One Way To Show You Care About Your Box: COME VOTE!!!

So, I was like "all honored" to get an e-mail in my box [not that box],

asking me to do an Eden Fantasies $50 gift-card giveaway...

And then, I see that this is the latest rage in blogging these days.
I've seen THREE in the past 3 weeks!

Reality sets in... I'm not so special.

However, $50 is $50.

And $50 can get someone a really nice gift of self lovin',

if you know what I'm saying???

So the question is:

SHOULD I HOST MY FIRST

EDEN FANTASY GIVE-AWAY,

even though they're spreading like wildflowers???

Let's take a Vote.

I'll leave it up on the side bar for a week,

and you guys help me decide, OK?

Voting will be open through 11:59 pm next Friday, April 10th!

And with that, I'll leave you with my husband's
favorite picture from our recent visit to Philadelphia.
These signs were EVERYWHERE.

He wants to make a t-shirt for me with the logo :

"DON'T BLOCK THE BOX!"

Happy Birthday, Sydney!

Happy 7th Birthday, Sydney.

You make me smile every day,

and I love you

in amounts I can't begin to express....

Your passion and energy shine through every day,

and touch people in ways you simply can't understand...

Thank you for what you give me...

All my love,

Mommy

ASK me another question you anonymous 12 year old TW_T

My girls (11 & 14) are on so many social media sites, I can't always keep track.  I try to.  And any new APP they download to their phones automatically downloads to mine... pretty much my lazy effort in  spying.  The fun part is, I get to make a profile, and they have to accept me following them.

Instagram, Kik, Snapchat and Ask are the top 4 these days.  And while I can't fit in on Instagram (since surprisingly at 43 years old I can't stomach snapping close-up selfies with "puckered lips" and then posting them to the world)... I did attempt to hang out on "Ask" for a bit.

Have you seen this app???!!

Aside from it being a "Bully Zone Amongst Girls", there's some funny shit our kids talk about on social media.  Like "TBH".  What the hell is that?  "To Be Honest"... if you respond "Yes", then you simply respond "honestly"to their next question.  Wow.  That's creative.

And what about "Rate?".  This is someone asking you if you're willing to "Rate" people if they give you a person's name... Like on a scale of 1-10.  Or sometimes it could be on a letter grade scale:  B+ or A-.  Not A.  But A-.  WTF is that?  My daughter gave someone a C and we had to talk.

So I set up my profile and "followed" my girls' accounts, checking in only every so often.  And can you believe within 24 hours I started getting messages that "Moms are not supposed to be on ASK."  "Get Off ASK."  WTF?  I was about to hand out a can of Whoop Ass right there on screen!

And then, I remembered my own advice to my girls... don't respond when people are rude.  Don't fuel the fire.  Don't stoop down to their level.  They'll move on to someone else when ignored.

Screw that.  Come on 12 year old anonymous twat.  You found your match.  But do you think you could just give me a little time to figure out how to create a "fake" account, under a new name, so my girls can't see what I'm doing?  Then, I'll be ready "To Be Honest".  Promise.

My learnings from Weight Watchers in the New Year: Cabbage is bad.

It's been 4 to 5 days of getting back to my workout routine at the gym (which has been on hiatus for a long, long, long time).  In addition, I agreed to join Weight Watcher's (WW) to jump-start my ambitious attempt to lose weight quick in early 2014.

Here's the main takeaways I've concluded to date:

1.  Cabbage soup is NOT good for ones intestines several days in a row.
2.  Starting WW's during the first winter snowstorm of the year that causes everything to close down is simply bad timing since you're locked in your house with nowhere to go, except the refrigerator.
3.  My family used to enjoy cabbage but they've changed their mind after the past 3 days.
4.  Cabbage plus "flaxseed" smoothies in the same day is quite comical, in a frightening way.
5.  A glass of wine according to WW's is 5 ounces, and equates to 4 points.
6.  My normal consumption of wine is more than my TOTAL daily point allowance on this damn plan.
7.  I believe I need a different meeting - AA, not WW.

...Or a much smaller wine glass.  But the kids are home in 2 days, so we know that is not an option.
WW's or bust.  I say bust.

My Personal Fifty Shades of Grey Results

Just like many other women on this planet, I've completed the final book in the Fifty Shades of Grey Trilogy...  and I have one simple question to pose:

NOW WHAT???!!!

Okay, so the reading lagged on a little, the sex scenes became a little expected, and I kept thinking an ignorant Miss Anastasia Steele was going to find Mr. Fifty Shades off with an army load of prostitutes at any waking moment, as you'd expect in the "real world".  But I enjoyed the read.  And more importantly, my cop of a husband pulled his hand cuffs out the other night to surprise me.

That's the entire point of the book, right?

These are the things that make me miss my kids EVEN MORE while they are away this week on vacation with their Dad:








You have to appreciate a newly 9-year-old's "attempt" at making better eating choices - even thought she's absolutely perfect!

Syd and Sam: I hope you are eating ice-cream like 2 bats-out-of-hell this week at the beach. There is nothing better than sun, swimming and ice-cream every night on the boardwalk!

Missing you both desperately,

Mom xoxo

Sex Education and the Questions That Follow

Sex-Education tips from a Mom who doesn't hold  back:

1. Be prepared to be placed into the "Totally Disgusting" category.  Yep, that's where I landed since my youngest child finally correlated "having a baby" to actually "having had to have sex".  I think I can play this one out to my advantage for a few years.  Sex = Disgusting.  Perfect.

2. Don't compare "sperm" to "fish".  Because after stewing over the conversation for some time, my step-son still can't understand how an actual "fish" could fit into a woman's vagina and swim through her body and stay alive.  I think I'm going to try "squirt gun" next time.

3.  Forget the line about how you promise not to "laugh" or "make fun of them" for ever coming to you with a question.  The whole point of this is to have them trust you, right?  Just abandon this at all costs. Because IMMEDIATELY after you promise not to laugh, you're going to be faced with the dumbest sex question E-V-E-R.  And you're just going to burst out laughing at them.  In their face.  Yep, full LOL.  And they will never come to you again, so save your energy up for the time when they realize Sex does not = Disgusting anymore.

Step Parenting Sucks... sometimes

I absolutely adore my step-sons. I really do. I love my husband even more. And of course, my girls are nothing less than precious to me. But step-parenting sucks sometimes. It's probably one of the most self-less jobs a person can have and brings on so many additional challenges when compared to parenting your own children.

Here are just a couple of things I struggle with:

• The TRANSITION period. Children of divorce get the worst deal. They have absolutely no choice in the option of splitting living time between two separate households. And even harder for them is the difference in rules between houses. Unfortunately, when biological parents fall at opposite ends of the discipline paradigm, these poor little kids fall on their face. Well, at least when they get to our house they fall, because we actually have rules that we enforce. And for them coming to our house, it takes a at least a couple of days to simply transition to how they know they can behave in our home. And this leads to a whole other frustration around being the "mean" parents, or the "assholes". But from the words of my therapist, they will later appreciate or benefit from having structure and set expectations. ("When??!!" I ask, "When???") Rules and appropriate behavioral expectations will benefit them in the long run. I wish they could see that now though, instead of seeing me as the "step-mom" who should have starred in Cinderella.

• MY HUSBAND, THE DAD. I miss my husband when his boys are here. And I realize that he probably feels the same way when his kids are not here, and my girls are clinging to me almost 24 hours a day as if I were their lifeline to survival. Yet, for those 10-15 days each month when those little terds are here, they are glued to my husbands body as if he had a sudden growth on his side that was irremovable. How precious is the fact that they just eat every waking moment with him, because that is what they crave and desire. But inside, I miss him and feel selfish to even type the words.

• BLENDING A FAMILY. With two girls of my own (7 and 10) and my husbands two boys (6 and 9), when we are all together I couldn't be prouder. Yet blending 4 creatures together and cramming their entire lives under one roof for undefined periods of time can only result in chaos. Competition. Argues. Fights. There usually comes a point in time where I literally have to simply "check out". I've even told them that. I can't do it anymore. And then, I hear the uncontrollable giggling amongst them all in the basement, or the constant chit-chat at bedtime when they all insist on sleeping in one room together even though we just moved in order to give them all their own space. And then I fall in love with each of them all over again. Thank God.

I struggle every day hoping that what I do is the best thing for each of them. I hope that I choose the right words, the right timing, the right battles to fight and ultimately that one day, somehow, they will look back and possibly think silently even for one moment in their adult life that I loved them immensely and did the best I could.

I can only hope.

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.