Grrrrrr.

Crappy things that happened to me today:

• After hauling @ss to get to school in time for Large’s Poetry Reading, I spent the duration of the morning chasing Small around, trying to keep his sticky little hands off the hallway display of papier mache volcanoes and playing this game: 

“hi Mommy.”

“hi baby.”

“HI Mommy.”

“hi baby.”

“HI Mommy!”

“hi baby.”

“HI MOMMY!”

      We coulda played this at home.

Now offering Parenting Lessons.
Free of charge.  Aisle 7.

• During my weekly trip to my Place of Worship, Target, an employee who clearly is the epitome of Parenting and has more knowledge on how to raise my child than I do, pointed out that Small was standing on a chair in the café “and he could fall hurt himself.”  

         “Oh no, he’s fine.  Thanks!” I replied, kindly.

         And then he fell. 

        We need to work on his timing.

• I found out that the sleep study the allergist recommended and said would cost “maybe $180,” is really going to cost closer to $2000 out-of-pocket.  I mean, how important is it for the kid to be able to breathe clearly really?

• Medium had a temper tantrum, slammed the door into the door stop and put a hole in it.  We obviously need to work on his anger management.  He was not happy when I took $20 out of his bank to ostensibly cover part of the cost of the door.  Enter tantrum #2.  But you know what?  Apparently I have failed to teach my children about consequences and it’s about d*mn time they learn.  If I hear Hubby say “this is why we can’t have nice things!” one more time I’m going to have to break it to him that he sounds just like my dad.

• When I dropped Farley off at the vet so we could board him over the weekend, I had to endure condescending stares, just because Small was playing inside the kitty crate.

Ugh.  Yes, I said crappy.  Not tragic.  Not life-threatening.  Not devastating.  Just crappy.  Sometimes a gal’s just gotta vent a little.

Random Thoughts

• Hubby changed the lightbulb in the boys’ bathroom.  The Lightbulb Fairy usually takes care of these mundane tasks so that Hubby and our precious offspring never even notice a light is burned out, but I . . . I mean The Lightbulb Fairy . . . couldn’t reach this particular light.  Given my general lack of balance/grace/coordination, I thought it best to ask Hubby to do it.  The problem is that we got those "green" flourescent lights.  I’m pretty sure my neighbors think we have a grow light in our children’s bathroom.  I can assure you, we do NOT.  If we did, I would be so chill, dude. 

• Given my last post, How I've Been Spending/Wasting My Time, I’ve decided that I’m a Manic-Depressive Crafter.  I get creative to the point where my glue gun really needs its own holster.  (I could totally make my glue gun a holster!)   Then I do nothing but watch TV for two months.  I have been known to knit, scrapbook, arrange flowers, make wreaths, sew, bead, cross-stitch, and so on.  And then I have vegged on my couch.  How else do I explain the fact that I have seen all six seasons of Dawson’s Creek?

• I am an equal opportunity candy thief.  I separated the boys’ loot into two cereal bins and carefully marked their names on each.  The rest I threw in the trash because I could feel myself getting Type 2 Diabetes.  I don’t want one son to think I love the other more, so if I take two from Large’s bin I feel compelled to take two from Medium’s bin.  It’s because I love them so much, you see.  On the flip side, when Medium asked at BINGO the other night, “how come they get to buy cupcakes and we don’t?”  I replied with, “I guess their mother loves them more than I love you.” 

• I have been blessed with good neighbors.  During a recent bout of potty issues, (which you can ready ALL about here . . . um, you're welcome!)  my neighbor stepped up to the plate and insisted that she watch my boys so I could go to the OB/GYN in peace.  Well, at least as much peace as you can have with a curious toddler in tow:

• We had two teacher workdays last week, so the boys were out of school on Monday and Tuesday.  In lieu of telling them to please, fortheloveofpete, chill the f*ck out, I made them harness their chi with a little yoga.

• And finally . . . the decorating challenges of the coach’s wife.  Yes, folks, that is a big-@ss trophy that has taken up residence ON my mantle IN the family room where everyone can see it.  

I hate trophies.  They are hideous, obnoxious, plastic, unnaturally-colored, phallically-shaped, dust catchers.  I can’t.  stand.  dust-catchers.  This one has worn out its welcome.  I can’t melt it down and make me some bracelets because, (please prepare for the shock of what I’m about to say,) it’s not real gold. 

I KNOW!  

I ask you, what is the sense in giving a team one GINORMOUS trophy?  What are we going to do, pass it around from family to family?  We’d have to rent a U-Haul just to transport it to the next house.  (And I’m not allowed to drive U-Hauls anymore ever since I hit that red pillar thing at the gas station and had to get two gracious Hispanic men in a white panel van to jimmy the lock since the keys were inside.  They had lots of tools and lock-jimmying knowledge.  I didn’t ask questions.) 

I'll be right back.  Mama needs a Snickers.

How I've Been Spending/Wasting My Time

I have recently discovered Pinterest.  How I lived this long without it I have no idea.

Pinterest is a virtual bulletin board.  You can "pin" any image you see on the computer to your virtual bulletin board, and you can have many, many bulletin boards.  For a person like me who is constantly ripping pages out of magazines and then has to listen to Hubby complain what-are-you-ever-going-to-do-with-all-those-scraps-of-paper, it's perfect.

But here's the thing: when I finish a magazine, it's done.  I throw the magazine away and I stick my rip-outs in a cute little folder I keep for just such meaningless crap.  But the world wide internets goes on forever.  There's always MORE stuff to look at and MORE stuff to pin.

I KNOW what you're thinking . . .  "I WISH I had that kind of time to sit on the computer."  You, my friend, are missing my point entirely.  I absolutely do NOT have time to be farting around on the computer, but unfortunately, Pinterest is my Mommy Crack.  I gotta have it, man.

Once I pin something, I get all inspired and stuff.  Since I discovered Pinterest a few weeks ago, I have done the following:

1.  Made a Halloween wreath out of tulle.  I bought a foam wreath and about 12 rolls of tulle ribbon, then tied them in knots around the wreath.  Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy.

2.  Made a Fall Wreath out of Burlap.  Same idea, except I bought burlap at the fabric store and used a metal wreath.  It needs more color or a sassy monogram or something.  

3.  A Halloween wreath made of ribbon.  Ribbon was $1 a spool at Michaels, so including the wreath frame, this whole thing only cost about $15 to make.  How ya like me now.

4.  A Halloween skirt.  This was an ambitious undertaking for me and I almost stabbed my eyes out  with a sewing needle because I was so flimmin' flammin' flustrated.  It looks cute on, BUT, the pattern doesn't match at the seams, the lining is, um, noticeably not sewn to the hem of the skirt, and I had to fasten it at the waist with a rather large safety pin and monitor my Reeses Peanut Butter Cup consumption all night.

5.  Pillows.  I used the pillows from our old living room sofa, and I bought the patterned fabric from the clearance section.  

There you have it.  This is the reason my children didn't bathe ONCE during the week of Halloween and Medium wore the same underwear Monday through Friday.  

BoyMommy for President!

Top Ten Reasons I Could Never Be the President:

1.  I’m pretty sure it would be frowned upon if I took naps in the middle of the day.  “Wha?  There’s a crisis in the Middle East?  Whew!  I gotta take a snoozer.  See ya in a couple hours.

2.  I have an irrational need for people to like me.  If a poll came out that said my approval ratings were down, I’m pretty sure it would hurt my feelings and I’d start crying.  Which leads me to . . .

3.  I tend to cry in stressful situtions.  It’s how I relieve stress.  I recognize, however, that an all-out fit of hysterics might be little comfort to the good people of America.

4.  I’m pretty sure all those people with good smarts on the CNN could make me look like a dumbass.

5.  You know how J Crew got a boost in sales after Michele Obama sported some of their duds?  I don’t think the nation is ready for a President who wears Target tshirts. 

6.  I can guarantee I would NOT balance the budget.  I can’t balance my checkbook.  I haven’t done math in a checkbook since 1998 when Hubby and I got engaged.  I agreed to marry him because my parents refused to balance my checkbook anymore, and, well, somebody’s gotta do it and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me.

7.  I’m not so good at the Geography either.

Oh, honey . . . NO.

8.  Newsweek and Time would have to add a Style section, just so they could feature photos of me in various bad fashion choices, a la the Glamour Don’t pages.

9.  I’m horrified at the notion that the front page of the Washington Post would easily have a plethora of unflattering photos from which to choose.  Look, here she is eating french fries!  Here she is tripping over her own feet because she’s wearing those damn clogs again!  Here she is spending our tax dollars at the Starbucks drive-thru!

10.  If my family had to ride in a bus across the country in order to drum up votes, I’m pretty sure Hubby and I would strangle each other somewhere around Kansas.  

Facebook: A Sarcastic B*tch's Best Friend.

A few months ago, I blogged about how I wish I could quit Facebook.  It was cleverly titled Facebook: I Wish I Could Quit You.  I was looking through my Notes section on Facebook.  Hubby says I'm the only one who laughs at my jokes and that I'm the only one who thinks I'm funny.  Perhaps he's right, but I get a huge kick out of being sarcastic.  And kind of a b*tch.


Here are my responses to one of those Virtual Slam Books.  (Remember Slam Books???)  I changed some of my responses because I came up with cleverererer answers, and I deleted some of the lame questions, but you get the drift . . . 

I could totally pull this off.  Right?

1. What's the last thing you put in your mouth? I can pretty much guarantee you it wasn't vegetables.

2. Have you ever kissed anyone named Matthew? I can't remember. I went on a date with a guy named Matthew, but can't remember if I kissed him. He took me to see one of those Chuckie movies, so I'm thinking NO.

3.  Do you believe exes can be friends? Nope, especially if they've seen me naked.

4.   How do you feel about Diet Dr Pepper?  Does "Diet Dr." mean he got his PhD from one of those on-line colleges?

5.  When was the last time you cried really hard?  when I tried to button my jeans.

6.  Where is your biological father right now? if it's the guy I think it is, at home - probably snoring in his chair, sudoku on his lap, geriatric cat (who refuses to die) at his feet, and the tv on some British mystery show.

7.  Where are you sitting right now? on my behiney.

8.  What bed did you sleep in last night? mine.

9.   Was yesterday better than today? NO, and both days involved vomit that was not my own.

10. Can you live a day without TV? Yes, but I choose not to.  I can totally quit anytime I want . . . 

11. Are you a bad influence? With most of the people I hang out with, no.  

12. What items could you not go without during the day? email/facebook. I have a problem.

13. Would you share a drink with a stranger? I'd give it before I'd share it.  Unless I was drunk, then probably.

14.  How many times have you been pulled over by the police? twice.  Recently, a cop stopped me for having expired stickers.  When I blamed it on Hubby (naturally) he accused me of throwing my husband under the bus.  He told me to change the stickers immediately and NOT to leave it for Hubby to do, to which I responded, "Of course not.  I'm not even going to tell him we met tonight!"
15.  Has anyone ever called you perfect before? not on purpose.  

16.  What song is stuck in your head? the theme song from Dallas, because that's where Hubby is at the moment.  I'm hoping he's busy buying me a giant belt buckle.

17.  Someone knocks on your window at 2 am, who do you want it to be? Someone knocking at the wrong window.

18.  Can you handle the truth? not if it's gonna hurt my feelings.

19.  Is there something you always wear? underwear. Almost every day. And my wedding ring.

20.  What would you hope to call your future daughter? an accident.

Mamalamadingdong! Makin' Copies . . . .

I've decided I need to pen a handbook for people in the minimum-wage customer service industry at copy counters in office supply stores.  (It’s a very specific demographic.)  Here’s my outline:

I.               Customer relations

a.     Stop pretending you don’t see me, m-f’er.  I WILL ring your little bell, and I’ll be obnoxious about it.  Trust me on this one.

b.     Look the customer in the eye

                                                     i.     Not that customer; the one in front of you

                                                      ii.     Yes, I see her.  She’s very pretty.  Now back to me, thanks.

"BoyMommy!  Moooommm.
The Momster.
Mamalamadingdong.
Makin' Copies . . . "

c.     take that ridiculous earphone off of your head, you moron.  You’re not helping the SWAT team detonate a bomb.  You’re makin’ copies.

d.     stop talking to people in the warehouse via your headset.  It confuses me.  I mean customers.

e.     Don’t hand my toddler a pen and then act surprised when he writes on something.  He’s not allowed to have pens at home for this. very. reason.

II.             Customer service

a.     Don’t answer the phone while I am standing here and then help the caller first.  I’m a real person, dammit.  I took the time to strap my little curtain-climbers into their car seats, drove all the way over here, and chased them through the parking lot, all Frogger-like, so that we could wait patiently at your counter.  It’s MY turn.

b.     I’m right.  Yes, I am.  Am too.  Am too.  The customer is always right. 

c.     I don’t want to hear your excuses.  I do not care.  I just want 20 copies, not the selling rights to your life story.

I'm a Loser, Baby . . .

In my quest to become internationally famous by sitting on my couch with my computer and writing about my glamorous life as primary caregiver to three energetic boys, I entered a writing contest at Real Simple.  (Why publishers aren't knocking down my door and trying to throw multi-million dollar book deals at me is a mystery.)  The topic was as follows:

Who is the person you are most surprised to be friends with? Maybe it was someone whom you had nothing in common with, someone you’ve only conversed with via e-mail, or someone who started out as more of a rival than a friend. Whoever that unexpected friend is, tell us about him or her.

My essay, apparently, was not Winning.  I am now free to do with it what I please, so here it is.  (All names have been disguised with clever nicknames to protect the innocent.  And also because I'm all clever like that.)

At two years old, I was excited to be getting a new baby brother or sister.  Medicine was different in 1976, however.  My mother did not have a sonogram and it wasn’t until she had delivered my brother, known here as The Redneck, that she discovered there was a Slim in there too.

Twins.  Super. 

He got the tall, thin genes.
I got the double chins.

My parents assure me that I was a huge help, but eventually the novelty wore off.  I had been the only child for two whole years and I was ready for these babies to go back from whence they came.

As a child, I never really warmed up to them.  The Redneck was so easy-going and laid back.  And by this I mean easily manipulated.  I could dress him up like a giant doll, make him eat my lima beans, and convince him to chauffer my Barbies in his Tonka truck.  He was okay; not great, but he’d do.

Slim got on my last ever-lovin’ nerve.  He was the smaller of the two and he always got extra attention.  I harbored the idea that he was Mommy’s favorite and this did not sit well with me.  He had a lisp, (the snake says “thhhhh!”), he wore bib overalls EVERY day, and I once got grounded for making him drink “lemonade” I had concocted out of tap water and kitty litter.  (USED kitty litter.)  So annoying.  Our sibling relationship throughout our childhood was one of mere co-existence.

But we grew up.  We have celebrated marriages, the birth of children, and new homes, and we have leaned on each other during bouts of depression, health scares, and the loss of our mother. We have the shared history and the unspoken camaraderie that only siblings can have, and I have found my brother to be the first to offer me true, unconditional friendship.