Tag Archives: mom blog

The Case of the Ninja Children

I have a friend who has 7 children.  SEVEN.  It’s not like I never heard of that before.  My dad is one of 7.  His parents are from Irish Catholic descent.  They did not believe in birth control.  This is the 21st century.  I didn’t think people still did things like this.  I freak out when a woman I meet tells me she has 3 children.  Seven?  Holy Hell.

Anyway, my friend had to go out of town.  I helped to sit some of her children.  With another friend.  Because that shit cannot be done alone.  I don’t care if your name is Mary-Freaking-Poppins.  For the record, I adore her kids. They are awesome.  Full of personality and life.  Amazing.  Did I get baby fever (or toddler fever)?  Almost.  But then I realized that if I still had a uterus, it most likely would have jumped right out of my body.  I’m seriously not sure I could do that all over again.  Actually, I’m AM sure I couldn’t do that all over again.

This friend of seven has a blog.  I have spoken about her before (www.not-your-average-mom.com).  She’s funny.  She’s real.  She says it like it is.  She doesn’t hold any punches.  When her kids get into something (which is quite often), she documents it.  Shares it with the world.  There are haters out there.  People who say shit like, “you should be watching your kids more closely.”  Blah, blah, blah.  I do not judge her.  I am a mother of one.  And I remember when The Kid was a young child, sometimes crap would happen.  You could have your back turned for 3.5 seconds, and crap just happens. It just does.  I don’t care who you think you are.  It happens to all of us.  The best of us.  Even the haters.

It happened to us yesterday.  Her living room is divided in half by a sectional.  Behind the sectional is a play area.  With a rectangular kid’s table.  Her youngest child seemed to want to go back behind the couch and take a nap under this table.  My friend and I checked on her.  She was out cold.  A few minutes later her brother decided to join her.  He laid down next to her and seemed to be passed out as well.  We checked on them.  Even called out their names.  Not a flinch.  They were out like a couple of burnt out light bulbs.

We were sitting on the couch.  Not 2 feet from them.  10 minutes passed and not a sound.  Not a freaking sound.  You could hear a pin drop.  No rustling.  No nothing.  Do you understand?  Not.A.Sound.  They suddenly appear and this was our surprise:

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That is nail polish, lipstick and Lord knows what else.  The little girl had it all over her princess dress.  Her older sister (not pictured) was a bit worried that the stains would never come out.  I was absolutely amazed and although I have the utmost respect for my mother of 7 friend, the level of respect was raised by 2,000 decibels.  If that is possible.  These kids completely and utterly bamboozled us.  They deserve an Oscar.  It’s like they got together and spoke in their toddler speak or something.  I can hear them now, “Show’s on mo-fo’s.  Let’s blow their minds.”

We sat there completely dumbfounded.  These children are Ninja’s.  They are stealth.  They are like nothing I have ever seen in my life.  They have their craft down to a science.  Seriously.  That is some crazy crap.  I hope they do some good with that someday.  Because it is a gift. A real gift.

When I got home, I sat on the couch and fell into a deep sleep.  A coma-like sleep.  My daughter had to nudge me because I was snoring.  At 4 in the afternoon.  An 8 hour shift at My Retail Job doesn’t exhaust me as much as watching those beautiful children for 4 hours.  Phew.  With that being said, I would do it again in a heartbeat.  Great experience.  Good job, Friend of 7.  Good job.

A Girl and Her Parka

A friend posted this on Facebook the other day:

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I LOL’ed to myself and then I “Liked” the photo.  This friend commented that she was surprised that I did not comment.  Do you want to know why I did not comment?  Because people who live in glass houses should not throw stones.  Here is my look for 6 months out of the year:Yes, I have even worn slippers when dropping The Kid off at school.  I never said I was proud.

Yes, I have even worn slippers when dropping The Kid off at school. I never said I was proud.

During the off season, I keep it hidden away in an upstair’s closet.  Where it lies in wait for its annual debut.  October is when it comes out into the light and hangs on the coat hook by the garage door until the end of March.  Always ready for my eager self.

I love my parka so, SO much.  It literally is my best friend.  The Kid hates it.  When I say “hate” I mean it.  If given the chance to throw a lit match at it, I’m pretty sure she’d take it.  Hopefully, with me NOT inside.  I can see her cringe on the field hockey field when she sees me sitting in the bleachers wearing it.  Or when I throw it on to drop her and her friends off at the mall.  Sometimes I’ll even add my pair of Fuggs to complete the look.  This is the ultimate revenge tool.  There is nothing like embarrassing your teenager.  I live for it.  But that is only one of the reasons why I love my parka so.

  1. This thing covers up every flaw, faux pas, and bad hair day.  There is nothing like a big fluff of goose feathers to mask every imperfection from the scalp to the knees.  Now if I could only get away with wearing it in July.
  2. It allows me to get more sleep.  How?  I don’t have to waste time getting dressed.  If you happen to run into me at school or the grocery store and I am wearing this, you can bet the ranch on the fact that there is nothing but hairy legs, bra-less ta-tas and Walmart pajama bottoms under there.  I might be kinda screwed if I get arrested or wind up in a car accident.  Because chances are, if I’m dressed like this, I also have not changed my underwear.  Sorry mom.
  3. This bad boy covers my buns.  And if my buns are warm, everything is warm.  Who said heat escapes through the head?
  4. It is machine washable and dryer safe.  My white parka has the misfortune of being owned by a slob.  Therefore, it pretty much gets a bath every time I lean against my car, spill coffee on myself or sit.  It has seen the inside of a washing machine more times than Miley Cyrus has stuck out her tongue.

So, Purple Parka People, have you no shame?   Walking around in a comforter with arms?  Of course you don’t.  Neither do I.  I just hope you are dressed under there.  There is room for only one PJ clad housewife in this town.

 

Where Are You Fisher Price?

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I blame my mother for my Christmas obsession.  What is my Christmas obsession, you ask?  The ridiculous problem of not knowing when to stop purchasing gifts for Miss Spoiled Pants (aka The Kid).  I know.  I know.  There are children starving, poor and living in the streets all around the world.  I am aware of that.  And for the record, I also buy gifts for underprivileged families every Christmas.  And contribute to charities throughout the year.  So it makes me feel just a little better about my obsession.  But just a little.

Here is why I blame my mother:  When I was a kid, we couldn’t even walk into our living room from the gifts spilling out from under the tree.  Granted there were 3 of us and our living room was about the size of a shoebox.  But still.  We couldn’t walk into the room.  That right there is a child’s best dream come true.

My parents did not have a lot of money in the early years.  Mother started recycling before it was in fashion.  Purchasing used toys from the local Salvation Army.  Before you get all germaphobe on me, she cleaned them thoroughly with Clorox.  She swears.

And then later on, when there was a double income, I received gifts that would stack up practically to the ceiling.  This would happen until my last Christmas at home.  It was pretty awesome.  Until I became a mother.  What is the expression?  Nature or Nurture?  I think this had to do with the latter.  And I can’t seem to stop.

When The Kid was little — and when I say “little” I mean under the age of 10 — she was incredibly easy to buy for.  Or should I say CHEAP to buy for.  Because anyone who gives you a list a mile long is easy to buy for.  I could buy 100 bucks worth of Fisher Price shit, throw it under the tree and make it look like she hit the mother lode.

When she got into the early double digits, it started getting a little more expensive.  A little.  She wanted stuffed animals and Jonas Brother’s CDs.  Along with an i-Pod. Still, it did not pose much of a problem.  Totally manageable.

Now?  Good Lord.  I’m on the verge of robbing a bank.  One weekly paycheck from My Retail Job barely covers one single item on this kid’s list.  Just so you know, she does not get this from me.  I am a bare-bones kinda gal.  The cheaper, the better.  I can get 5 outfits with $100.  Even if it all falls apart after 2 washes.

DH is not completely onboard with the over the top Christmases.  I basically have to sneak the purchases into the house.  Sometimes hiding them in the trunk or at a friend’s house for days, even weeks, until the right moment hits.  Pulling the “oh that?  I bought that in August when there was a giant sale at K-Mart” card.  Totally works.  I think.  I also feel the need to fulfill most everything on her list.  I don’t understand it.  I never had half the shit she gets.  To make matters worse, she won’t share her closet with me.  But that is a subject for a different blog.

All I can say is that she should count her lucky stars she is an only child.  Because I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be getting almost everything on her list if she weren’t.  I’m pretty sure.  Well, I think I’m pretty sure.  There is no way of knowing now, is there?

I just really miss Mr. Price, Melissa and Doug.  They were more my speed.  They have been replaced by Apple, Jack Wills and North Face.  North Face.  She doesn’t even ski.  I’m really confused.  Oh well.  Three words that don’t seem to be a part of my vocabulary this time of year:  “Just Say No.”  I think I need help.  In the meantime, if you need some tips on how to hide purchases, just inbox me.

So Much To Be Thankful For. Let Me Count the Ways.

thanksgivingOn this cold and windy Thanksgiving Day, I sit and I wonder at all that I am thankful for.  I am thankful for my family, good health, a warm house, my friends, both old and new.  I am most definitely thankful for all that I should be thankful for.  For all those things that we take for granted.  But I’m also thankful for other things.

  1. I am thankful for you, DVR and On Demand.  Without you, how would I get my weekly fix of Dr. McDreamy.  Even though McDreamy was a second to McSteamy.  I am NOT thankful that they killed him off.  Why did they do that?  I still mourn.
  2. I am thankful for washing machines.  As much as I bitch my life away while throwing in a load, I think I would just die if I had to squat down next to a river and bang rocks on my undergarments.
  3. I am also thankful for dishwashers.  And I am thankful that I can ram that little machine to the hilt and still get my dishes clean.  (DH begs to differ on the ramming it to the hilt thing, but do I care what he thinks?  No.  Because then I would have dishes in my sink waiting for the next load.  I have a “dishes sitting in my sink for any length of time” fear.  It’s a real phobia.  Look it up.)
  4. I am thankful for down comforters.  I am especially thankful for the down comforter when it finds its way downstairs on the couch (thanks, Kid).  The only problem is I cannot get off the couch once I’ve sat my ass down with that comforter pulled over me.  It’s a real problem.  Thank God for dishwashers and washing machines.  That shit gets my shit done.  Fast.
  5. I am thankful for those little tin foil pans.  See #3.
  6. I am thankful for indoor plumbing.  I’ve been camping.  Getting up in the middle of the night, getting dressed and going outside in the cold to relieve myself is not my idea of a good time.  Especially when there is a skunk giving you the hairy eyeball as you make your way to the latrine.  So, thank you toilet.  Even though I do have to clean you once in a while.
  7. I am thankful for tweezers.  Thank you for keeping my face from looking like that of Sasquatch.  You are the gift that keeps on giving.
  8. I am thankful for elastic waistbands.  Without you, I would run the risk of losing my pants when I have to unzip them to let out the turkey belly.  Or as The Kid says, “my food baby.”

I could go on, but I have to go and prep some stuff for my Thanksgiving Day.  Which brings me to being thankful for maids, cooks and butlers.  Even though I have none of them.  But I promise I will be thankful if I ever acquire any or all.  In the meantime, I will be thankful for my toilet brush, oven and furniture polish.  Those are the next best thing, right?  Yes.  That’s what I will continue to tell myself.  Happy Thanksgiving to all!  Go and eat too much!

Hotel Living At Its Finest

I love hotels.  No really.  I do.  I don’t know if it’s because someone makes my bed or because I can call room service when I get hungry.  I just love them.  I love the smell of the soap.  I love the fluffy pillows and down comforters.  I know.  I’m weird.  DH would much rather chew off his own arm than stay in a hotel, so we don’t do it often.

When my annual scrapbooking retreat comes up, I’m so delighted.  No laundry, no cleaning, no cooking.  And I get to stay in a hotel.

I’m not a picky hotel-stayer.  I don’t mind the humming of the A/C or the sound of the elevator shaft, or the noise of the ice machine.  I don’t even mind if there are people skipping, running or beat boxing down the hall.  But staying in a hotel does have its risks.

I shared a room with 3 friends.  2 to a bed.  That doesn’t bother me.  My bed-mate was a good friend from high school so she’s seen it all.  After scrapbooking all day and late into the night, we returned to our room completely exhausted, I just wanted to go to sleep.  And I did.  It was wonderful until about 2:00am when a large bang woke me.  Followed by plenty more of the same.  What the hell?  Is someone irish dancing on the ceiling?

I sat up and listened for a minute only to hear Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” really, really loud.  And it seemed to be stuck on the same verse.  With the bass turned to it’s deepest.  Then the sound of laughter.  Deep, man laughter.  Lots-of-men-laughter.  I was patiently waiting for the sounds to wake my roommates.  What the hell did these girls take before going to bed?  Ambien with a side of whiskey?

I waited for what seemed like an eternity for the noise to stop.  Surely, these men were raised properly and not by wolves.  Surely, they would realize the error of their ways.  Every expletive was running through my head.  I think I was in complete disbelief.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m pretty laid-back.  In fact, I can be a bit passive.  I don’t like to cause a scene and I don’t like a confrontation.  But my patience had just about worn thin.  So I got out my iPhone flashlight and made my way across the room to find the hotel phone.  In my hoarse voice, I shouted at the poor front desk woman that the party above my head needed to stop immediately.  Her reply?  “I guess you are trying to sleep, huh?”  No.  Actually.  Not really.  I like being a ball buster at 2am for no reason whatsoever.  She was very nice. I was just pissed off.  Sorry for the ‘tude front desk lady.

Of course, the sound of my voice woke my roommates.  Finally.  They weren’t too happy that I woke them.  They didn’t know what the fuss was all about.  Are you kidding me?  I am not known for having good hearing. DH and the kid are constantly telling me I am deaf.  But come on.  If I can practically make out the words to their conversation, surely even the hotel across the street can hear these clowns.

It took about 5 minutes, but the noise finally stopped.  I mean, really stopped.  Dead.  In it’s tracks.   I wonder what the front desk chick told them?  “Yo dudes, if you don’t stop the party the wacko lady downstairs is going to pretty much go postal on you so let this be your only warning.”  I like the thought that these tough grown men could have possibly been a little bit afraid of me.

The next morning at breakfast, I looked over every single man that walked in.  I believe I found them.  They looked something like this:

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I knew I had my men.  They sure were lucky I wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight.  Next time, it won’t be so pretty.

Go Outside and……Oh, Never Mind

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Remember when we were children?  There was no such thing as the video game.  We had no smart phones or computers to keep us busy.  What we did have was the Great Outdoors.  Our mother’s favorite thing to say was, “go outside and stay outside.”  I think we were only allowed to play inside of it were raining.

I remember leaving after breakfast and only coming home for lunch and dinner.  Our rule was we had to come in for good when the street light’s came on.  DH’s mom had a cow bell attached to the front of her house that she would ring to let her boys know it was time for lunch, dinner or bed.  It was a simpler time.  It was a carefree time.

When the kid was little, I remember feeling so resentful that I couldn’t let her play as I did.  Why couldn’t I?  When did it change?  I mean, I think they had just as many perverts back then as they do now, maybe even more.  My parents weren’t afraid some psycho was going to snatch us off the street.

Because I had to conform to society and because I loved my kid and was scared shitless of what the media said, I kept her in.  Safe and sound.  I remember if she played outside in the yard, I would pull up a chair. I mean, we would hear on the news that weirdo’s were coming into people’s yards and taking their children.  Out of their own yard!  That right there is some scary shit.

What are our kids going to tell their children?  Probably something that sounds a bit like this:  “When I was young, we would play Wii until the cows came home.  And there was this really cute place called a Park and all the moms would sit on the bench and watch us like hawks while we played.  I remember this one time, your grandmother had a heart attack because she lost sight of me for about 40 seconds.  Haha!  It was a trip.  You should have seen the look on her face.  We almost had to call 911 on her.”

I can totally see why we are called helicopter parents.  These poor kids will not have street smarts. My kid sometimes forgets to look both ways before crossing the street because she always assumes it’s my job.  I don’t think she can find her way out of a paper bag.  I’m afraid when she goes off to college she’s not going to know what to do.  How to navigate.  We’re going to have to pin a GPS device to her jacket.

Look, I know I’m exaggerating a bit.  I have dropped the kid off at the mall with some friends and she comes home unscathed.   I’m learning to let go a little.  Be a little less afraid.  So let’s see….three years, 6 months and approximately 1 week until she leaves for college.  A little more time for me to hover.  Then what?  Advice to give our kids who are going off to college:  don’t put your drink down and travel in packs.  Let’s hope they listen or I’ll be having another heart attack.  Or twelve.

The Death of a Habit?

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I was on Facebook today and I saw that a friend posted this article about the dangers of drinking. Here is the headline:

Even Moderate Drinking Linked to Increased Cancer Risk

Oh dear God.  If this is true, then I am a dead woman.  Basically, the article talks some shit about how even having a glass of wine a day can increase your risk of getting cancer by, well, a lot.

I am one of those people who has a glass of wine every night.  Ok, maybe not EVERY night.  Let’s say the average month consists of 30 days.  I drink wine about 28 days a month.  And about 22 of those days I have more than just one glass.  The odds are not in my favor.

So here I was using the excuse to drink red wine because it was really good for your heart and since I have high cholesterol I thought it was great because I would just have a glass of wine with my steak (total run-on sentence — sorry).  Except now the cancer risk outweighs the heart healthy part.

It’s funny because my mom has been telling me for years about this cancer/alcohol link.  I pretty much just roll my eyes and open a bottle of my favorite Cabernet.  You have to understand something about my mom.  She reads everything and watches CNN like it’s the only show on TV. So, every “new” development that comes up, which is pretty much every day, I’m sure to know about it.  The most ridiculous thing like breathing can cause lung cancer.  Ok, I’m kidding.  But shit, everything gives us cancer these days.

If I listened to everything my mom told me, here are the things I would have to give up:

  • Cooked meat  – Have you ever had an uncooked hamburger?  Yum.  Watch out for those tape worms though.
  • Sun  – An oldie but a goodie.  Slather on that lotion.  Or be pale and cold.  Your choice.
  • Mouthwash – In lieu of the recent study, this one should be a no brainer.
  • Vitamins  – Yup.  This is a new one.  Those antioxidants are serious bad boys.
  • Body lotion – Yes, even body lotion.  It can cause breast cancer believe it or not.  So, do we slather on lotion to avoid skin cancer, or go out in the sun without it to avoid breast cancer?
  • Alcoholic beverages – I have nothing to say except it just sucks.

So anyway, now that I’ve actually seen it in words, I’m suddenly freaked out.  Like, really freaked out.  I even went out to lunch with the family today and didn’t order a glass of wine.  That’s unheard of.  For some reason, I think any time I sit in a restaurant there is this rule that I have to drink wine.  So, I ordered water and I didn’t actually die.

Ok, so I can give up body lotion and mouthwash.  But wine?  There are no words.  I think I’m in mourning.  I’ll start my mourning on Monday, with my New Year’s Resolutions.

Hide and Seek

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One Saturday morning last summer, I was the only one up in the house.  I never get those mornings.  So I decided to watch a movie.  On our big flat screen TV.  A TV that can be seen at least a mile away.  In a living room that my husband likes to refer to as “the fish bowl.”

I have gotten into the habit of not getting dressed when we have no plans on a Saturday.  I know.  It’s not a very good habit.  This was my attire this one specific morning:  T-shirt.  Underwear.  If you show up at my house on a Saturday, I can’t promise you I’ll be decent.  You might want to call first.

So there I was watching a movie, minding my own business when the doorbell rings.  Picture this:  one 45 year old woman wearing a t-shirt and underwear nose diving onto the floor face down.  Then crawling by the front door, a front door that has windows on either side, through the foyer and into the kitchen.  All done in military style.  You would have had to be Ray Charles not to have seen me.

So, who was interrupting my Saturday morning?  Jehovah’s Witnesses.  I know this because I looked at them as I was crawling past the door.  2 of them.  They must think they are like a bag of Lays… one just isn’t enough.

As a parting gift, they got a very nice shot of my ass.  I’m pretty sure the image was burned into their corneas.  They never came back.  I think what they saw scared them straight off our street.  You’re welcome neighbors.  You owe me.

Snow Bored-ing

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I was bored during the storm today.  I figured I probably should try to actually do something before I developed hemorrhoids from sitting on the couch for too long.  So, I decided to google what to do during a blizzard.  Here were the top 10 suggestions and why they just weren’t going to work out for me:

1)  Shovel – that’s what I have a husband for.
2)  Build a snowman – that’s what I have a kid for.
3)  Sit by the fire – Since the kindling is buried in half a foot of snow, that doesn’t appear to be happening.
4)  Go sledding – I like my head in one piece, thank you very much.  Besides, I’ll probably just pee my pants.  Watch out for the yellow snow!  Sorry.  I couldn’t resist.
5)  Watch TV – No shit Sherlock.  That’s why I’m googling what to do during a blizzard.
6)  Go exploring – Do they think my name is Lewis?  Or Clark?  I don’t know.  Do you see a resemblance?
Lewis and Clark

Lewis and Clark

Me

Me

7)  Cook something –  Hahahahahahahahahaha!  Yeah, right.
8)  Organize your home – Organize my hmmm?  What?  I’m sorry I don’t understand the question.
9)  Play games – Monopoly sucks the life out of me.  Clue?  Mr. Mustard in the Billiard room with the candle stick.  Same shit. Different day.
10) Call a friend – Nah, they are all better mothers than I am and are probably out doing something fun in the snow with their children.  Those bitches are always trying to make me look bad.

 

Oh well.  I tried.  I hope they get the roads cleared soon.  I need to go get some Preparation H.

 

I Am An Addict

Holy crap, I’m obsessed.  I can’t stop.  And I don’t know what to do about it.

The game is called “Scramble.”  Not Scrabble.  Scramble.  The little word game that comes in the form of an app that you can download to your smartphone.  The object is to make as many words as possible in 2 minutes and try to beat your opponent.

I know I have a problem.  Here is a small list of why I think so:

  1. When I should be cleaning the house, but I’m not.  I’m playing Scramble.
  2. Dinner needs to be put on the table.  But it’s not.  I’m playing Scramble.
  3. I should be asleep but I’m not.  Until 1am, I’m playing Scramble.
  4. The kid is speaking to me.  Do I hear her?  No, because I’m playing Scramble.
  5. I should be spending quality time with DH.  The kid is in bed.  We are sharing a bottle of wine.  But I don’t pay attention to him.  Because I’m playing Scramble.
  6. In the car.  Actually, no.  I don’t play in the car because it makes me dizzy.

The really fun part is I can spell bad words.  Like Ass, Shit, Shat and Damn.  It’s so much fun when I can spell out a bad word.  It’s like that thrill you get when you spell a word out with the numbers on a calculator.  hELL.  Ooh, what a rush.

There is a downside though.  This is what I see when I close my eyes:

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I lie there imagining words that I can make.  Sometimes I can’t turn it off.  Sometimes it drives me so crazy I could just about jump off the nearest bridge.  It’s like hearing Roseanne Barr singing one verse of the National Anthem over and over again in your head.

There are a couple of die hards that I play with.  I sit and play and wait for my opponents to take their turn.  Sometimes it can take hours.  What happened?  Are they sick?  Did they get hit by a bus?  Where are they???  Come on people, you’re killing me…..

The kid keeps asking me when I’m going to get sick of it.  Like Facebook, it’s so “yesterday.”  I’m like a crack whore.  I won’t get sick of it.  I can’t get enough.  Ooh, wait.  What’s this “Ruzzle” game all about?  Hmmm.  Maybe I should check it out.