you REALLY want me to have another child? Or is it that you want to see me balloon up like a beached whale again so that you can laugh at my misfortune? Or do you just know that my two are evil and the third will complete the tri-fecta and open the portal to hell?? Shame on you!

If we WANT to get ourselves knocked up, gain an ungodly amount of weight, and tear ourselves in half bringing another screaming pink sack of baby into this world, WE WILL. Or shit, maybe our bodies will just up and decide for us that they'd like to once again reproduce. STOP ASKING US WHEN!

Hidden in plain sight- another ridiculous toddler obsession

2011-12-22T21:00:00.000-05:00

First it was the 'Snuggler', then the Boppy, then 'Melmo', and then along came a grungy stuffed dog... or maybe it's a wolf... whatever, a grungy little thing Parker lovingly refers to as "Dee"- I assume "Dee" is short for dog; yes, my child is a creative one.

Dee goes everywhere with Parker. He goes to the store, on car rides, to bed, nap time, while eating lunch, watching TV, even taking a shit on the toilet; Dee is always there.
Does it get on my nerves? Absolutely. No one needs a grungy little wolf dog to take a crap, but he's a little kid; what kind of parent would I be if I didn't let him have some kind of security blanket, weird as it may be. I do feel like perhaps he should get divorced from his Snuggler first, this cheating can't go on forever!

Why can't he form some kind of unholy addiction to something normal like Peanut Butter or Chicken Nuggets... or nose picking. Why the revolving door of strange stuffed animals?

My beef with the stuffed animals is that in this house, they get lost. They get lost ALL.THE.TIME. Children are irresponsible, forgetful (when it's convenient for them, not when you make them a promise, god forbid you ever do that), whiny little things. They put a toy down somewhere, walk away, forget they've left it int hat spot and then all hell breaks loose.

IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD! HOLY SHIT MY TOY IS GONE! PLEASE ALLOW ME TO SCREAM NONSTOP FOR THE NEXT 45 MINUTES WHILE YOU SCRAMBLE ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES TO FIND IT JUST TO SHUT ME UP!

That is what happens in my house every single day. Every single day, somehow, Dee manages to go missing. If the kid is so damn obsessed you'd think he would keep better tabs, right?
Of course not, that's MY job.

That major asshat Dee went missing yesterday around noon. Instantly Parker noticed an went on a manhunt, to no avail. My back was hurting so badly that there wasn't really much I could do, and like everything else (and I guess like the kids; tree, meet apples) I forgot... until bed time, where as soon as it was time for Parker to get tucked in he started asking for "Dee?"
Cue a 30-minute full family search for that little shitface and coming up empty handed. Absolutely nowhere to be found. Our house isn't tiny, but it's HARD to hide things. There are only so many places a thing can go when it's lost!
Needless to say, getting Parker to sleep that night with a stand-in for Dee was not an easy task, and not one I want to do again.

Today, i'd had enough. Every 5 minutes Parker was calling out for Dee. When he fell on got hurt, it wasn't mommy he wanted, it was "Dee", everything fun he was doing? He wanted Dee there instead.
Honestly, I was just sick of hearing the name, so it was time to buckle down and look again.

While searching for the always-fucking-hiding-from-me-and-causing-a-major-meltdown "Dee", I did notice a few things, though.

A) under my bed is the cleanest part of the whole house, minus a creepy little hippo toy that was staring directly into my face when I pulled back the dust ruffle.

B) Holden had managed to stuff his ENTIRE train set under his bed. Why? I wish I knew. I don't understand anything that kid does.

C) it's amazing the things you can find in the most random spots that you thought you'd lost forever, and also the things you will find that your children broke and hid from you. I guess I should just be happy I didn't find another turd back from our "find that smell!" game days.

D) kids leave shit in the most random places. Why is there a cowboy hat under the Christmas tree? Why are their dress shoes in the entertainment center? Blocks in the bookshelf, crayons under the sink... And how the hell did they do all of this without me noticing? Magic. I swear it's magic.

E) I am glad no one ever bothers coming over here because holy shit this place is a wreck.

F) it isn't just Dee that went missing, but the trusty old Snuggler as well. Apparently they got sick of being sweat, drooled, snotted, and cried all over and ran away together to escape their toddler master. Which meant more whining in my ear because Snuggler has become Dee's back up. Can't have one, have the other.. but what happens when both are gone? Prepare for shrieking.

G) my brain really has gone to shit since having kids, because of COURSE I didn't think to look in the office, the ONE room the children aren't allowed in... and of COURSE that would be the first place Holden suggested we look once I tasked him with helping, and OF COURSE that is where they would BOTH end up being, making my hours of searching seem completely fucking stupid. Fail.

I think perhaps the best idea would be to return all of Parker's Christmas gifts and get a fucking homing-beacon implanted into Dee's neck so he NEVER LOSES HIM AGAIN. That way, Parker's always happy, and the house is filled with far less whining, making a far less harried mommy (and far fewer threats of selling the kids on Craigslist).
Wouldn't that make a Merry Christmas for everyone involved? No?? Damn...

The awkward purple underwear story

2011-12-21T20:54:00.001-05:00

On any typical day, I have no problem making an ass of myself. I have little to no shame, and actually find it quite fun to have others laughing at me (they don't even have to be laughing with me, although usually I am too).
That's what most of the stories in this very blog are; I always figure if someone else can laugh at things that may be deemed 'bad', then they must not be so bad after all.

It is not often that I find myself turning 10 shades of red and completely horrified and humiliated. It is HARD to embarrass me. Tell people I farted? Even if I didn't, i'll take the blame. Point out food in my teeth? Thanks for the heads up, bitch! Tease me? I'll go along with it, I don't mind. See the size tag on my pants or tell me a nipple is showing... well, then we might have a bit of an issue- but i'm pretty good about keeping those types of things hidden.

The point is, something has to be REALLY bad, REALLY embarrassing, SO awful that you want to move out of the country and change your name kind of humiliating to make me want to crawl under a rock.
That kind of humiliation happened to me on Monday.

On Sundays, we spend the first half of the day scrubbing the disgusting house down- of course only to have it destroyed 5 minutes later but that's beside the point. Once we finished, I had to sit and ice my stupid back and put my face on so we could actually get the hell out of the house. I don't get out much, so on the weekends i'm itching to break free before I go insane and start eating hairballs.

While I did this, Thomas took it upon himself to pick out everyone's clothes for the day. I do not usually let him do this or the boys end up looking homeless; and he has NEVER picked out clothes for me, not one single time. I am picky about what I wear, what goes with what, what shirt can be worn with what pants in order to camouflage my muffin-top, typical woman shit.

Once I had completed making my face look good enough as to not terrify small children, I got up and walked into the kitchen where everyone was getting dressed and noticed his handpicked outfit for me sitting on the counter.

Go ahead and get your ooh's and aah's out of the way over what a nice husband I have, because that's about to stop. He just HAD to be a smart-ass about the whole thing because the underwear he brought down to go with the outfit?
A purple lingerie-esque thong. COVERED in ruffles. Yes, ruffles. So many ruffles that it is clear they were never intended to wear under anything, if you catch my drift.
Why the hell do I have something like this? Good damn question. I bought it YEARS ago, y'know, before my ass was ravaged by children and I thought I was the cat's fucking meow.
Why didn't I throw it away? Good damn question. I guess because I spent money on it and don't like throwing shit out that i've worn one time because it feels like a waste.
Watch for me on Hoarders in a couple of years y'all, I think I have a problem. I'll be the one with all the frilly thongs.

Smart-ass had his 'hardy har-har' moment, knowing there was no way in HELL I would ever wear that underwear, he actually had brought me down some normal ones too.

In my desperation to get the hell out of the house, I threw the clothes on (well, not the shirt, it made me look fat) and ran out of the house, promptly forgetting all about the underwear until the next morning, about an hour from when Parker's speech therapist would be showing up. I snatched them off of the counter and due to the fact that I am eternally lazy, I threw them up the stairwell, and then promptly forgot about them again.

During the appointment, of course, Holden had to be his usual "THE WORLD REVOLVES AROUND ME" attention-whoring self, so he got sent to his room. I should not have done this. Payback is a bitter bitch.

About 10 minutes pass and he calls to me asking if it's ok if he comes back downstairs. I say yes; I also should not have done that.

He comes stomping down the stairs and emerges from the stair well, my back is turned to him. He announces in his loudest voice
"MOMMY! I THINK DADDY PICKED THESE OUT FOR YOU!"

What did he have in his hand? The frilly purple lingerie thong. Not just in his hand, but waving it around in the air like a flag.
Fuck.My.Life.

I don't think I have ever jumped up from a sitting position so quickly in my entire adult life. I shot over to him and snatched them out of his hands (and only barely resisted the urge to smack him in the back of the head) in a fleeting attempt to hide them from the woman sitting in our living room who has likely now seen them and wonders what the fuck kind of kink we get into that leaves purple frilly lingerie lying around where small hands can grab them, and chucked them back up the stairs.

It was one of those embarrassing moments in life where you can feel your ENTIRE body burn.

She didn't bring it up, of course she didn't bring it up, and I couldn't bear to make eye contact with her to see if she was looking at me funny. Was I going to try to explain that I had NOT dressed up in lingerie but that it was a joke? Uhhhh no, if she didn't see them, I wasn't going to tell her about them! If she DID see them, what must she think??
Daddy picked them out for me? How would HOLDEN know if Thomas picked out lingerie for me to wear, WHY would he know. Oh dear sweet baby Jesus the horrifying possibilities are endless. I don't even want to think anymore about what she must think.

I'm thinking of moving to another country and changing my name.

PartyLite for the holidays

2011-12-21T01:00:00.001-05:00

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of PartyLite Simple Pleasures Holiday Sweepstakes for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

I was first introduced to PartyLite by a friend of mine who became a consultant for them and absolutely fell in LOVE.

PartyLite is the world's #1 direct seller of premium candles and home-fragrance products, and I can tell you that from what I have seen through my friend, they do not disappoint! There are over 60,000 people worldwide selling PartyLite products through parties and websites.

It makes a great way just to get together with friends to eat and talk and when you host a PartyLite party there are SO many things you can earn. You could end up being able to redecorate your home for little to no money at all by becoming a consultant.

Even better news is that if you register for the PartyLite Simple Pleasures Holiday Sweepstakes by December 15th, you could win one of 5 $500 PartyLite gift cards. I can't imagine all of the things I could do with that much money! My house would certainly look refreshed, that's for sure.

When my friend throws her parties, she invites friends, family, neighbors, even the men in her life enjoy going to her parties. Everyone always has a really good time, and finds a little something for themselves or someone else in their life.

The new Winter/Spring collection launched on Dec. 16th where you can find really cute things like these candles I just came across

really, how cute are those?

Check out the PartyLite Facebook to browse more of the collection and see if you find something you like, or if PartyLite is something you might wan to consider selling.

What do I look like? Martha-freakin'-Stewart?

2011-12-20T20:40:00.000-05:00

As if there isn't enough competition in the "I'm the best Holiday Mommy EVER" category, what with that ridiculous and completely terrifying bastard The Elf on the Shelf whose eyes creepily follow you all around the room and destroys your home for the sake of shits, giggles, and somehow keeping your kids in line, the "look at my handmade decorations that took us 7 hours to make" that other moms show off when and however they can that make you feel like the biggest slacker on the planet, the cornucopia of time wasting "oh but they're so fun!" crafts and the far-too-professional looking Santa pictures... now I have to worry about keeping up the illusion of Santa with my absolute non-creative self, just to not feel like the worst parent on the face of the earth
What?

I don't usually go Baaahhh-ing along with the crowd; I have boycotted the elf, I don't do crafts, I hate Christmas music, I only take the kids to see Santa because one insists and the other is hilariously terrified... but DAMNIT, i'm not going to ruin the whole Santa-shpeal and be looked at through the nose by all the over-achieving Christmas lovers.

In order to continue to perpetuate what some may consider a lie, it appears that I have to buy different wrapping paper, change my hand-writing, make different tags, fancier wrap-jobs (since elves don't fucking SUCK at it like I do) all so the kids don't know the gifts are from ME and not the big-man himself?
Sigh.. COME ON! I braved the crowds, I spent the money when I didn't want to, even bought them gifts I know will annoy the piss out of me... and now I have to put extra time and effort and energy into my least favorite thing on the planet: wrapping??

In addition to all of that, I then have to stay up late and make SURE not to put these newly bedazzled gifts out until Santa "comes down the chimney"?
What's next, dragging my ass onto the roof in the bitter December cold and stomping on the ceiling while jingling bells- risking death mind you- just so if the children happen to wake up they think "OMFG SANTA REALLY IS HERE!" ... only so that I can be the BEST Christmas mom on the planet? Well if EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING IT!!!

No. The answer is just no! To be quite honest with you, my kids are NOT that smart yet. They are not going to look at wrapping paper, compare it to others, then cross-reference the fucking handwriting and say "Um, mother, I can tell you wrote this and not Santa." followed by that oh-so familiar look on their faces of "Bitch please"

I'm already giving the jolly old lard ass credit for all of my hard work, and now i'm supposed to wrap presents *SPECIAL* for him. Uh-uh, no no no, not as long as I can get away with not doing it. My idea of gifts from Santa are tags written in all-caps, while the ones from Mommy and Daddy are in lowercase.

How ya like THEM apples Elite-Christmas moms??

That's right, i'm a Christmas slacker and I am PROUD of it. I won't be giving into the overly obsessive Elf-on-a-shelfing, intense fantastical bedazzled cookie icing, crafts that look like they could be sold for $50 in magazines, ugly sweater-wearing, expensive tree decorating, Christmas caroling, special Santa papering competitive Christmas-Mommy craze.

The day I do that is the day I started listening to Justin Bieber, and you can put money on that'll be the day after NEVER.

Letting that eggnog guzzling reindeer lover take credit for some of the most expensive gifts is as Christmas cheery as it's gonna get, and to me, is a good enough indication of my Christmas-freakin'-spirit.
I am not Martha Stewart and I never will be!

New specs for the holidays

2011-12-20T03:05:00.001-05:00

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Zenni Optical for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

Being that it is toward the end of the year, we still have money in our FSA account to blow, and have had no idea how to spend it. It appears we put far too much in the account, and if we don't use it, we lose it. This does not please me one single bit.

We recently started toying around with the idea of getting me new eyeglasses, it's been far too long and not only are my frames ill-fitting, but the prescription is all wrong. This is not good for driving, as I need to be able to read road signs. Better safe than sorry I always say!

I was recently directed to a website with a HUGE supply of cheap eyeglasses, and let me tell you, I am a fan. I may very well have found a way to spend our FSA account by the end of the year, and not just get ONE set of frames, but multiples. Why not be festive, especially during this time of the year?

I'm thinking this red pair might really get me in the holiday spirit:

Cute, right? If you're looking for a good holiday gift for someone who wears glasses- this might be the perfect website for you. Cheap an fashionable!

Let me know which ones you like!

Resistance is futile: Naps.

2011-12-19T21:00:00.000-05:00

If I could convince my children that fighting nap time was futile, I would be a WIZARD. Everyone would be running to me for advice and I would find myself on morning talk shows all over the world.
Alas, that is not the case. I am not sure that I will ever be able to figure out that reason that children think nap time is some kind of twisted punishment made up by parents just to get rid of them for a few short hours (um...), and not a fantastic break in the day to SLEEP, which is awesome, and not be an asshole by 5pm.

Naps save lives. I'm not sure if the children's or the parent's... but it does, mark my words!

Alas, when I say the resistance of naps is futile, I was referring to my very own resistance.

You see, Parker has LONG since balked the notion of ever napping in his bed. There was the one day reprieve from sweating all over me (yes, he naps ON me, at over 2 years old) but that's been it. It's all mommy, all the time. Mommy doesn't have big boobs but she sure is a comfy pillow.

I have learned to choose my battles (I will write a whole other blog on that some other time), so instead of hearing him screaming for the better half of 2 hours in his room, mommy pillow it is. And to be serious, I don't mind THAT much. How much longer is he willingly going to cuddle with me? Before I know it he'll be calling me "mom", or even worse, "mother" and will be embarrassed to be seen with me in public. I am going to soak this shit up for as long as he allows.

The problem lies in the fact that there is something about small children sleeping that is contagious. It's airborne. Once they fall asleep, they give off what I like to call "baby tryptophans" that cause everyone in their relative area to find themselves being lulled into a comatose state along with them. They are worse than Thanksgiving turkey.

Being that my smallest spawn sleeps on me, I have absolutely no way of protecting myself from this.

Every single day I find myself snapping my head up after my chin has slowly fallen to my chest. This happens over and over and over, and while I know it sounds like I could be describing 99% of your run-of-the-mill porno, I can assure you, falling asleep and drooling on yourself while holding a 2 year old is not nearly as sexy (if you're into porn, that is).
There's nothing quite like watching tv, and then your eyes start to roll back; as hard as you try to fight it, before you know it, your jerking your head back up. You are slightly confused, you didn't think you were that tired! You shake the feeling off, usually literally- but as soon as you think you have your head bobbing under control it happens again. This continues for a full 45 minutes and by the end you're so groggy and your neck is so fucking sore all you can do is thank the sweet baby jesus that no one else was around to witness it.

Now I realize at this point you may be thinking "what's the problem? Didn't you JUST rant about how awesome napping is? Shut the hell up and TAKE ONE"
And that is where we get to the saddest part of the story:
I.can't.nap.

Ok not can't.. I CAN, but if I do, I wake up sick. Not just sick, but REALLY sick- and the entire rest of the day is ruined.
What kind of person CAN'T nap when they have every opportunity to do so? Me, that's who. And to say that it SUCKS is the understatement of the century.

What I wouldn't give for a few hours of peaceful slumber during the day, meanwhile, my kids toss, turn, whine, fight, complain, use the "I have to doodoo" excuse... every possible resource that a 2 and 4 year old could come up with, they do.

One day, and I know it's coming sooner rather than later, they will be teenage boys who will love nothing more than to sleep the day away- and I will remind them of what asshats they were during nap time as children, although i'm sure they won't care... and by that time i'll be so old and exhausted that it's likely I won't even remember to bitch.

Maybe then i'll nod off and not care anymore, and wake up actually feeling refreshed. Fingers crossed!

I sound just like my mom!

2011-12-18T20:58:00.000-05:00

Growing up for me, like most peoples childhoods, was a weird experience. To be frank (and you can be mary!): I was a brat. A serious brat. An evil little shitheaded kid. But when you think about it, what kid isn't?

There are a lot of rules, regulations, things we can't touch or play with or even LOOK at without getting in trouble, and why? Because Mommy said so? Well who the fuck made her ruler of the universe? If I want to play with my god damn My Little Pony in the bathtub, I AM GOING TO PLAY WITH MY GOD DAMN MY LITTLE PONY IN THE BATHTUB!! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TRY TO RUIN MY LIFE????

As children the ENTIRE world seems to be working against us when we want to climb on top of the dresser and jump onto the bed, because flying is fucking awesome and that's the closest we'll ever get, or when we don't want to eat our vegetables because they are 'yucky' and can't see ANY good reason why we should be forcing them down our throats; shouldn't everything we eat be delicious and covered in chocolate?

We find ourselves saying, on more than one occasion: "When I have kids I will NEVER do the things to them my parents did to me!"
And our parents laugh and reply "I can't wait until you have kids either" with an oh-so knowing look on their faces.

Years we spend screaming and cursing our parents for laying down the law, we stomp our feet and scream obscenities, even tell them we hate them- and then we grow the fuck up, have our own kids, and realize what DOUCHEBAGS we had been all along.

All the things we swore we wouldn't do, the things we swore we wouldn't say? All seem completely ridiculous.

Oh i'll let my kid eat candy all day and i'll NEVER make them eat their veggies! I won't give them curfews, i'll let them come and go as they please because they'll be good! I won't give them a bed time or tell them that 27 hours of Spongebob in a row is NOT going to happen!

YEAH.RIGHT.
If only 27 year old me could tell 11 year old me what an idiot I was.

I now understand why my parents told me to be a part of the "clean plate club"- it wasn't really because children are starving in Africa, even though that is a good reason not to put more on your plate than you can eat, but because food is EXPENSIVE and when kids don't eat it, it pisses parents off! Kids are picky little shits, and without enforcement, will attempt to fast. Never did I think I would hear "If you don't like it, LUMP it" coming out of my mouth- but it does, and often. I used to get mad, I used to HATE that saying, I used to throw tantrums each and every time I heard it- and now it is a regular in my 'things to say to my kids' rotation- because fuck if i'm going to be a short order cook because one second you said you wanted chicken and rice and 4 later it is the most vile thing on earth and you would not deign to eat it.

With each day that passes, I find myself thinking more and more often: "Holy shit, I sound just like my MOM!" and while before I thought that was a bad thing, I am now beginning to see the light. It is in fact quite the opposite.

All those hours spent fighting over my parents when they told me not to stand 2 inches away from the TV screen or i'd go blind- calling them liars and insisting that it was absolutely necessary for my mental well-being not to move away- I now get. If you don't lie to your kids, they DO NOT LISTEN. And if you don't tell them to get the hell away from the TV they will rot their little brains and melt their eyeballs.

Why can't we take every single toy we own into the bathtub? Well that one is SIMPLE- it would ruin them! And you can bet your tiny ass that I won't be running out to the store to buy you another of the same exact toy because you gave the first one a death by drowning in the tub.

The strict bed times, the insisting of brushing your teeth (and thoroughly at that), cleaning up after yourself, the no back-sass rule... it ALL MAKES SENSE NOW! All of it is so very clear in my head.

Despite the flaws and mistakes, my parents weren't trying to punish me... for the most part.. They were just trying to make sure I didn't kill myself or cause permanent brain damage. I now appreciate all the things I once hated, because without it- i'd probably be sitting in a corner somewhere, drooling all over myself and muttering about lima beans.

Isn't that what we all want for our kids? No, not the drooling part, but to keep them safe. Duh.