Halloween Hell

I'm not sure what it is about Halloween, but I've decided it's hell. Costumes, makeup, nailpolish on 7 year olds, fish net stockings now on elementary aged kids... and most of you can relate to all the room-parent responsibilities for those of us who pretend we have enough time in our crazy lives to help out our teachers in order to be perceived as a fucking good parent.  Arggghhhh.

My Daughter is pulling her eyelashes out and my therapist thinks I'm crazy

While I'm in the midst of determining my own life purpose, I decided to face the fact that eyelashes actually do have a defined purpose. And my little OCD tendency kid who lives life through quirky routines to deal with some type of anxiety issue I'm sure I'm the root cause of has pretty much plucked almost all of her eyelashes out.

Q)  So what does a reliable "mom" do?

A)  Call her therapist to get back on the schedule.  

4 days... no call back.

Talk about a slap at someone's self esteem. Shit. Here we go again.

The Color of Crack is Quite Scary

Well, I'm finally ready to share a brief summary of my learnings around the color of ass crack. And thanks to my curious children, I'm prepared to dish up some great conversation with strangers at holiday parties this year.

Here's what I found in a nutshell:

1. You can't google "Why are Ass Cracks Pink?" without getting some really nasty search results. Most of the pics I dared to open were things I wouldn't even WANT to share with you. And most of you probably know, I'm usually willing to share quite a bit.

2. There are people who actually post questions on butt crack colors on Medical Websites. And worse off, there are more than too many people that have hairy butt cracks, growths on butt cracks, or bleeding/chaffed butt cracks, who in my opinion are desperately in need of help.

3. There is a drink called "Sand in your Butt Crack". It includes melon liquor, Jack Daniels and pineapple juice I think. I watched a video on it thinking I could at least share SOMETHING valuable in this post, but the drink looked as if it would literally taste like ass crack.

So for now, I lay my search to rest. The curious kid who posed the innocent question around butt crack color a few weeks ago has already moved on to her next fascination in everyday life anyway, which entails picking her eyelashes. And unfortunately every google search on this one points to needing a therapist.

Like mother, like daughter.

The natural color of ASS

Question: "Mom, why is your butt crack pink?"

Response [jumping up, wiping off ass of pants frantically]: "What??? Do I have something on my pants and didn't know it? Did I sit in something, Kid2?"

Question [kid laughing, but still curious]: "NO MOM. Why does everyone have pink on their butts? You know, inside their cracks? Why are they pinkish purple?"

silence...

WTF?

And now I'm off to google "pink butt cracks". I will share my learnings tomorrow... because when I asked my husband this same question last night and how I might have responded to the curious blue-eyed 7 year old Kid2, his answer revolved around how porn stars actually bleach their assholes to rid of pinkish-purple coloring for video.

I think I will eliminate that from my educational discussion with my curious kid tomorrow. Google, here I come.

OCD is obviously hereditary. Shit.

I've come to the realization that my little OCD child may be learning tendencies from me.

WTF???

Shit. Well, you tell me... Is it normal to:

• Ensure that during your nightly set-up for delayed timing of morning coffee brewing you also lay out in precise motion exactly ONE SECTION of a select-a-size paper towel set at a perfect diagonal, your coffee cup, 2 Splendas and a specific favorite coffee teaspoon so you are fully prepared in the morning for instant gratification?

• Take 22 minutes before bed to apply prescription arm lotion in specific stroke movements, always right arm first, then left, then pop an Allegra, then reapply wax to poking metal brackets of new braces before even speaking one word to your husband because even the smallest messing up of such a ritual will set you off and force one to start over from the absolute beginning causing husband to stare at you as if you were a crazy woman?

• Eat popcorn one popped kernel at a time, even though you are starving and craving the buttery taste, but have developed such a habit so many years ago you can not think to entertain any other mode of consumption? First, grab fistful of popcorn with right hand; second, transfer fistful of popcorn to left hand in one swift move; third, use right hand to feed mouth individual kernels from left hand, one by one.

I swear I'm laid back about a lot of shit. It takes me less than ten minutes to get ready in the morning in order to leave the house. I can pick up a pair of wrinkled jeans from my closet floor and pair it with a 2 day-worn tank top, dress and feel newly re-freshed without hesitation. (I'm not sure why I'm proud of that, but I am.)  Put me in an uncomfortable situation at work or out socially, and I'll think to myself, "Hey, whatever..." and find some way to make a joke out of it.

But WTF is up with some of this other shit?  Seriously. To my 7 year old Kid2 who I've so many times cussed out about your OCD tendencies, nightly routines of tucking blankets and obsession with the remote control, today you receive my compassion and apologies.  Mom's messed up, kid.

How to Crush Your Kid's Lemonade Stand Dreams

I love it when my husband loses his shit and I look like "Parent of the Year".  It doesn't happen often.

I'm not sure which brilliant dipshit came up with the idea to have a "Lemonade Stand Contest"... but with "Regular-down-the-street-kid-who-thinks-she-lives-here" visiting, it was 2 against 3.  Each were going to have "advertising signs".  Each were strategically planning their set-up, supplies, price per cup and total dollar goal for the sale.  This was some serious MBA economic shit-planning going down.

Damn, these kids are brilliant when they want to be. And they have never been so juiced up like this.
Never. Ever.

It wasn't long before the unraveling began.  The older kids sneak Oreo cookies, bagged chips and teddy grahams to sell. The youngest of the group throws open the garage door, flies up the steps to the kitchen with flushed cheeks screaming at his father and I:

"WE NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED SNACKS TO SELL!!!!!"

My husband wants absolutely nothing to do with it anymore. He's moved their tables 13 times, filled 2 pitchers of lemonade, removed 1 mosquito from someones cup and has slipped on a patch of ice chips.

My husband to the desperate 5 year old in attempt at keeping calm: "No, go outside. You don't need any snacks."

Desperate Child: "YES!!!!!! WE DO!!!! The older girls have snacks! We NEEEEEEEED SNACKS too!!!"

My husband [with veins in neck about to burst] to desperate 5 year old: "NO YOU DON'T. If you don't go outside, you're done."

Desperate Child who Never gives up opens pantry and starts tearing through food packages, whipping pasta boxes and other food packages out onto the floor.

And then I hear it.

This is what my husband screamed in slow-motion, to our desperate 5 year old child in the very next moment, stooping down to eye level, only 3 inches from his face:

"YOU ARE NOT GETTING ANY SNACKS.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

BECAUSE NO ONE IS GOING TO

BUY YOUR LEMONADE!

NO ONE IS GOING TO COME

TO YOUR GOD DAMN SALE!

DO YOU GET IT?

NO ONE! NO ONE!"

Me Quietly Reaching for an entire sleeve of chocolate chip cookies and new family size bag of Cheetos: "Here. Go sell some snacks dude."

And the sale continued. With an entire final count of $6.85 in total earnings. Minus the $22.50 cost of snacks, cups and lemonade on my part. But hey, who's counting right? Especially when the final outcome is my husband quietly muttering under his breath as he leaves the kitchen:

"You're a way better person than I am."

No honey, it's just your turn. That's all.

Jealousy, Sex and the 70 Year Old Owner of our Future House

So, I was going through my husband's jeans last night...

[not a normal habit I would like to protest... I was simply looking for a few spare dollars to donate to a door-knocking-neighborhood-teen-scoundrel raising money for some God forsaken sports trip...],

...and this is what I find in his back pocket:

WTF?

Um, for those of you that don't know

me or my two blonde daughters,

THOSE BITCHES AIN'T US!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I ask you...

Is it a picture of:

A) Illegitimate children he so shamefully neglected to speak of these past several years?;

2) The woman I in a matter of 2.4 seconds flat decided he might be having an affair with, and her two daughters who so strangely are both blonde and oddly resemble my own two girls in age?;

3) The daughter and grandchildren of the 70 Year Old woman who currently owns the house we are purchasing, who happened to leave her house key for my husband yesterday in order for us to be present for the full-day inspection going on.

Women are asses. But the funniest shit is, he was actually flattered by my expressed jealousy.

So readers, jealousy can be a good thing, if it every-so-often presents itself in small doses.  
And so is the sex that follows.  

Susan Boyle, Me and my OCD Child

I'm not very shocked at the recent news stories around Susan Boyle's supposed nervous breakdown. I mean, how could any ho-hum-never-been-kissed-but-now-sudden-superstar-at-way-too-old-of-an-age human being make it through the unbelievable press and attention she's gotten over the last several months?

Right?

And then again, while I may not have to hide from photographers or journalists crouching outside my bushes to catch a glimpse of me at my worst moments, my life these days feels like a category 5 hurricane. Or tornado. Or whichever one of those damn natural catastrophes is described by some type of "categorical system".

These days my own definition of "Category 5" can also be described as:
"Complete Mother-Fucking Mayhem".

Yeah, yeah... whine, whine, bitch, moan. But in addition to all I have going on personally, my kids decided to enter new stages in life, JUST as we have tons of shit going on here at home. Well, OK, my 9 year olds' attitude still sucks the shit out of me - her phase just keeps spinning downward... however, my little soon-to-be-seven-year-old OCD kid has developed new tendencies at night time which basically revolve around NO SLEEP WHAT SO EVER. Her complaints consist of having wrinkles in her sheets, having no pajamas that are comfortable and hating her bed because it is crooked.

Am I the only mother that honestly with her whole heart truly attempts to console and cuddle and talk out these issues with their child they love and treasure to death for nights on end, but suddenly, when asked to tuck blankets tighter for the 17th time in a row, loses all sense of motherly instinct and checks out to no avail wishing her kid a night of hell, only to lock herself in the bathroom with the tub running in order not to hear the cries for mommy, waiting and counting to see how long it takes her husband downstairs to attend to issues he would never normally deal with because kid-in-question wouldn't DARE exhibit such bullshit behavior if alone with Dad or Step-Dad or any other caring adult for that matter?!!!!

Am I???

These are the days I feel like I suck shit as a Mother. My little 6 year old who deals with small OCD tendencies most likely caused by anxiety, [I will leave anxiety source ex-husband out of the story for not wanting to be convicted of defamation of character], is probably in her own way dealing with the traumatizing event of moving from the only one house she has ever known, and has expressed she doesn't want to go, even though she is filled with excitement after seeing the new house. Even the smallest change in routine knocks this kid to no end. And here we are as the adults in her world, not even contemplating the effects of all this change on the littlest of female beings, trucking on as usual, without even asking how she's doing with it all.

But then, just as I start to feel sympathy again, all I can hear in the back of my brain are the screaming words of "Tuck Mommy, TUCK!! Tuck harder, Mommy, GOD!" And then I hear complete tears.

Tears from both of us.

Maybe tomorrow will be better, that is, after we head "new pajama" shopping tonight.
If not, I may follow Susan Boyle's footsteps and check in somewhere after my awaiting nervous breakdown.

Wish me luck.

And in the meantime Sydney, I hope you know,
Mommy loves you more than the world.

We'll figure this out together, baby.

BRACE Yourself When You See THIS!

I think maybe this is the start of a mid-life crisis?

New job, new house, and hopefully in a year, NEW TEETH!

I've been a chicken to do braces,

and while I don't have major renovation needed,

I finally made the jump to fix my smile.

In the meantime, my husband's penis is "turtling in".

Those were his words, not mine.

Now I know why 12 is the preferred age to put sharp metal on teeth.

18 months and counting, honey!

To Work or Blog... that is the question.

Today marks day 10 of my re-employment.

I haven't really brought it up directly, mostly because I think I'm so overwhelmed with new information that I don't want to face reality. But today's the day.


Back to Work. Bye-Bye daily blogging.


After a week in California in training at my new Bio Tech Headquarters, this is what I'm facing for the next 6 weeks:

I'm about to rip my eyeballs out. For those of you who read my writing, favorite topics tend to focus on the human anatomy or how my kids are such ass-holes at times, of course usually sprinkled with an occasional F-bomb here and there. So instead of writing about my husband's taint, or how my kids' asses smell like um... er... well, ASS way too much, I'm now having to submerge in what I believe to be PhD level chemistry modules on things I will most likely NEVER have to speak about with customers anyway...

I do not have science background. I'm a business major. And I am not a scientist. I'm in SALES for God's sake. So this is just pure torture.

And this morning as I should be cramming away, I choose to blog.

I.Just.Can't.Open.The.Books.Again.

We all have our different learning styles. Mine involves pictures and simplistic descriptions from those around me. And here's my level of learning style:

You see, I probably can understand cell structure and differentiate between DNA and rDNA and mDNA and all that other shit. Or wait, is that mRNA?

OK, so let's just cut to the shit. I can't remember anything that isn't drawn out in simple diagrams that comes along with a slick acronym to memorize it by. Without that, I don't care about it. And DNA surely is not what makes my sales numbers.

So in my world, rDNA will be remembered as "Real dicks need ass" for the next 6 weeks, until my final exam is over. And then, rDNA will dissolve from my memory.

Real dicks DO need ass, right?

So while I have to get a 90 or above on every test through mid-July, my blogging hobby will slowly be replaced. Here's what my new writing hobby has turned into:

And I'm determined to keep blogging. It's just going to be hard to find inspiring content when all I'm reading about is genomes and chromosomes and rheumatoid arthritis injections. But I'll find something.



IWP.

I will prevail.

From the Mouth of a 5 Year Old

"Hey SUE!!! This is a small? My GOD, why is small so X-TRA LARGE????"

Spoken from the mouth of a 5 year old.

Free Family Entertainment at Target

Free Family Entertainment Tip #92:

Head to your nearest Target

and assign each child a display model digital camera.

"Which ever child takes the funniest picture

gets to ride home in the front seat."

She won.

But for a picture I made her erase... Electronics employee's plumber ass showing as he was bending over at register.

Like mother, like daughter.

Flip This... The death of a fish

A six-year old returns from a classmates birthday party, running as fast as she can, while balancing a bowl of water. As I see the expression on her face, a pit begins to form in the bottom of my stomach...the smell of algae and stagnant beach water begin to surface more and more, with every step she takes towards me.

The innocent child presents with such pride, the "favor" she received when leaving the birthday party.

"MOMMY, WE HAVE A PET NOW!!! LOOK! I NAMED HIM FLIPPER!"

You.Have.Got.To.Be.F*#&%NG.Kidding.Me.

My brain starts spinning at this very moment - WHAT in the name of God did I ever do to this particular child's mother. Think. Hard. Wasn't I somewhat courteous those few times we entertained the obnoxious class of 1st graders together at Christmas time, and even during Easter Spring Fling when her little girl flung her black jelly bean at me just because she didn't like the taste? Did my kid hide her little one's favortie toy one day, or cause a riot about being line leader again, forcing her own child to second place?

Shit.

It had to be something. Because who the F_#&K in their right God forsaken mind would hand out live flippin' fish to six year olds at a birthday party? And in a 6 inch diameter of a bowl with 6 rocks scattered at the bottom?

Oh, and a "Ziploc snack bag" filled with about 24 flakes of gold fish food?

WHO, in God's name? WHO?

This woman obviously never cared to ask me of my horrific childhood that included rotating pets - a variety of pets that seemed to come into our lives with gusts of excitement, only to be taken away by mysterious disappearances...

I had gerbils. They got loose. My Mom still claims they climb inside her basement walls. I think she poisoned them and dumped them one Monday morning during garbage pick up, as they suffocated in a plastic baggie.

We had rabbits. And ducks. They all supposedly got "too big to handle" and were transported to farms all over the area where they could live a wonderful life with greenery and waterfront scenes. I think we ate them at dinners that summer. That was the year we upgraded our barbecue grill.

We had two Irish Setters. We had several mix puppies. We had two cats... and then Daisy, the Bichon. She mysteriously inherited some type of raging kennel disease, and lay to rest somewhere. But the last time we remember seeing her she was happily chewing my moms favorite sandal one morning, just as we were shuffled out the door to catch the school bus.

And then there were fish. They were free for God's sake. They were won from numerous attempts by the four of us oldest siblings, wanting so desperately a pet that we could keep for more than a week. We filled a bathtub full of water and emptied at least 30 beautiful guppies into the tub.

My mom smiled, and left us alone to care for them. Now, I realize she knew. There was no chance for their survival as the pure tap water poured over their fins, choking them as we unexpectedly watched in glee. I'll never forget waking up that morning. It was like an atomic bomb hit Fish Land. Every single one of them were floating. And I was totally devastated.

So last month, when the 6 year old came proudly home with her new fish, I remembered my childhood, and promised even against my husband's wish, to care for this as my own dream pet. I sought professional advice and purchased a tank along with special drops to remove chlorine and chemicals from our water as well as food. I also bought stones, and a silk plant for my dear "Flipper". And as much as my husband made fun of me, Flipper and I bonded this past month.

Until yesterday.

As we arrived home late from baseball practice, I ran to feed Flipper, but to no avail he was missing. He wasn't behind the plant, and as fear filled my entire body, I peeked from underneath to look all the way up, yet no Flipper was to be found, not even floating on top of the water surface. I screamed for my oldest step-son, Spencer.
He came running, and seeing the sheer horror on my face, raced to the tank to find my dear friend. Nothing.

Nothing.



No where.



Until...



Wait...



"Um... Sue???....."

"He's SUCKED IN THE FILTER! HE'S SUCKED IN THERE!! HE'S STUCK!!!"



Oh.My.God. I'm a pussy. I can't take shit like this. I just can't take this shit.



So now with the entire family filling the kitchen, my husband took charge, and after surveying the tank, asked everyone to leave. I looked at him.


It wasn't good.

Peace Out my dear friend, Flipper.

I have now joined the club of "Parental Pet Killers".

My Mom will be proud.

A Cop With A Camera...it's safe to speed now, my friends

How You Know a Cop's Indisposed:

Mmmm... just lookin' at his gun and holster even this way makes me melt.

We are sick people, baby.

Source of Swine Flu Identified

Damn Kids.

Survival Tips for Blended Families (or anyone with children)

One of my best friends tells me all the time I need to write a book.

"Seriously Sue... you need to write a reality book on "blended families".

Just call it "The Splendid Blendeds". It would be hysterical!"

chirp...

chirp...

Of course, this particular "best friend" just so happens NOT to have kids yet.

Very.Funny.My.Dear.Carla.Very.Very.Funny.

When your life becomes a living entertainment log,

you know you might be in trouble.

But seriously, that's the way our life rolls in this house.

And I truly think, it's similar to any other family... "BLENDED" or not.

Thankfully, my husband and I both choose to see it through humor.

Otherwise, we'd probably be praying the two of us

become the next Swine Flu Victims.

So with that, here are a few tips on

Surviving in a Blended Family:

[Or just surviving in ANY FAMILY, as these rules apply to anyone dealing with more than one child.]

1. If you have never done so, or if you're new to the whole "blended" thing, call a family meeting to solicit "family" rules. Create and post these on your refrigerator for everyone to follow. Go through each one, and discuss why for example, "Being Kind to Others" is important.

Do not be surprised that just as you're getting to Rule #2 or #3, kids everywhere during the meeting are chatting, rolling eyes, wrestling, and trying to sneak the remote control in hopes family meeting time is OVER and they can get back to better things in life. "Family Meetings" are so NOT-cool to 8-year-olds. However, "Family Meetings" are a strategic way for parents to get all kids on the same side if even for a mere 4.6 minutes. [And while that "same side" is basically "We all think Mom and Dad are boring and family meetings suck.", they are all on the same side for at least that one moment, right?]

2. Do not hang created Family Rules poster from suggestion #1 just below the ice and water dispenser of your refrigerator, as drips and left behind melting ice chips will cause rules to become illegible. This in turn only gives children an "out" when they break a rule, because they actually "couldn't read the writing" and forgot the totally UN-obvious rule that states "We do not pinch or hit other people".

3. Get used to the 7,245 ways of implementing "taking turns" between siblings. Once you've created allotted times children must rotate to take turns with various activities such as computer time, Wii time, holding the remote control time, brushing teeth time, laying with mommy at bed-time time, TV channel selection time, playing on the round swing time, playing on the green swing time, hitting the tree with the stick we all happened to find together time, and every other human movement or decision-making time that exists, they'll have hit college-age and hopefully chosen a school with a minimum distance of 120 miles from your current city of residence.

4. Spend half a day and $38 in office supplies and laminating services to create interchangeable seat assignments in your god-for-saken Mini-Van stealth of a vehicle creating the rule that with each new day comes a rotation in seat assignments. Velcro name tags are secured to backings on all four seat windows in rear of van and will be rotated every morning for change of scenic opportunity for each kid. This will minimize ten minute fight prior to each outing and reduce both adult and child tear production on a daily basis, as expectations are set and parents do not overheat prior to backing out of the family driveway.

5. Have realistic expectations that rotating name-tags will only reduce fighting for approximately 3-4 weeks. Once "newness" wears off, be prepared to implement tip #3 around implementing fair "turn-taking" as to who gets to implement daily morning rotation of Velcro name tags.

In addition, create the following rule: "If any child even touches a name-tag without being asked, that individual will be locked in the basement for twice the number of minutes of their age. With no lights on." ["No lights on" clause very important in execution.]

Then, just realize that this idea should probably just be scrapped after a month and the feeling of shame may set in with the now semi-permanent Velcro sticking laminated name tags that add one more horrific element of personality to your Mini-Van stealth of a vehicle.

6. I'm too tired to share more and of course can not give away all my secrets if I still entertain the idea of writing a book.

WHAT'S YOUR FAMILY SURVIVAL TIP?

[Please share. I need help surviving.]

My Child's Love Affair with Sunscreen

It's 90 degrees today in Upstate New York, and I have been smacked in the face by yet another OCD tendency of my 6 year old. The tedious process went away this winter season and luckily seemed to escape my memory for the past 8 or so months.

But 90 degree weather and 2 days of straight sunshine has caused a sudden re-birth.

My kid has OCD with "Sunscreen Application".


Are any other people's children obsessed with this phenomenon? I mean, my step-sons could care less about sunscreen. We usually need to chase them around poolside with lotion in hand, slapping their backs as best possible hoping that even the smallest amount lands.

My 9 year old will whine, but knows that succumbing to the rub-down is a much better deal than facing a time-out. There is no worse torture than watching your siblings play outside or swim while you sit nailed to a chair for 10 minutes. No worse torture.

But then, there is my 6 year old.

Sunscreen application is a very serious process. It begins at certain points on each arm. The lotion must be administered slowly - in small dabbing motions which then turn into single finger strokes, up and down, up and down.

Leg coverage is massive. The child looks like one major grease ball and if asked to hold anything within an hour after completion, items slip through her fingertips even with the most determined grip hold.

And then we have the ears, neck, underarms, shoulder and facial coverage. Facial coverage is what I fear the most. As yesterday reminded us, facial coverage causes facial sunscreen drippage after any amount of sweat or perspiration, which in turn causes massive eyeball burnage.

Wouldn't most normal people learn a lesson after just one experience of massive eyeball burnage? I would surely think so, but that would then not allow for the entire process of facial sunscreen coverage and here I believe is where the OCD takes over in my child.

And as much as I feel sorry for the kid, I can not help but laugh inside. I love that greasy mass of child, even as I realize that the season for wet-washcloth application over eyes has just begun.

God help us all.

Parenting Advice: How To Know When To Bathe Your Kid

Mommy Tip #120

How to tell when your kid needs a bath:

When they look you directly in the eyes

on a school morning while getting dressed,

with two hands down the back of their panties

digging to China and back,

and speak the words so sincerely... :

"Mom, my butt itches really bad...

ARE WE TAKING BATHS TONIGHT?"

Oh.My.God.

Parents, that could be a sign.

[Identity of above child will remain secret in the chance you ever meet her and are greeted by a handshake.]

"Mommy Confessions" and Why I Need To Go Back to Work and Toss the Computer

Have you seen or heard anything about the latest blogging rage called "Mommy Confessions"? I actually saw some of the bloggers and contributors on Oprah a few weeks ago who, thank F_*#%ing God, have finally convinced me I'm not the only mom around here that doesn't claim perfection.

And I'm sure as hell not about to link you up to it either, because my confessions are as good as theirs. And anyway, I've been admitting my faults for some time now, unlike others.

Got it?

So then it hit me... I think my entire blog is one F_%#ed Up Confession in general. I mean seriously, all day I've been asking myself, what the hell compels me to write about my husband's smelly taint?

But I've also never claimed to be a writer, especially one of substance. So what better else to do than steal the theme for my own personal blog content? Right?

A few personal confessions this week:

1. One of the hot dogs I was preparing for the kids dinner this weekend rolled across our entire kitchen floor, but because we had so many neighborhood brats over to eat, my husband gave me the look of approval and I swiftly lunged and grabbed that dog of dogs while quickly blowing lint off before serving.

2. I chose to serve the linty dog to my own child because I feared that in the small chance it rolled over an invisible pile of killer bacteria, I should have at least ensured it was my own kid that got sick. Right?

3. I'm embarrassed writing this because I think some of the people in my personal life now who read this will never trust in eating at my home again. But in all honesty, an "invisible pile of killer bacteria" could easily exist on our kitchen floor.

4. My daughters had their first experimentation with googling "bad" words. And let's just say that the conversation involved thorough explanation of why a woman shouldn't allow anyone else to straddle, lick or touch their own body parts because such behavior is not "respecting your own body".

5. My girls then decided to mimic certain contorted positions they seemed to have witnessed online while asking me what "respecting your own body" means.

6. I decided to give them a fudgsicle if we could just change the subject. And to be honest, I'm wondering if they learned those contorted positions online or if they actually just woke up late one night and we simply didn't hear them.

7. This story actually happened last year, but I'm confessing it today because my 6 year old typed "sex" in the search bar at my Moms office last week while she had them for a few hours. This obviously brought back memories.

8. Main reminder is the fact that I have still not loaded software to block inappropriate searches and sites, even though I swore I would last year after thinking my kids were traumatized forever.

9. My kids aren't traumatized. These little shits are just exposed to way more than we ever were growing up.

10. Through all this, I've learned the best way to stay on top of things is actively play truth or dare on the front porch with the my 2 daughters & the neighborgood girls when asked, probing about kissing boys, going out, and who's cute in the world of elementary school. Makeyla, I'm calling your Mom.

Peace Out.

Grossest Thing My Husband Has Ever Said... Warning: Taint Involved

I think I've mentioned before how my husband takes pride in his manscaping abilities - and actually I believe it was the topic of his first guest post a month or so back. Remember, the quick mention of "manscaping" and "pubes" that brought Blogger Stalker Ronald10021 out of the word works, and caused me to go into hiding for some time? But anyway, back to my man's pride around caring for his Netherland Region - it's rather quite rewarding, and something I have grown to appreciate.

Especially after yesterday.

Once a week, after hitting the gym together to train for a lethal hour of hell, we'll hit a tanning bed for 20 minutes of silence. We could hardly give a shit about getting a tan. But the additional 20 minutes of peace is totally worth the extra $10 in babysitting fees.

Yesterday, I think I heard the nastiest thing my husband's ever said to me as we were finished and walking out to our car:

Husband [Very Serious Tone] : "Damn, I turned the fan on, laid down and almost puked because the smell of my sweaty-ass Taint blew straight up to my face and in my mouth."



Silence.



BURST OUT UNCONTROLLABLE LAUGHTER...

Baby, let's make a pit stop:

Seriously Baby, aside from your old high school "stink finger" stories, I think this takes the cake.

'Taint kiddin'.

How I Almost Poisoned Our Neighborhood

Mommy Tip #119:

When your child is admitted to the hospital for signs of "Moderate Poisoning" or "Early Symptoms of Acute Poisoning" which may include:

nausea, diarrhea, excessive saliva, stomach cramps, excessive perspiration, trembling, no muscle coordination, muscle twitches, extreme weakness, mental confusion, blurred vision, difficulty in breathing, cough, rapid pulse, flushed or yellow skin, and weeping...

NEVER ADMIT you were really TOO LAZY

to actually wash the damn sweatshirt.

Honey, Can you pull out the HOSE, please?

I'M OUTTA HERE!

Spring Break Activities at Home with 4 Kids as of Day 8 out of 12 ........ $229.

Hosting Sleepover with 2 Additional Neighborhood Brats ....... $45.

Receiving a phone call to interview for a job and having to leave town alone for 2 days in the midst of Spring Break Bullshit .......

PRICELESS.

Naked People in Gym Locker Rooms. WHY?

Dear Naked Lady At My Gym,


I have simply one question for you.


WHY?


I mean, WHY, IN GOD'S NAME DO YOU STAND THERE F'n NAKED FOREVER, NOT DOING ANYTHING IN THE GYM LOCKER ROOM???? WHY???



I really can't take it anymore.



And the fact that you were STILL there staring at yourself in the bathroom mirrors when I exited the stall to wash my hands and had to BRUSH UP AGAINST YOUR GOD FOR SAKEN NAKED ASS to throw my paper towel away in the garbage can, is just.simply.beyond.me.


F'n.Beyond.Me.


Are you married to the Close-Talker man that hangs naked in the Men's room swinging his sac in front of my husband every so (too) often? Because if that's your husband, you might want to warn him that he's close to being neutered.


Graciously and Always Partly Covered,

Who's Anus?

My 9 year old has proudly posted her recent science project on display.

My husband promised her he'd be adding to it while she's gone to spend Easter weekend with her Dad.

Check it out:

OK, take a closer look...

Tip for Step-Parents:

Do not alter step-child's solar system project to include a real anus. 

Out of My Mind: Surviving School Breaks

So my soon to be 7 year old lump of a daughter that has grown attached to my hip these days was taking a bath this morning and says while laughing:

"Mom, sometimes I feel like this isn't happening in my brain right now... giggle, giggle...".

My Response:

"Um, yes Sweetheart. Welcome to Mommy's World."

Spring Break starts today with 11 days off of school.

I will survive.

?

Not.

Ps... Click on over to my serious side... I'm today's contributor over at Real World: Venus vs. Mars.

Parenting Advice: How to handle "Annoying Kid" Habit of Non-Stop Talking

Why Won't My "Annoying Kid" SHUT UP?

ANNOYING KID HABIT:

Do you have an Annoying Kid like me that literally CAN'T.STOP.FUCKING.TALKING? And I mean EVER? For some reason, ours doesn't understand the concept of "Thinking" versus "Speaking". If he's told to "Please Be Quiet..." he will turn to singing. Singing words. Singing sounds. Singing the alphabet. Singing Names. Singing "I love to Sing". Singing. Singing. Fucking. Singing.

BRILLIANT PARENT RESPONSE:

Just before your head is about to explode and you physically have to restrain either your spouse OR self from reaching around from the front seat of the car with arms grasping to rip Annoying Kid's head off... STOP, and simply explain:

"Annoying Kid, you need to understand that the conversation you are having with yourself right now is one that you should be having with your brain. Not with us. Did you know that normal people actually don't have to HEAR themselves talk all the time? Normal people actually have conversations with their brain. Without their mouth working. Not out loud. And this would be one of those times. Talk.To.Your.Fucking.Brain... NOW."

Stay tuned for more Brilliant Parenting Advice coming soon...

Dealing with "FEAR" and asking for HELP...

It's been a rough week, and today I faced yet I realized that another serious problem has been following me around for several months now, and must come out in the open. It's time.

Do you know when something exists, yet the anxiety of just verbalizing it to anyone else consumes you as a being, because God forbid if you do so, it will become truthful?

I especially feel guilty for not being up front with my husband. I think he knows it's there. I've danced around the issue for some time. He can see my mood alter instantly out of the blue, yet I continue to wonder if he knows the exact reason behind my occasional outbursts.

Anger.

Frustration.

Fear.

Isolation.

I have a lump.

And no matter where I go, I can't escape the fact that it's there.

She weighs 48 pounds and is 3 months shy of turning 7.

My youngest daughter won't leave me the fuck alone, people!

HELP!

Anyone?

I CAN NOT CONTINUE THIS WAY.

Why don't we call a truce and jab one of those needles in my eye, please?

Um, can I get a free pass?

Please?

My week just can't get any shittier.

Co-pays for the 13 steroid lotions prescribed

for unexplainable itchy arms ....... $130

Zyrtec, Allegra double dose, Nasal sprays

and special skin cleanser ....... $123.22

Learning that while I'm allergic to 43/58 allergens,

RED WINE IS STILL A-OK! ........ Priceless!!

Ouch.

Comment #15 Just Sent Me In Hiding

Now, I've already written an entire post about strange lurkers, but this guy just simply doesn't get it.

And while I'm too tired to creatively entertain all of you in my usual capacity, I felt I should at least share how I felt last night when reading comment #15:

Create your own FACEinHOLE