Can I please just take a SHIT in private?

Well, it was bound to happen at some point. And yesterday was the day.

I threw it out there. Big-Time. Right Pitch. Excellent Tone. 100% Fierce Attitude.

Yep, I dropped the "F-Bomb" for the first time to our entire gang of kids. And I feel like an ass.

And then there's my husband who continues to remind me as he laughs out loud that it wasn't just me "throwing out an F-bomb" that was so entertaining and hysterical, but it was the entire scene of watching me storm out of the bathroom at 70mph, screaming:

"I CAN'T EVEN TAKE A FUCKING 1 MINUTE SHIT WITHOUT ALL OF YOU GUYS FIGHTING AND CRYING OVER SOMETHING????"

Reaction was silence. And then giggles from behind me [adoring husband] and giggles in front of me [adoring four children whom I did not love so much yesterday morning] .

So, after fifteen minutes of calming down from everyone making fun of me, I apologized to each of our kids individually for my language.... and my sudden outburst. And they looked at me with no concern in the world before moving on in their day, with only the littlest one of a whopping 5 years whispering quietly yet sternly:

"Sue, you need to take a time out. Five minutes. Seriously."

Fuck. I just remembered the house rules we posted months ago, which include ALL family members... not just the kids. A-D-U-L-T-S too. That was my quote. [What the hell was I thinking to make such a big deal of equality in all the rule presentation bullshit back then? WTF???]

But then it hit me. Time out? As in alone time? By myself with no nagging children crying or bothering me for snacks or juice boxes or refereeing Wii turns or setting 15 minutes segments for each of them on the computer? Are you serious???!!!

I am now planning my next attack. And this time, for a full fledged grounding. All evening. Alone. In my room.

It will be hard to hold back from now on.

I can't wait.

Hair on your W-H-A-T???

"Mom, I just want you to know that

I have H-A-I-R on my V-A-G-I-N-A."

Those are the words that were thrown at me approximately 45 minutes ago, in the bathroom during bedtime routine. My 9 year-old totally blindsided me.

And hey, I'm the mom that actually is trying to explain that "vulva" is really the appropriate term we should use instead of "vagina".

But sometimes you just aren't prepared.

So while I'm sure the nightly easel drawings will look something like this over the next few weeks:

I'm prepared to have a fuller discussion with my little one tomorrow.
And this is what it's going to be about:

My husband agrees that this "says it all". [Thanks baby for the advice.]

And by the way, I love having a vagina.

Hair and all.

Mail Can Be FUN!

OK, did you ever have a day where something stops you dead in your tracks and makes you wonder:

"Do I have a problem?"

[And no - I'm not talkin' about drinking too much red wine.]

This weekend, I was forced to think back about the content of some of my posts. I realize I've talked about my husband's male member at times - but all in fun - absolutely no "porn" twists to it or anything, right?

And then there was the time I suggested a website to those of you who haven't been introduced... do you remember??? Youporn? But THAT was a suggestion from a friend of mine, and see, I was just trying to share the wealth, people. Do you understand?

Ok, and THEN I quickly was brought back to the time I offered to show my boobs for some technical support... but if you read my entire post I actually ended it with "Just kiddin' baby"... which was directed to my husband, and was also implying to all my readers that I really wasn't actually prepared to show my real boobs.

K? You all following me here?

So when I entered one of my first online giveaways by Tattooed Minivan Mom for a $50 gift certificate to an online sex toy store... [I mean, come ON - who wouldn't want a couple of free sex toys, right???]... I started getting some rather empathetic e-mails from a long time follower... actually I think the first person I started following when I started this blog back in August. It was Dorsey. And she wanted to send me a goodie box since I didn't win the sex toy contest.

This blogging world is still all new to me. So when she asked me for my address via e-mail, I reminded her that my husband's a cop and if she was a stalker he'd literally beat the shit of her.

Nice response, right?

Because then I began thinking, what if Dorsey's blog is a big cover up???

I mean, all those videos and pics of her and her beautiful family could be fake. And then there is that thing about how she's so "real" in her writing... and how she posts all those old pics of herself from high school, you know? It could be anyone in those old pics, right??? And her real life journal entries from when she was sixteen? I mean, come on. ANYONE could do this, right?

And then it hit me. MAYBE, just MAYBE, it's her husband who blogs under her identity to secretly get innocent victim's home addresses so he can drive across the country to assault them.
Shit, my man's a cop, remember? I am suspicious of all people.

So this weekend, I get my goodie box. And here's what I got:

SOOOOOOO, if you know me well enough, I'm all over the paranoia shit.

Stalker or not, I'm keepin' it. And you know what they say... sometimes in life you gotta just take a chance, and roll the dice.

And I'll be rolling my sex dice each night this week thanks to Dorsey. Go check her out, and if you're nice, maybe she'll feel sorry for you too and send you something!

Thanks Dorsey!

Girls Weekend in Philly...

Striking a Pose...

Dana Dane...

Katie Kate and Dana Dane...

Holy Crap No MAKEUP after SPA DAY...

Entertaining Ourselves While Katie Kate Disappears...






Katie Kate + Margaritas ...

Now, How Could We NOT take a picture here???

Here's a big shout out to my girl's...

I love you, Ladies!

"Bloating Stomach" & "Constipation": The drawbacks of being a woman

Why is it that women usually get the short end of the stick when it comes to digestive systems. I mean come on people, I'm talking "shit habits" here.

I.Can't.Poop.

My husband eats like he plays pro-football and is continuously training for the Superbowl. And whatever he chooses to put in his body usually exits via sphincter canal within 7 minutes after meal completion.

Seven measly minutes, people.

Yet in the past 72 hours, I have consumed an easily estimated 4 bottles of wine, late night sushi, Mexican food and margaritas [I mean, come on - who the hell doesn't shit after MEXICAN??!!], chicken salad, calamari salad, water, water and more water, more wine and then an amazingly protein filled breakfast plus three mimosas at Sunday brunch.

And the only thing that has exited this body within the past 72 hours is an ever so growing wind tunnel of gas that seems to be building and brewing like no one in their right mind could or should be able to imagine.

Never mind the veggie lasagna last night.

So, my question is: Why in God's name do so many of us women get blessed with malfunctioning GI systems, while the men who would rather pack on a few pounds of bulk lose weight just from the amount of stairs they have to travel in a day to get to a fucking toilet before exploding 6 pounds of internal material each trip?

Life is not fair.

However, girl's weekend was totally worth the bloat.