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.