*burp*
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Come and visit with me on BlogHer!
Yay! Run, run, run as fast as you can! You can totally catch me because I ATE the Gingerbread man... and because I am here on BlogHer today.
Monday, July 29, 2013
The Invasion of my Body Snatchers Mines-of-Moria-style
Sweethairycats, DO NOT DRINK THE WATER!
There are thingssssss in it...
...and they are MULTIPLYING!
Soon they will be in our backyards,...
...taking over our homes,
...using our cell phones,
...and ultimately possessing our very bodies...
"We have barred the gates....
(but THAT obviously failed)
...we cannot get out...
(or even shower alone)
...drums, drums in the deep....
(deep in my gut, usually on my bladder)
They are coming."
(That's why it sounds like a herd of wildebeests are living on our second level!)
(LOTR, Fellowship of the Ring)
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Invasion of the Fruit Snack Snatchers
We have an infestation problem. They are everywhere! Crawling in and over our fence, wriggling into the house, setting up nests in our playground equipment... I'm talking about the neighborhood kids, ya'll.
We moved into our sleepy little neighborhood about a year ago. It is green, quiet, and zoned for all the schools we want. Plus, there are tons of kids. Score, right! Well, sometimes... I used to daydream about slow summer days where all the neighborhood kids ran around together like a primeval herd of wild elk, descending upon various houses for juice boxes and Totinos pizza roll snacks. They would play from sunup to sundown, only returning for sustinance and to fall exhausted into their beds. Everyone would smell of sunscreen and bug spray, their sun-browned limbs flashing through the trees as they raced across yards...
*POP*
That was my bubble popping. Loudly and painfully.
We have dogs.
They are good dogs, mind you. One is a 14 year old tri-colored throw rug that at one point was a beagle but now is a sleeping, eating, and pooping machine. But mostly sleeping. The other is a 7 year old black lab/pony mix whose one goal in life is to play and play hard. Fetch, tag, WWE wrestling... she is down for it all... but they are still dogs. You have a much likelier chance of being bitten by my toddler than by one of my dogs but still... when Mommy and Daddy haven't taught you any animal sense, I worry. So... the dogs get locked up.
Your children are annoying.
Christonasaltine, fortheloveofallthatisholyandgood will you just shuttheeffup! My neighborhood is crawling with little dictators who come into my back yard to yell that "Your baby won't get off the slide!" (well, it's her yard and her slide), or that "You should do it this way because...", or even better... the non-stop diatribe about their recent family trip to (insert boring locale here) to visit (insert someone I don't care about here) with little tidbits dropped that leave me wondering if good old (whoever) is a pedophile/shut-in/serial killer.
Where are your parents?
Are you some street kid just wandering the neighborhood, only here to poach snacks and pee in my bathroom? Oh no? You have a family? Right over there? Funny... I've never seen them. I see they subscribe to the Darwinian "Run Free Like The Buffalo" parenting style for all children under the age of 6. Or did they just lock you out?
Yes, that's all we've got.
"Doncha have anything ELSE to play with?". Anything other than my fist, you mean? Ummm... no, I don't. I am sorry the entire deck box of toys you have strewn about my yard like casualties at the Battle of the Bulge didn't do it for you. Go find a stick. Or better yet, go home.
I am not here to amuse you.
You wanted to come play with my children, so do it. Hubbs and I have just gotten off work and are trying to get dinner ready. Does my face say I care? No? Well... it really is past "take the hint" now, isn't it?
I just thought their would be more parental responsibility. I thought parents would drop by and say hello... you know... just to make sure we weren't in the process of chaining anyone to the walls or burying bodies or something before they let their kids run rampant in our back yard. Hubbs and I have made an effort to figure out what spawn goes where and introduce ourselves accordingly but it has been a long process.
Is this normal neighborhood behavior or did we buy into some weird, free range hippie commune? Maybe Hubbs and I are just worry worts.... or maybe manners are optional here?
Got any suggestions?
We moved into our sleepy little neighborhood about a year ago. It is green, quiet, and zoned for all the schools we want. Plus, there are tons of kids. Score, right! Well, sometimes... I used to daydream about slow summer days where all the neighborhood kids ran around together like a primeval herd of wild elk, descending upon various houses for juice boxes and Totinos pizza roll snacks. They would play from sunup to sundown, only returning for sustinance and to fall exhausted into their beds. Everyone would smell of sunscreen and bug spray, their sun-browned limbs flashing through the trees as they raced across yards...
*POP*
That was my bubble popping. Loudly and painfully.
THIS is our reality:
We have dogs.
They are good dogs, mind you. One is a 14 year old tri-colored throw rug that at one point was a beagle but now is a sleeping, eating, and pooping machine. But mostly sleeping. The other is a 7 year old black lab/pony mix whose one goal in life is to play and play hard. Fetch, tag, WWE wrestling... she is down for it all... but they are still dogs. You have a much likelier chance of being bitten by my toddler than by one of my dogs but still... when Mommy and Daddy haven't taught you any animal sense, I worry. So... the dogs get locked up.
Your children are annoying.
Christonasaltine, fortheloveofallthatisholyandgood will you just shuttheeffup! My neighborhood is crawling with little dictators who come into my back yard to yell that "Your baby won't get off the slide!" (well, it's her yard and her slide), or that "You should do it this way because...", or even better... the non-stop diatribe about their recent family trip to (insert boring locale here) to visit (insert someone I don't care about here) with little tidbits dropped that leave me wondering if good old (whoever) is a pedophile/shut-in/serial killer.
Where are your parents?
Are you some street kid just wandering the neighborhood, only here to poach snacks and pee in my bathroom? Oh no? You have a family? Right over there? Funny... I've never seen them. I see they subscribe to the Darwinian "Run Free Like The Buffalo" parenting style for all children under the age of 6. Or did they just lock you out?
Yes, that's all we've got.
"Doncha have anything ELSE to play with?". Anything other than my fist, you mean? Ummm... no, I don't. I am sorry the entire deck box of toys you have strewn about my yard like casualties at the Battle of the Bulge didn't do it for you. Go find a stick. Or better yet, go home.
I am not here to amuse you.
You wanted to come play with my children, so do it. Hubbs and I have just gotten off work and are trying to get dinner ready. Does my face say I care? No? Well... it really is past "take the hint" now, isn't it?
I just thought their would be more parental responsibility. I thought parents would drop by and say hello... you know... just to make sure we weren't in the process of chaining anyone to the walls or burying bodies or something before they let their kids run rampant in our back yard. Hubbs and I have made an effort to figure out what spawn goes where and introduce ourselves accordingly but it has been a long process.
Is this normal neighborhood behavior or did we buy into some weird, free range hippie commune? Maybe Hubbs and I are just worry worts.... or maybe manners are optional here?
Got any suggestions?
Monday, July 22, 2013
My head is making puffery noises....
Holy sh*t... lightning can strike twice. Except lightning can kill you and this is just electrifyingly awesome!
You can find me... *ahem* on BlogHer AGAIN today! Right here, right now, RIGHT ON!
You can find me... *ahem* on BlogHer AGAIN today! Right here, right now, RIGHT ON!
Friday, July 19, 2013
Can somebody give me a hand?
As I was lurking on Babycenter, as I'm wont to do from time to time (because some of those folks are just too messed up to be anything but funny), and I stumbled upon a topic called "baby led breastfeeding". I was confused so I Googled it and ya'll... WE HAVE GONE TOO FAR.
Author's Note: When I say "we" I mean "humanity" not just "you and I". Because, in the end, we are all responsible for "we", right? It is a heavy burden....
What I gathered from my foray into the interwebs was, that for only $39.95, you too can watch a video for roughly 15 minutes that will teach you how to not help your baby eat. Apparently, you just lay the helpless wee bairn on your tummy and let it try and wiggle to your nipple... like a worm on an apple. But there is 1 full hour of BONUS FOOTAGE! Effing score! Right?
*sigh*
It's soooo natural because I'm sure that's how our ancestors did it. "Okay little Homo Habilis. I got you on the outside here in this dank, dark cave but now it's time for you to fend for yourself! Wiggle hard my little ape-man. WIGGLE!" And just like that, we squirmed and wriggled our way into becoming (arguably) the most successful species on the planet. (queue the nature documentary music and end scene) *warm fuzzy hippie hugs all around*
Wait.... No... That doesn't seem right.
Because it's not.
Ohsweethairyjeezus, ya'll. Just. Quit. Humans have the weakest of all mammal newborns because we evolved to care for them with our hands. You know, those useful tools on the end of your arms that lift the chocolate bars to your mouth? Yeah... those. Even putting that aside, animals WITHOUT hands push and nuzzle and assist their young to the nip post-haste after their birth because is is essential for the newborn's well being. Not to mention that a foal, kitten, or lion cub (and any other mammal except the pouch birthers) can lift their heads moments after birth whereas we cannot.
Little Jimmy had better learn to wiggle good, huh?
Are you really going to do less for you child than a cow in the field? Yes? Really? Okay... well... enjoy your encapsulated placenta and umbilical cord keepsake necklace!
Author's Note: When I say "we" I mean "humanity" not just "you and I". Because, in the end, we are all responsible for "we", right? It is a heavy burden....
What I gathered from my foray into the interwebs was, that for only $39.95, you too can watch a video for roughly 15 minutes that will teach you how to not help your baby eat. Apparently, you just lay the helpless wee bairn on your tummy and let it try and wiggle to your nipple... like a worm on an apple. But there is 1 full hour of BONUS FOOTAGE! Effing score! Right?
*sigh*
It's soooo natural because I'm sure that's how our ancestors did it. "Okay little Homo Habilis. I got you on the outside here in this dank, dark cave but now it's time for you to fend for yourself! Wiggle hard my little ape-man. WIGGLE!" And just like that, we squirmed and wriggled our way into becoming (arguably) the most successful species on the planet. (queue the nature documentary music and end scene) *warm fuzzy hippie hugs all around*
Wait.... No... That doesn't seem right.
Because it's not.
Ohsweethairyjeezus, ya'll. Just. Quit. Humans have the weakest of all mammal newborns because we evolved to care for them with our hands. You know, those useful tools on the end of your arms that lift the chocolate bars to your mouth? Yeah... those. Even putting that aside, animals WITHOUT hands push and nuzzle and assist their young to the nip post-haste after their birth because is is essential for the newborn's well being. Not to mention that a foal, kitten, or lion cub (and any other mammal except the pouch birthers) can lift their heads moments after birth whereas we cannot.
Little Jimmy had better learn to wiggle good, huh?
Are you really going to do less for you child than a cow in the field? Yes? Really? Okay... well... enjoy your encapsulated placenta and umbilical cord keepsake necklace!
I was going to put up a picture of encapsulated placenta but then I Googled it and up popped pictures of a placenta sandwich and something involving flopping a placenta on a canvas to leave a bloody imprint that folks are calling "birth art"... and I was done.
Just. Stop.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
I have a problem...
The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem and... well, I can't stop playing with my Aviary photo app. It's just too much damn fun.
You can Pin it here...
and this one here...
and this one here...
aaaaand this one here...
and last but not least, this one here.
Oh please, oh please enable me! You know you want to!
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
The little lies we tell ourselves...
I did it this morning. I really did. I told myself a little white lie. Shame on me, right? So naughty... except... except.... it helped. I felt better. What is this? Lies only make things worse, right?
They are part of our Basic Parental Survival Skills arsenal (B.P.S.S.)! A necessary evil, if you will. If we lived every moment second guessing ourselves we would all go insane and give up. And not the "good" kind of insanity, either... you know the kind I mean. The kind that makes you say crazy sh*t like "I want another baby." or "I have always wanted to go hang gliding/bungee jumping/swimming with sharks." Yeah...
But I digress...
Listed below are some of the Little White Lies we, as parents, can be found guilty of clinging to like little wordy life preservers in the sea of batsh*t crazy we swim through every day. Beware of jellyfish and sticky fingers!
1. "It's the store brand of the healthy cereal."....
... but it's not, really. It looks like Kix but tastes like Reese's Peanut Butter cups so it's probably not healthy at all. This is what I get for not fighting harder at the grocery store.... I was totally owned by a 4 year old.
2. "They'll stop picking their nose eventually."
Oh, no he won't. And if you are all, like, "Eww! My sweet snookums wouldn't do that!" you are fooling yourself and here is the study to prove it...
- Andrade, Chittaranjan; B.S. Srihari (2001). "A preliminary survey of rhinotillexomania in an adolescent sample". The Journal of Clinical Psychiatry -
Also, don't lie. We all know what we do at stoplights....
3. "That brown stuff must be dirt"...
... yeah.... it MIGHT be.....
4. "Tomorrow will be easier."...
... or just a new hot mess. Either way, you will have hopefully gotten some sleep and a few minutes of down-time with a stiff drink. Unless you are preggers, in which case, you are screwed. (Hah! See what I did, there?) Did you know I dream about margaritas?
5. "Well, every child does that at some point."...
... but they don't, actually. Otherwise it wouldn't be called a problem behavior. But take heart! We all started out as little heathens who bit, hit, tantrumed unmercifully, or gawd knows what else. It's part of how we figure out who we are. Aaaaand then it becomes our problem again by proxy when we reproduce. We do it to ourselves, really. Just do your part and nip it in the bud... or at least try to.
6. "It's just a phase."...
... or an unspeakably terrible and permanent part of their personality. Yeah, or THAT.
7. "I can nap when they nap."
Isn't what we tell new Moms and Dads to do because we all WISH we had done it but then never really did? As I have said before, the idea of being a well rested parent is the sparkly, fat, f*cking unicorn of raising children... it doesn't exist.
8. "I will get organized!"
Sure you will... when everybody is off at college in 18-20. (Yeah... that does sound like a prison term, doesn't it?)
You see, they are all quite harmless and psyche-preserving. So keep on with yer bad self! I know I will...
Got any I missed?
WRONG!
They are part of our Basic Parental Survival Skills arsenal (B.P.S.S.)! A necessary evil, if you will. If we lived every moment second guessing ourselves we would all go insane and give up. And not the "good" kind of insanity, either... you know the kind I mean. The kind that makes you say crazy sh*t like "I want another baby." or "I have always wanted to go hang gliding/bungee jumping/swimming with sharks." Yeah...
But I digress...
Listed below are some of the Little White Lies we, as parents, can be found guilty of clinging to like little wordy life preservers in the sea of batsh*t crazy we swim through every day. Beware of jellyfish and sticky fingers!
1. "It's the store brand of the healthy cereal."....
... but it's not, really. It looks like Kix but tastes like Reese's Peanut Butter cups so it's probably not healthy at all. This is what I get for not fighting harder at the grocery store.... I was totally owned by a 4 year old.
2. "They'll stop picking their nose eventually."
Oh, no he won't. And if you are all, like, "Eww! My sweet snookums wouldn't do that!" you are fooling yourself and here is the study to prove it...
- Andrade, Chittaranjan; B.S. Srihari (2001). "A preliminary survey of rhinotillexomania in an adolescent sample". The Journal of Clinical Psychiatry -
Also, don't lie. We all know what we do at stoplights....
3. "That brown stuff must be dirt"...
... yeah.... it MIGHT be.....
Feel better? Yeah... me neither...
4. "Tomorrow will be easier."...
... or just a new hot mess. Either way, you will have hopefully gotten some sleep and a few minutes of down-time with a stiff drink. Unless you are preggers, in which case, you are screwed. (Hah! See what I did, there?) Did you know I dream about margaritas?
5. "Well, every child does that at some point."...
... but they don't, actually. Otherwise it wouldn't be called a problem behavior. But take heart! We all started out as little heathens who bit, hit, tantrumed unmercifully, or gawd knows what else. It's part of how we figure out who we are. Aaaaand then it becomes our problem again by proxy when we reproduce. We do it to ourselves, really. Just do your part and nip it in the bud... or at least try to.
Why is it ALWAYS in public?
6. "It's just a phase."...
... or an unspeakably terrible and permanent part of their personality. Yeah, or THAT.
Prince effing Charming, right here...
7. "I can nap when they nap."
Isn't what we tell new Moms and Dads to do because we all WISH we had done it but then never really did? As I have said before, the idea of being a well rested parent is the sparkly, fat, f*cking unicorn of raising children... it doesn't exist.
8. "I will get organized!"
Sure you will... when everybody is off at college in 18-20. (Yeah... that does sound like a prison term, doesn't it?)
You see, they are all quite harmless and psyche-preserving. So keep on with yer bad self! I know I will...
Got any I missed?
Monday, July 15, 2013
Nature Playdate
This weekend we did as those who have gone before us...
And we got scraped up, bruised, and covered in bug bites.
Smiles all around...
Now, don't get me wrong. I want my children to be able to negotiate a tablet full of apps and find the good programs on TV. I want them to understand the wealth of information that is at their fingertips and to use it. I want them to be able to navigate the world we are creating for them competently and confidently. But I also want them to know what river water tastes like, how to bait a hook, and how to live without www.whatever.com for a while. I want them to understand the power of a quiet day outside and why we need to make sure and save some of the nature for our future folks. SO now is the time for sun-reddened faces and muddy little knees... we can always play "Angry Birds" or watch "Octonauts" the next rainy day!
We rode some ponies...
We caught some fish...
We played in the water...
You know... really "bonded" with nature....
mmm... delicious river rocks...
Smiles all around...
Now, don't get me wrong. I want my children to be able to negotiate a tablet full of apps and find the good programs on TV. I want them to understand the wealth of information that is at their fingertips and to use it. I want them to be able to navigate the world we are creating for them competently and confidently. But I also want them to know what river water tastes like, how to bait a hook, and how to live without www.whatever.com for a while. I want them to understand the power of a quiet day outside and why we need to make sure and save some of the nature for our future folks. SO now is the time for sun-reddened faces and muddy little knees... we can always play "Angry Birds" or watch "Octonauts" the next rainy day!
Friday, July 12, 2013
OO7 Sass-style.
So... Sass has a new... um... trick?... game?... that Hubbs falls for every. single. time.
Before book and bed at night, Sass watches a cartoon. Sometimes it's Jake and the Neverland Pirates, sometimes it's *shudder* Bubble Guppies, but most of the time it is Octonauts (But never the Whale Shark ones. Sass is TERRIFIED of the Whale Shark ones.). Hubbs and I usually use this time to begin the vegging and play on our phones. (There are only so many times one can watch "The Snot Sea Cucumber" or "The Comb-toothed Blenny".) It's been a great tool in "Calm Yourself, Monkey Boy" time and sets him up nicely for a pee, a book, and bed. That is, until...
Me: "Okay, buddy. Octonauts is over. Time to go upstairs."
Sass: "Just one more? One more Octonauts? Please?"
Me: "Nope... you know the drill. Let's go."
Sass: "Hold on, Mommy. I want to ask Daddy someding."
Me: "He's going to tell you the same thing, buddy."
Sass: *already squirming into Daddy's lap* "Come here Daddy. I want to tewl you someding secret." *places a hand on either side of Daddy's face and turns to whisper in his ear*
Except he doesn't whisper. He licks all the way up the side of Dad's poor, old noggin. Chin. Ear. Hair. All of it. And so quickly, all Hubbs had time to do is looked shocked and gag a little. Sass and I then proceeded to laugh like maniacs for about 3 minutes while Dad digs the drool out of his ear.
The thing is, this hasn't just happened once or even just twice. It has happened 3 or 4 times. Sass varies his approach and waits for days before trying it again. He's crafty. And scary. After his guerrilla-tongue attack, Hubbs lamented, "But I was going to get HIM this time!".
Before book and bed at night, Sass watches a cartoon. Sometimes it's Jake and the Neverland Pirates, sometimes it's *shudder* Bubble Guppies, but most of the time it is Octonauts (But never the Whale Shark ones. Sass is TERRIFIED of the Whale Shark ones.). Hubbs and I usually use this time to begin the vegging and play on our phones. (There are only so many times one can watch "The Snot Sea Cucumber" or "The Comb-toothed Blenny".) It's been a great tool in "Calm Yourself, Monkey Boy" time and sets him up nicely for a pee, a book, and bed. That is, until...
Me: "Okay, buddy. Octonauts is over. Time to go upstairs."
Sass: "Just one more? One more Octonauts? Please?"
Me: "Nope... you know the drill. Let's go."
Sass: "Hold on, Mommy. I want to ask Daddy someding."
Me: "He's going to tell you the same thing, buddy."
Sass: *already squirming into Daddy's lap* "Come here Daddy. I want to tewl you someding secret." *places a hand on either side of Daddy's face and turns to whisper in his ear*
Except he doesn't whisper. He licks all the way up the side of Dad's poor, old noggin. Chin. Ear. Hair. All of it. And so quickly, all Hubbs had time to do is looked shocked and gag a little. Sass and I then proceeded to laugh like maniacs for about 3 minutes while Dad digs the drool out of his ear.
The thing is, this hasn't just happened once or even just twice. It has happened 3 or 4 times. Sass varies his approach and waits for days before trying it again. He's crafty. And scary. After his guerrilla-tongue attack, Hubbs lamented, "But I was going to get HIM this time!".
*sniff*
My little man is growing up and plotting like a big boy.
*blows nose loudly*
I took this photo right after his sneak attack. Just look at that sweet little face so filled with self-satisfaction... *sigh*
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
She. Her. Sister. That child....
SHE is my messy child.
SHE is my diaper-diving, dirt-eating, mess-making wunderkind. No puddle is too deep. No poop shall go unmolested. No food shall remain unsmeared.
Brother is our clean one. He doesn't like sticky hands or face and I never once found him spelunking in his diaper or playing in the toilet. Just this morning, Hubbs caught Sprinkles elbow deep in the crapper with a water cup. The jury is out on whether or not she actually drank any H2-NO! Hubbs would like to remain blissfully ignorant while my vote is yes, she did. Luckily it was freshly flushed... this time.
Brother has always treated food as food. You know, a substance that is supposed to make it in or near the mouth. Sprinkles sees it more as an artistic medium to get stuck in her ears and inbetween her toes.
Bubba is not a fan of mud while Sissy applies it liberally to all surfaces... hers and yours.
Sass Monkey's super powers are speed, agility, and unstoppable speech. Sprinkles' are brute force, fashion sense, and unholy mess.
I wonder what a third will bring? And... will putting all three together create a time and space sucking vortex of doom?
Only time will tell....
Monday, July 8, 2013
I am "Inside the Blogger's Studio" today!
Hey guys!
Check me out over with Danielle Herzog at Martinis and Minivans today! I am super happy dance excited that she knows I exist let alone that she actually associated with me on her blog. Whoot! *more dancing ensues*
Check me out over with Danielle Herzog at Martinis and Minivans today! I am super happy dance excited that she knows I exist let alone that she actually associated with me on her blog. Whoot! *more dancing ensues*
Friday, July 5, 2013
I can die happy... I have been featured on BlogHer!
Whoa... yeah. I know, right? Yeek! *nervous giggle* There I am. Right there. On BlogHer. And not because I posted it myself and then shamelessly pimped myself (which sounds like a real personal problem, doesn't it?). I'm there because... they wanted me there.
*Shocked Silence*
*Shocked Silence*
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Let the "fun" begin!
A bird's eye view of Mt. Synnøvius.
I have hit the halfway point in my pregnancy and we are now 20 weeks along. Yay, right!?!?! Maybe it's because I know what I'm in for, but my enthusiasm is... slightly less than some of those ladies on their first go 'round. I say let them live in blissful ignorance... I don't want to be anyone's bubble popper. 36 weeks should do that for me just fine. Don't get me wrong, though. I am excited to meet our new baby girl! Juuuust maybe not so excited about what's right around the gestational bend. For example:
Things that are going to happen no matter how many goats I sacrifice I have to look forward to:
1. Back/hip/joint pain - The kind of pain grown men take drugs for... except I can take drugs.... yet.
2. Cankles - Are those white tree trunks? Oh... nope. Just a pregnant lady lumbering into the doughnut shop. "Where are her feet?" strangers will wonder as I waddle past. Somewhere under there, I promise you... I can feel my toes wiggling.
3. THE FEAR - Is the baby kicking enough? Is it kicking too much? Was that a contraction? Did I just pee on myself or did my water break? YEEK!
4. Boobs - Now, what is wrong with increasing ones bust size, you ask? If you start off modestly, nothing. But 2 previous breastfeeding stints, and a passel of genetics with an unkind sense of humor later and you end up with mammoth mams that will outweigh your newborn... individually. I am afraid to lay on my back while I sleep because, if those puppies decide to head north, I am going to asphyxiate.
5. Sweat - Ewww, right? Ewww but undeniable. Growing a baby has some unfortunate byproducts... one of those is heat! (there are others but even I have limits) If I lived in the arctic in January, this would be fine. But I don't. I live in the south and it's July. Damnit.
6. Peeing - Hold on a sec... I'll be right back. I have to pee... again. *five minutes later* Okay, now where were we?
7. Uncontrollable hunger - I know it's not an issue for everyone, but I can feel it coming. My entire life will become one long hunt for things I probably shouldn't eat a sh*t-ton of but will anyway. Like chili cheese fries and doughnuts... Food commercials will make me salivate like a bloodhound on a fresh trail and the FOOD Network is completely banned from our channel line-up... unless Hubbs WANTS to go find me collard greens and fried chicken at 10 o'clock at night... on a Tuesday.
Food Crimes I am already guilty of...
8. Questions - If you are going to ask "When are you due?", have the decency to NOT looked shocked and cross yourself when I answer. It's not like you have to BE there...
9. Exhaustion - There is no such thing as "enough sleep". It's the effing unicorn of raising kids. It doesn't exist.
10. Itchy effing stretch marks - "Tiger Stripes" my ass. Tigers never catch themselves scratching at their bellies like they've got something communicable while slathering on everything from Shea butter to cooking oil, muttering pleas for sweet release under their breath.
It's all so glamorous, isn't it? And to top it all off, I get felt up by a stranger in increasingly shrinking intervals! Score!
But despite all the "fun" stuff, it is the only way to get those adorable little heathens that have completely and irrevocably changed our lives for the super better so it's worth it. *sniff* Ow! Oh sh*t... did my milk just drop? *sigh*
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
He defies logic... and all rules of proper sanitation....
I don't even know how to start this one out so I'll just go on and jump right in...
It is bedtime and Sass is SUPPOSED to be stripping down for a quick hose off before stories and sleep. Like I said... SUPPOSED to be...
Instead I hear, "Mooooommy! Come look! I'm in da bathroom!". As I walk in, I see my 4 year old son crammed cross-legged into the c.1983 shell-shaped bathroom sink like a crumpled up spider, grinning furiously. And I hear the water running... Why do I hear the water running but the tap isn't on?
"Hey Mommy! I'm peeing on my feet!" *giggle*
Oh... THAT'S why. Silly me.
It is bedtime and Sass is SUPPOSED to be stripping down for a quick hose off before stories and sleep. Like I said... SUPPOSED to be...
Instead I hear, "Mooooommy! Come look! I'm in da bathroom!". As I walk in, I see my 4 year old son crammed cross-legged into the c.1983 shell-shaped bathroom sink like a crumpled up spider, grinning furiously. And I hear the water running... Why do I hear the water running but the tap isn't on?
"Hey Mommy! I'm peeing on my feet!" *giggle*
Oh... THAT'S why. Silly me.
Monday, July 1, 2013
No really... how did this all happen?
As we prepare for arrival of our third (AND FINAL!) child I often stop and wonder... well... how did this all happen? Don't get me wrong, I know HOW this happened (yeah!) I just sometimes have moments where I am floored by all the havoc wreaked changes to our lives in the last 4 or 5 years. I mean, life gets boring when you get old, right? Heheheheheeee. Shows what you know, silly teenage me. :)
But... how DID this all happen? How did it start? Who are we? Where are my car keys?
*Ahem*
Well... it all started on Halloween Night of 2001 in a frat house...
Romantic, no? *snort* Me and the girls got all dressed up (I was probably some version of a scantily clad fairy/lady bug in calf-length leather high-heeled boots covered in sparkly eye shadow. Remember that stuff?) and headed down to a Halloween Party at our favorite free-beer haunt. I will spare you the gory details of what a house full of 18-25 year olds looks like during a party involving kegs, costumes, and pulsating hormones. Lets just leave it at "Somebody get a pressure washer and a Hazmat Suit!". Gawd, we had fun...
Anyway, I digress...
As the ladies and I were making our rounds, red solo cups in hand, this blurry blue ball of energy came hurtling down the stairs in front of us. When it paused at the bottom we realised it wasn't a blue ball of energy at all! It was a handsome young man, vodka-pink high in his cheeks, wearing a blue tee-shirt with... cotton balls glued to the front of it? And why was he carrying around a water gun? It was too much, I just had to ask what his costume was all about.
"I'm partly cloudy with a chance of rain... except this isn't water." he grinned, obviously incredibly pleased with himself. He then aimed the gun at his mouth and squirted the clear not-water a couple of times. We all laughed and he raced off to complete whatever mission he was on originally.
Now... I didn't think to myself "I'm gonna marry that man." because I was only20 years old totally old enough to drink at the time, but he had definitely piqued my interest. It was a plus he was all soccer-boy hair, green eyes, and testosterone (Oh, and it turned out he was smart too!). Because of mutual friends, we ended hanging out all that summer and then into fall.... and then he finally split with the girlfriend he'd had since he was sixteen and I got my chance.
The rest is history, fate, and pure dumb luck.... :)
So... no early relationship pics to share as they are none of them digital (because we are old). Or full of well-dressed sober people... SO instead I thought I'd share a pic of what I hoped was the long gone glitter eye creams we used allthedamntime "back in the day"... I found this pic labeled "Prom Make-Up". Really? REALLY? Prom Make-Up? When did "worn out stripper" become "coming of age" couture? Wait... I just answered my own question.... Nevermind.
*Little tip for you girls... this sh*t sticks to EVERYTHING! You, your boyfriend, the guy you danced with while your boyfriend was in the bathroom.... just sayin'. Watch yerself...
But... how DID this all happen? How did it start? Who are we? Where are my car keys?
*Ahem*
Well... it all started on Halloween Night of 2001 in a frat house...
Romantic, no? *snort* Me and the girls got all dressed up (I was probably some version of a scantily clad fairy/lady bug in calf-length leather high-heeled boots covered in sparkly eye shadow. Remember that stuff?) and headed down to a Halloween Party at our favorite free-beer haunt. I will spare you the gory details of what a house full of 18-25 year olds looks like during a party involving kegs, costumes, and pulsating hormones. Lets just leave it at "Somebody get a pressure washer and a Hazmat Suit!". Gawd, we had fun...
Anyway, I digress...
As the ladies and I were making our rounds, red solo cups in hand, this blurry blue ball of energy came hurtling down the stairs in front of us. When it paused at the bottom we realised it wasn't a blue ball of energy at all! It was a handsome young man, vodka-pink high in his cheeks, wearing a blue tee-shirt with... cotton balls glued to the front of it? And why was he carrying around a water gun? It was too much, I just had to ask what his costume was all about.
"I'm partly cloudy with a chance of rain... except this isn't water." he grinned, obviously incredibly pleased with himself. He then aimed the gun at his mouth and squirted the clear not-water a couple of times. We all laughed and he raced off to complete whatever mission he was on originally.
Now... I didn't think to myself "I'm gonna marry that man." because I was only
The rest is history, fate, and pure dumb luck.... :)
My poor eye-lids circa 2000-2001.
*Little tip for you girls... this sh*t sticks to EVERYTHING! You, your boyfriend, the guy you danced with while your boyfriend was in the bathroom.... just sayin'. Watch yerself...
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