Excuses Excuses

Maria Kang has caused another mommy controversy on the internet these past few weeks (see here).   She posted a picture of herself in tight workout gear with her three kids next  to her.  The caption reads, “What’s Your Excuse?!”  People say it’s fat shaming, judgy, etc.  Also, she’s a bad mom for ignoring her kids to get fit.  I say patooey on the whole thing.  I just read this from Baby Sideburns (The New Rules of Mommyhood) and I completely agree.  100%.  Did you read them both?  If so, do that, then COME BACK.  Don’t get sidelined by Kim K’s engagement ring or that Joss & Main ad.

I say let each mom be each mom.  If Maria Kang can work out and be gorgeous and a good mom, rock on with her bad self.  You can’t call her a bad mom.  She’s just doing what’s right for her, and you have no idea whether she’s a bad mom or not.  You have very limited information.  This tends to piss me off (see here).

BUT, in fun, I thought I’d offer my excuses for Why Not?

  • Traveling husband/dad
  • Full time job including travel time/daycare drop-off
  • 2 very fast moving hours a night with my kids (must include feeding, bathing, homework)
  • I would rather read.  Currently the Black Dagger Brotherhood.  Seriously, I CANNOT PUT THEM DOWN.  Vampires + porn + 12 books 500+ pages each = How’s a 7:00 bedtime sound kids??
  • I can’t read on the treadmill, it makes me nauseous.
  • I really like to eat.  I could write a love letter to food that would be more erotic than one to my husband.  Seriously, if above mentioned vampires ate food the entire 500 pages, I’d still be totally turned on.
  • If I do get the rare opportunity to use our local YMCA membership, I am totally intimidated by gym people and the equipment, so I wuss out and get on the treadmill for a half hour, which I could totally do at home.  And at home, I could wear just a sports bar and shorts, and not have to worry about various exposed jiggly parts or the fact my vagina is slowing trying to consume my shorts.  (Shut it!  You know it happens to you too!).  Plus there’s the ick factor of hopping on a machine after sweaty, hairy guy vacates it without wiping it down.
  • Working out makes me sweat.  I hate being hot and sweaty.  I don’t have enough underwear to make this comfortable.
  • Working out at home is all the way DOWNSTAIRS.
  • I have trouble balancing my Kindle on the equipment to watch TV.  Music is nice, but I need some visual eye candy.  Maybe I could hire some firemen to dance in front of me whilst I work out.  Nope, scratch that, see above workout gear.
  • My available work out times are 4:30 to 5:30 a.m. or 9:00 to 10:00 p.m.  Those are definitely my optimum energy hours.  I think of all the times I’ve planned to get up and exercise in the morning, I think I’ve done it maybe twice in my whole life.  The road to hell is paved with good intentions…and donuts.
  • I hate healthy food.  Every day, I bring an apple to work.  Each day, I add said apple to my ever growing bushel in my food drawer. Eventually I will make a pie with them.
  • I can’t pronounce edamame or quinoa, therefore, can’t buy them for fear the cashier will want to talk about them, hence exposing my ignorance.
  • I hate healthy food.  Seriously.  Hate it.  My ideal “healthy” snack is a spoonful of Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter.
  • I love pop.  I hate water.  Just saying it makes me happy (POP, POP, POPPEDTY POP POP).  Water makes me sad and bored, and doesn’t wash down that candy bar aftertaste like a pop can.  God, I can hear me becoming diabetic.
  • Diets make me instantly hungry.  Just thinking about a diet makes me hungry.  Like, right now.  Do I have any cheesesticks in the fridge?  Is it too late for nachos?
  • My happy pills make me tired and slow my metabolism.
  • My allergy pills make me tired and you know, probably slow my metabolism too.
  • My kids make me tired.  Seriously, ever spend an hour yelling to get them into bed, brush teeth, poop, pee, break up fights, break up giggle fests, freak out over homework not done, get water for parched daughter, tell son why he cannot have water, argue about how long he can read, assure daughter there are no monsters in the house or room,  spray monster repellent into room just in case, reassure daughter all is OK after her nightmare (which she hasn’t had yet, because she has yet to close her eyes), tuck them in, re-tuck them in after they get up to rearrange their stuffed animals, trim a “nail” (read hangnail that is obviously life-threatening), put band-aid on non-existent boo boo, hear about friend’s vacation, talk about our vacation, and so on….?  Yeah, by the time they have finally given up the fight for the night, all I want to do is sit and stare at the wall.  Puttin on exercise gear (see hot description above), tennis shoes (apparently this is a Midwesterners’  term, so OK rest of America “shoes”), get water, desired electronic device for entertainment and heading downstairs does not sound appealing.  A glass of wine, a good book and/or catching up on New Girl and Vampire Diaries does however.

I want to be one of those women.  Like Maria Kang.  I want to LOVE exercise.  I want to LOVE healthy eating.  I go in cycles.  My husband usually times them.  I get on the wagon, detox for a week (read:  miserable, hungry, constant internal yelling at self), slowly start feeling awesome, crave working out, then BAM Coldstone happens or sick happens or tired happens and I am off the wagon on a binge most heroin addicts would say, Calm down lady, why don’t we ease up a little eh?  (Because my heroin addicts are Canadian.)

So, those are my excuses.  They are lame I know.  I am slowly killing myself I know.  It’s a vicious cycle.  I feel like I am a hamster stuck on a spinning wheel.  Only my spinning wheel consists of a couch, Kindle, Hulu and a snuggie.

Good night!

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

“MOOOOM!!!”

Silence. Maybe they won’t see me. Maybe they’ll just go back outside.

“Mom! You have to come see this! There’s a bunny leg that looks dead outside in the yard!”

Uh, no thanks, I’m good here. Just don’t touch anything that looks dead ok?

“No! You have to see this!”

FINE. Reluctantly I step into the yard to see what has my children, as well as the gaggle of neighborhood kids all huddled around my empty flower bed.  Some already have sticks in hand to do what kids do best – poke dead things.

NO ONE TOUCH THAT THING!!

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Yes folks, I had in my mulch just under my bedroom window a completely disemboweled, decapitated squirrel. OK, it turned out to be a bunny, but hey, without a head, it’s difficult to identify. Either way – disgusting.

The thing had died a horrible death. I can’t see a head, maybe it’s tucked up underneath the body. The stomach had been ripped open, with a circular brown organ sitting neatly beside it, as if it’s carnivorous attacker couldn’t stomach it. Seriously, I was waiting for Hannibal Lector to walk around the corner with a nice Chianti and a side of fava beans.

I shooed the kids away, but they were like moths to a flame. One ran to get his mom, as if I had decimated the thing personally and she was the only one who could resuscitate it. G wanted to know why the bunny had to die like that. It’s nature sweetie, some things eat other things. Give me a second to figure out how to explain the food chain to you AFTER I deal with its latest casualty. One kid took sentry up next to it in an effort to dissuade the other kids away with a fully loaded Nerf gun. There was no moving this kid, he was the lookout and that was that. I let him be as I stared at the disgustingness trying to figure out how to handle this.

Ah what the hell, daylight was fading, I was tired. Let’s go find something of Mark’s in the garage to cover it with. Ah Ha! 1 nice empty orange paint bucket will work nicely as I procrastinate one more thing I don’t want to do. So, much to the entire neighborhood’s disappointment, I gently covered the carcass with the bucket and placed a stone overtop so wind, animals or human animals did not knock it over “accidentally.” I kicked everyone out for the evening, went inside and locked the door, fully intending on leaving it for Mark to deal with Saturday morning. Three days later.

The next day, I hemmed and hawed about whether to “man” up and take care of it or leave it to my husband, because you know, I’m just a girl, I’m dainty and frail, and frankly, it’s icky.

Crap. I have to take care of it. What if the neighbor kids touch it, get rabies and die? Hello lawsuit.  Also, what if its young came a hoppin along only to discover its mother brutally murdered and covered with little to no care? Nope, this family has lived through enough as it is. OR what if its sadistic murderer comes back to rip off some legs too? Then I would have even more mess scattered throughout the yard, which would lead to more rabid kids and distraught bunny offspring and grieving bunny husbands. So, I put the kids in front of the TV, suited up and decided to tackle this thing on my own.

With light fading fast, I grabbed the spade shovel out of the shed and walked around to stare at the bucket.

I can’t do this.

Yes I can. People in the country do this all the time.

F you. I live in the CITY for a reason. Plus it’s super dark in the country and you know that’s where murderers lie in wait for their next victims.

OK, calm down….What if I knock the bucket over and something springs up at me? What if it stinks? Do I bury it or throw it out?

After some more staring and Facebook mea culpas, I decided on throwing it in a trash bin (with a bag in it), since burying it was a lot of work, and let’s face it, I didn’t know this bunny. I knocked the bucket over with the shovel and jumped out of the way like it was Frankenstein’s bunny come back to life to eat/kill me for locking it in a bucket for 24 hours. No such luck. Still deader than a doornail.

I took a deep breath, looked pleadingly across the street at the neighbor who is ALWAYS out manicuring her lawn, as if willing her to help me, and dug in. I got a good load of dirt from under it so I couldn’t feel it’s body and dumped it into the waiting trash can. I then proceeded to get the heeby jeebies for the next minute or so (Still no neighborly love coming my way. She’s probably mad at me because every fall I stare out my front window at them tractor vacuuming their leaves up until their yard is spotless, trying to use The Force to will her husband over to my pitiful yard, but alas, never have they come over.).

Once the shakes stopped, I realized this bunny had no head. Wait, isn’t there a rhyme that goes with this?

Fuzzy bunny loves some honey.

Fuzzy bunny lost its head.

Fuzzy bunny wasn’t so fuzzy was he?

No? Not ringing a bell? K. Nevermind.

Then I freak out. WHERE IS THE FREAKIN HEAD? Is there a falcon or hawk somewhere with a trophy nest of bunny/squirrel heads? Does some ‘roided out cat have its head as a necklace to warn all other neighborhood wildlife that it’s not fuckin around? Crap! What if it’s still in the yard somewhere? What kind of creature rips heads off animals?

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. As you can see, I am a city girl at heart. For some of you, this probably happens with some regularity, but for me, this was a extraordinary experience. I am forever scarred. I will always be on the hunt for your killer, Fuzzy Bunny. I WILL NOT FORGET.

I remember

9-11-01

This day always bums me out a bit.  Well me, and the rest of America.  12 years ago today was a day I’ll never forget.  It just so happens the three days before that is a day I’ll never forget either.

Yep folks, I got married three days before 9/11.  Which means my where were you on 9/11 story happens right smack in the middle of our honeymoon.  The world had come to a screetching halt and we had to put on a happy face to squeeze every last dime out of our Caribbean cruise and overpriced day excursion in Cozumel.

It was 9:30 a.m. when the Captain came on for his usual morning announcements, except his tone was somber and he told us today was a sad day for America and to turn on our TVs and he would be back momentarily to brief us on what he knew.

We turned on our TV to CNN to watch the first tower burning inexplicably while the newscasters tried to guess what happened.  Seconds later my new husband and I watched the second plane fly into the second tower on live TV.  It still makes me nauseous to this day to remember that feeling.  We watched in horror like everyone else that day when the Captain came back on to tell us we’d all been background checked and cleared.  After an hour or so of watching the coverage, we stumbled shell-shocked out of our room to attempt to enjoy our day.  It was a somber excursion to a beach in which I remember only wanting to talk about what was going on back in the real world.  A couple attempting to relax next to us shakily shared that the husband worked in one of the buildings next door to the World Trade Center and he’d be at work if he hadn’t taken this vacation.

People needed a release on our ship and I think either that night or the next day they organized a memorial service for anyone who wanted to join.  So many people were tied to people near or in the towers, trying to connect back home.  Most were like me, just numb by how one minute it’s a normal Tuesday morning, and the next you’re not sure what’s happening in this world and if you can ever go back to normal.

It took me two days to realize CNN had never gone to commercial.  It wasn’t until we got home that we realized the entire nation had pretty much stopped in its entirety.  Cell phones were around, but not with the coverage as we know today and it didn’t even occur to me to call home to tell our family we were fine.    Internet was not quite yet the go to source it is today and charged for access which was limited while at sea anyways.  My cousin who was a travel planner and organized our trip frantically made back up arrangements for us to rent a car to drive back to Ohio from Miami in the event we could not fly out as planned the following Saturday.

It took forever to get for every single person to be cleared by the FBI to step foot off the ship.  We were corralled out of our rooms in the morning and sat on various decks for 3 hours listening to conspiracy theorists, tall tales and hearsay being flung around the common areas like poo.  The cruise line offered half off stays for the next week because so many people had cancelled for the following week.

Ultimately, we did make it home uneventfully.  We rolled into Miami Airport on a shuttle bus, past heavily armed military units, bomb-sniffing dogs and people with mirrors checking under cars for bombs.  Security was crazy high.  Airports were eerily quiet and somber.  The plane ride was even more quiet.  You knew how tense everyone was when everyone cheered as we landed safely in Detroit.  Cheered.  NO ONE cheers when they land in Detroit.

We made it home and Monday returned to our lives.  We’re still married happily and have two kids who have yet to know of that day.  Fortunately, they’ll never have quite the same feeling about it as their dad and me.  I just hope they don’t ever have a Where Were You When story in their lifetimes.

Party Planner

Who wouldn't want to make this kid smile?
Who wouldn’t want to make this kid smile?

I am FREAKING out. I have NO time to be putting together a birthday party for my 7 year old! I want this to be EPIC. But not so epic that we set the bar too high for next year and not enough to put us in debt. But, I want my little boy to be thrilled about his big day.

I just spent around $50 on favor gift bags that if the parents of the kids invited are like me, they will slowly but surely throw each and every crap toy away when said joys of life are looking the other way.

We got a bouncy house to compliment the pool, which will hopefully be warm. The pool, not the bouncy house, because that would be gross. I will hope and pray no one breaks an arm or cracks their head doing something only 7 year old boys can think up.

I am filling up water balloons, because frankly, I’m an idiot and will enjoy picking up balloon fragments for the next three weeks. (I initially used the words “rubber pieces,” but I thought that was a poor word choice.)

I will have to listen to Harlem Shake and Gangham Style no less than 35 times in a two hour period.

I will have roughly 24 kids underfoot, 80% of them boys. Who are all approximately 7 years old. I think I will install a urinal in the garage so as to avoid the puddles of pee I will inevitably find behind my toilet in our one and only bathroom. I’ll have to stock up on toilet paper and soap that’s for sure. HA! Not likely. I am not sure boys know what either of those things are.

Cool part is if we survive this one, we get to do it all again in 3 weeks for my daughter who will be turning 5, who will want no less than the most awesome party ever. If I don’t figure out how to get unicorns to show up, I am so dead to her. It’s our own fault really. Christmastime makes us really randy, so two September birthdays it is. Up until this point we’ve had them together and for family only, but they are now two very different animals, ahem kids, and we had to give them their own parties and not punish them for our Christmas/New Year’s fertility successes.

Do you think she'll buy it?
Do you think she’ll buy it?

Positive points: Cookie cake. Crazy presents and a little boy who will be super excited to see a RC helicopter in the pile. A kiddo who will have the best time and entertain some hopefully long-term friends. Worth it right? I think so.

Wish me luck. If you see me on Saturday, just know I will be at least one Xanax deep. That reminds me, I need to get that prescription filled again. I wonder if they prescribe it in bulk?

THE LIST
THE LIST

Say Goodnight Gracie

When my son turned 1, he was given a gift by my Aunt and Uncle. I always remember this gift because it is a light activated animal puzzle. When you take the piece out it moos, woofs, meows, oinks, and cock-a-doodle-doos per its corresponding animals. My Aunt laughed when I opened it and made the comment she was pretty sure I might not appreciate this as much as Bear would. Well 6 years later, the puzzle is still alive and well, even though various attempts have been made on its life. All but one piece have survived and it can not be found. See if you can guess which one it is. (This by the way is how G is greeted and goodnighted every night/morning whenever we turn the lights on or off. Enjoy.

Stick a Fork in Me

Let me recap my day.

12:01 a.m.  “Mommee, can I sleep with you?”   Waaa?  Um OK, sure. 

1:00 a.m.  G!  STOP KICKING ME!!  “BUT I WANT TO!!!!”

1:05 a.m.  “Mommy?  Do you know I kick you because I love you?”  Thanks G, but maybe you could show it in another way mkay?  Now go to sleep. 

2:00 a.m.  My lower half commences punishment for the lovely soft serve ice cream I treated myself to that evening.  If anyone sees me ordering and/or eating soft serve, milkshakes, etc.  please smack it out of my hand.  Because 2 a.m. is a BITCH.

5:15 a.m.  Commence G screaming and holding her ears in pain and running a low fever.  Run to get Motrin in her and some cold water.  Did I mention yesterday was a week after a tonsillectomy/adenoid removal surgery?  Most kids are raring to go in 2 days, back to doing the usual shenanigans, but no, my G will take the full 2 week recovery time and be miserable the entire time.  I hope and pray it’s worth it.  This has been a hell of a year sickness-wise.

7:00 a.m.  Wake up.  Fortunately got to sleep in a bit because today is the first day of 1st grade!!!  Woo hoo!  I get to pretend I don’t work for a few minutes and get the pleasure of driving my kiddo to school.  Wait, damn.  Started my period.  Commence day of cramps.

8:35 a.m.  Realize I have been farting around for an hour and a half and start screaming for everyone to get in the car, while I haven’t gotten dressed yet and the kids are only halfway there.  Apparently 1.5 hours is not as long as I think it is.

8:55 a.m.  Drop Bear off at school.  Hover nervously until I realize I am making things worse, then leave.  Tear up for God knows why.  I am excited about this day, why am I crying?

 

First day!  Can you see BOTH of them?  hee hee
First day! Can you see BOTH of them? hee hee

 

9:00 a.m.  Drop G off at Grandma and Papa’s cause there’s no way she’s going to back to preschool this week.  Too bad I paid for half a week optimistically.

9:30 a.m.  Get to work.  Receive icy glare from co-worker whom has been dumped with all my work from my yesterday call off due to no sitters and a still sad, pathetic recovering daughter and a late start today due to school starting.  Commence work, attempt to prove I am a team player.  Turn brain off.

3:40 p.m.  Receive frantic call from school secretary.  What number bus is Bear supposed to be on?  What 5, not 6?  He’s NOT supposed to go home, but to daycare?  Just like he’s telling us?  Just like last year?  OHHH.  Well he missed that bus because we told him not to get on the right one, can you come get him?

3:42 p.m.  Calm upset son down.  Call Grandma and Papa frantically.  G/P to the rescue.  All’s fixed.  Make several phone calls to ensure this doesn’t happen again.

3:43 p.m.  Get report from G/P that G is not doing so hot today.  Call ENT AGAIN to be reassured this is very normal and as long as she’s eating and drinking and no fever over 102, she’s on her way to recovery, BUT it could be another week away from being over.  Sigh.

3:45 p.m.  Stare at margarita mix in the fridge (Yes, we have that at work and yes, it’s mine.  It’s not such a bad place to work really.).  Try to figure out if I can have a drink and still drive across town in an hour and then stay awake the rest of the evening.   Decide against.  I am such a friggin trooper.

5:00 p.m.  Due to being late, not in my usual parking place in the Parking Garage of Horrors (aka our underground, multi-level, low ceiling, heavily pillared, tiny parking spaced, hairpin turn building parking garage), I attempt to back out of a space completely opposite what I’m used to and BAM!  Despite, a back up camera, various beeping safety features and blind spot detectors, I have hit a pillar HARD with my just over a year old super pretty mom-mobile.  Now, it looks like this.

Seriously.  Worst.  Driver. EVER.
Seriously. Worst. Driver. EVER.

5:10 p.m.  Call hubby and swear and cry A LOT.  Assurance given that I won’t be killed for car and kids will be OK.

5:30 p.m.  Get to G/P house to be greeted with a homemade dinner and a kind ear.  Guess it all isn’t bad is it?

7:00 – 8:30 p.m.   Return home, bath wrangle (see this post for that experience), be told THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER, simply because I tried to wash her hair.  Get yelled at for making a 6  year old go poop even though he’s farting so bad he’s making it hard to breathe in here. Watch Tinkerbell Secret of the Wings AGAIN.  Read books – Barbie Charm School AGAIN.  (It was G’s night to pick.)

9:00 a.m.  Tell my sad story to you fine folks and listen to my cat yowl from the bedroom.   The one waiting for her turn and her nightly wet nose, pile of hair rubdown.

Stick a fork in me folks.  I’m done.

BUT.  If I was in politics, I would spin it like this.

Snuggle with daughter all night!

Midnight cleanse!

Sleep in later!

I’m not pregnant!

Take kids to school!  See new class and teacher, get to be excited and present as a parent!

I have a job!

I have people to come to my rescue!

I can drink at work!

I have a new car to scrape up!

Supportive husband!

Supportive family!

Free, prepared, delicious dinner!

Quality kid time!

Get love from a devoted kitty!

I guess it’s all in how we look at it right?

Good night y’all.  Here’s to a less eventful tomorrow.

 

 

Catching Up

Shenanigans
Shenanigans

I have gotten too out of the habit of posting.  I miss me, don’t you?  I need to be funny again.  Quit being so pissy.  So let’s give it a whirl.

“Mom, I like Dad better because he is super awesome and I love him.”

Eye roll.  “Thanks G.  I like him too.”

“And he’s funnier than you too.”

“Shut the front door girlfriend.  He may be cooler and funner (shut it spell check, it’s a word) and smarter, but there is no freakin way he’s funnier.”

“Yep, he is.  I love him.”

The best dad ever.  He gives me unicorns for my birthday!
The best dad ever. He gives me unicorns for my birthday!

This from the girl who at dinner prayers this evening, she thanked God for giving her unicorns for her birthday.  This is because Mark and I are having a crisis of organized religion at the moment and figure we should at least introduce our kids to the God we want them to know.  So let’s start by thanking Him for our food.  This went fairly well until Bear blurts out, “Thank you for our food…and our pee pees.”   But I guess what guy doesn’t thank God for his pee pee?  He’s starting early.

Ah, privates.  My kids are obsessed with them.  I am not sure why.  Their age?  Is that all they talk about in summer camp?  I don’t know, I feel like I should worry, but it’s hard not to get the giggles when your son is taking your homegrown yellow squash and holding it up to his pants and waving it around like it’s some sad tired version of Florida.

I try to keep the potty words to a minimum.  I do, I swear.  But if I leave them to their own devices for more than 30 seconds, the conversation always turns to pee and poop and then loud guffawing.  That’s right, my kids guffaw.   It’s the best sound in the world.  I think maybe this family does a bit too much guffawing.

School starts next week.  Ya HOO!  I say this because Bear just spent the summer with a bunch of young students serving as his day camp counselors.  Please don’t get me wrong, it’s been great, but when you have an ADHD kid, whom you’ve spent the past four years diagnosing, treating, therapying, studying, and lastly medicating, the last thing you want to hear at the end of the day is this question, “He’s kind of hyper, have you had him tested for ADHD?  I just took a class on it and he has all the classic signs.”  This from a 20 year old early education student, eyes gleaming with excitement that she has a real live crazy kid.  All ready to diagnose and treat.  Well have at it sister.  For the fourth time, yes, he’s medicated, no it’s not fool proof, and no the pill is not magic.  He’s going to have rough days.  Mondays after vacation for one.  When his schedule has been put in the blender and put on pulverize.  I don’t excuse his behavior, I just don’t know what to do with it in summer daycare.  We will tinker with the medicine again, just like we did last time.  Frankly, this isn’t the best setting for him either and I can’t fix that at the moment either.  Putting a 6 year old in an open room with a ton of other kids ranging from 1st to 6th graders, you’re going to get some hyperactivity.  Too much stimulation, not enough focusing.  It’s rough.  Combine that with a bunch of kids (them damn whipper snappers!) fresh out of college who 1) think I might be pregnant and aren’t afraid to ask, 2) only have textbook skills and not enough real life kid skills to handle my kid, and you have a big ole mess for a kid with sensory and ADHD issues.

Not sure what my alternatives are, but I’ll think of something.  He could always come to work with me, it’s nice and quiet there, but I don’t think the boss would go for it, and I think he’d be mighty disappointed to find out his mother got a college education to type other people’s 2-sentence thoughts for a living.

I don’t know, I have 9 months to figure it out.

And we can’t forget his sister, my adorable G, who merely tolerates me while her dad is away.  My baby, who’s getting her tonsils out on Wednesday and is none too happy about it.  This I don’t want to think about too hard because while it’s a routine procedure and I know more kids who’ve had it done than not, it’s still making me nauseous on a fairly constant basis because this one is MY baby.  So, I have the house stocked with ice cream, popsicles, pudding and jello in hopes it will all go smoothly, which means my diet* is taking a headfirst dive into the crapper this week.  Plus, I found some Thin Mints in my co-worker’s office fridge this week.  Stress eating?  Don’t mind if I do.

Alright, that’s about it for this round.  What have we learned?

Look how freakin happy we are.
Look how freakin happy we are. Thank God Dad’s arm is so long or else we’d have to talk to a stranger.

 

G likes Dad better.

We are finding God.  One who likes gay people and isn’t so judgy and wholesome.

My kids two favorites things right now are penises and unicorns.

School is starting! Yay! because Day Camp + Pandemonium + Young Students who think I’m pregnant = One long fat summer.

Tonsils come out Wednesday.  Pray those are where the whiny tones are stored.

Good night y’all.  See, I can say this because my husband’s in Texas.

Lastly, one fun thing I learned this week:  Buck Knuckle.  This is a dude’s version of camel toe.  Cracks me up.  Thanks Anchorman 2.  I can’t wait.    And I wonder why my kids are so weird.

*Diet:  A term I like to throw out there every now and again to make people think I am actually trying to get thinner.

Random Thoughts and First World Problems

We are wrapping up a long weekend and since we are away from the usual chaos, I’ve had some moments to ponder things.  Random thoughts, realizing first world problems and so on.  So, in no particular order, here are a few thoughts that occur to me when given some idle time.

Ever rock out to a song and a whistle melody comes on and you join in and think,  I am really awesome at whistling!… only to realize it’s not actually you whistling but just the song? All you’re doing is making spitting blowing sounds like you usually do.

Here’s a first world problem…Going on vacation only to realize you don’t have wifi access and then the WHOLE THING IS RUINED.

Another one…getting in your keyless car only to have the car tell you Key Not in Vehicle, then you have to convince your car you do actually have the keys and are frantically waving it in front of the console in an effort to prove to THE CAR that it is in fact an idiot. Not you. Never you.

FWP:  When my kids get into my husband’s Jeep Wrangler rental car and can’t figure out what the crank is on the door and what it does.

Random thought: Do zits know you are going to see people who don’t see you everyday and probably won’t be wearing a lot of makeup?  Because I have a second nose slightly southeast of my God-given one that speaks before I do.  Ga!

Seriously, it speaks for me.
Seriously, it speaks for me.

RT:  Getting drunk on a boat is not quite the great idea you initially think it is.  Because after an entire bottle of wine, you can’t figure out if it’s the boat rocking or just you.  Or after said night of drinking, taking an hour long boat ride that jars your insides and loosens certain things that can’t be released ON A BOAT.

First world problem:  Not being able to decide whether to watch your TV shows on Amazon, Netflix or Hulu.  Or, your shows don’t load until the next day and you want to watch it 5 minutes after it ended on TV.  Or worse, you have to WAIT for the next season to come up.  (Hello last season of 30 Rock???  Where are you??)

Another FWP:  Leaving your coupon you’ve been saving for a month to use at home.  Or worse, forgetting you have it in your purse, or worse making a major shopping trip the day BEFORE Kohl’s cash starts up.

FWP:  Finishing a book and wanting to talk about it, only no one else has read it yet and you can’t share it on your Kindle.

FWP:  Having to drink actual water because you ran out of Vitamin Water.  (OK now, I am just looking at things around me.  Lamp.  I love lamp.)

Time to wrap up.   This photo got a lot of mileage, and just a heads up teachers, camp counselors, doctors, dentists and so on, when you hear my kids say “Ask your dam question,”  they actually mean ask a question about the dam behind us, because they know all about it, thought it was really cool and can’t quite figure out why adults find this so funny.

Ask your dam questions!  Look at all that dam water!  It went on and on and on.
Ask your dam questions! Look at all that dam water! It went on and on and on.

My Grown Up Birthday Wish(es)

Hug-me,-I-m-34-today!

I turn 34 today.  La de frickin da.  Not a really momentus age.  I’m not really a birthday person.  Some people treat it like the whole earth should shut down on this the day of their birth.  I guess I got over it pretty quick because as a kid being a summer birthday means no one at school ever really cared because you didn’t bring cupcakes, didn’t get balloons, and got lumped together with the 5 other kids on the last day of school for an unexcited rendition of happy birthday.

Summer birthdays do however, get to throw kick ass parties.  We get to go swimming, throw water balloons, drink frosty drinks, eat ice cream and not get the shivers, and have our parties outside.  Plus, no matter where you fall in the summer, you essentially get presents every six months – once in the winter and once in the summer!  So overall, not such a bad gig.

I thought I would share with you a few things I’d like for my birthday this year.  Feel free to help out if you can.

I would like my daughter to not have to go potty at every single public place to which we travel.

I would like to not have to wear Spanx today.

I would like to be able to eat an entire cookie cake and lose weight.

I would like to spend the day with my kids in the pool without having to reapply sunscreen constantly.

I would like my husband to be able to find work within a 20 mile radius of our house.   With awesome pay and benefits.  That brings him home at 4:30 promptly each day with no weekend work.  And to which he likes going.

I would like airline pilots to tell you the exact reason and specific timeframe for their delay.  Not everyone, just me.  It’ll be our secret.  (This is more for my husband.)

I would like my kids to wake each morning cheerful, motivated and on task to be ready at 7:15 a.m.  (Monday thru Friday).

I would like same kids to sleep each Saturday and Sunday until at least 9:00 a.m.  Then wake cheerfully….

I would like to not have the pimply skin of a 13 year old and the paunch of a middle age beer sluggin man.   But, I still want to eat brownies whenever I feel like it.

I want water to taste like the most fantastic drink on earth (IDK, margies, wine, pop, anything but nothing).

I want healthy food to actually fill me up (I’m talking to you fruits and vegetables).

I want people to stop dying of cancer (woah, that got heavy).

I would like to love exercising and not get assaulted by disgusting birds whilst trying to do it.  (See my FB Confessions of an Introvert page.  Then like the page.  Come on, I need you to like me!!!)

I would like unlimited funds in my Amazon and iTunes accounts to support my porn and music habit.

And the usual, personal chef, trainer, maid, nanny, and so on.  Oh yeah, and world peace, end to hunger, cure for AIDS and cancer.  All that’d be great.

Can we all get on that purty please???