I know. I know. It's been a while. A girl gets busy. What can I say? While you work on forgiving me, I'll tell you a little story about my soon to be 6-year-old.
Hubs is out of town so the 6-year-old slept with me last night. This will only work a little while longer as the 2-year-old is starting to catch on to this routine and soon I'll have two little monsters trying to beat me to death in my sleep.
Any who, the 6-year-old woke up this morning mid-sentence telling me he wants the game "Operation" for his birthday. His birthday is a little over a month away. He's been talking about it for the last two months. Telling me daily what he wants for his birthday.
Essentially, the items on his wish list include all toys sold in a store, advertised in catalogs or on television...that aren't pink. We received the Toys R Us toy catalog in the mail several weeks ago and he goes through it every day circling new toys with each passing day and telling me how amazing and how much he wants all of these items.
The hubby and I have tried explaining to him that he is not going to get every item he circled in the catalog for his birthday. His reply:
"I know. I'll get some of these things for my birthday, some for Christmas and the rest for Easter."
Oh, the joys of having no concept of money. What a blissful world that must be.
Later, in the car on the way to school he was talking about his birthday party.
Cody: "I want a Lego Batman birthday party."
Me: "What do you do at a Lego Batman birthday party."
Cody: "There will be legos out on the tables and everyone has to build something as fast as they can."
Me: "Oh, that sounds like fun." (sarcasm)
Cody: "Then they will have to bring what they made to me so I can see if they are good enough."
Me: "Sounds to me like you'll be asking for friends for your 7th birthday."
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
Stress Dream
I had a dream last night that I had a 4th kid.
Editors Note: I currently only have two kids so I don't know where my 3rd kid was in my dream. However, I have often said that if I had a third kid it is likely that I would forget him or her at the hospital as my negligence grows with each child.
So in this dream I had a 4th child. I couldn't remain at the hospital after I had the child because I had to run my current two children somewhere so the hubby stayed back with the child. The next morning I woke up and realized I didn't even know my new son's name. (Yes, I had a boy. Even in my dreams I can't make myself have a girl.) So I woke hubby up (still in my dream, not in reality) to find out what he named our child. He couldn't remember either, however we had paperwork from the hospital that contained this information so we flipped open the folder. Dylan Sullivan.
Hubby said he named him Dylan because Dylan McKay from 90210 always had good head of hair and he thought this would guarantee our new son would never go bald. I don't know where Sullivan came from and he didn't explain. I said I wasn't crazy about the name Dylan, but I liked Sullivan and thought we should call him Sully. Should it be spelled Sully or Sullie? No, I think it is Sully. Of course there's always Sulley. No, that's dumb. I'm sticking with Sully.
Changing his name to something we both liked seemed like a lot of effort and who likes doing paperwork?
Hubby didn't like Sully so we decided he would call him Dylan and I would call him Sully.
The end.
Editors Final Note: I'm not pregnant.
Editors Note: I currently only have two kids so I don't know where my 3rd kid was in my dream. However, I have often said that if I had a third kid it is likely that I would forget him or her at the hospital as my negligence grows with each child.
So in this dream I had a 4th child. I couldn't remain at the hospital after I had the child because I had to run my current two children somewhere so the hubby stayed back with the child. The next morning I woke up and realized I didn't even know my new son's name. (Yes, I had a boy. Even in my dreams I can't make myself have a girl.) So I woke hubby up (still in my dream, not in reality) to find out what he named our child. He couldn't remember either, however we had paperwork from the hospital that contained this information so we flipped open the folder. Dylan Sullivan.
Hubby said he named him Dylan because Dylan McKay from 90210 always had good head of hair and he thought this would guarantee our new son would never go bald. I don't know where Sullivan came from and he didn't explain. I said I wasn't crazy about the name Dylan, but I liked Sullivan and thought we should call him Sully. Should it be spelled Sully or Sullie? No, I think it is Sully. Of course there's always Sulley. No, that's dumb. I'm sticking with Sully.
Changing his name to something we both liked seemed like a lot of effort and who likes doing paperwork?
Hubby didn't like Sully so we decided he would call him Dylan and I would call him Sully.
The end.
Editors Final Note: I'm not pregnant.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Too hot for the hot tub.
Oh dear friends, we meet again. It's been a good fortnight or two since I've last blogged.
Alright, enough with the accent. I have things to complain about. Specifically this hot-as-hell weather. Someone please call the Waaa-mbulance because I'm hot and cranky and whiney. Temps over 100 degrees are ridiculous and everyone should receive the day off to just let all their fat hang out in the privacy of their own home. When that doesn't happen they let all their fat hang out where I can see them. Plus I've become annoyed by the sound of my own flip flops. I made the mistake of wearing wedges the other day and I think I actually lost consciousness for a moment when I took them off due to the horrendous stench.
My kids have a BMI of -2% so they aren't nearly as affected by this heat which means they want to play outside 24/7. When I try to play with them outside, they complain that I take up all the space in the kiddy pool. Well, fuck me. It's too hot out to not be submerged in water. Go fend for yourselves! Grow bigger so you can fight me off. Until then, I'm the queen of this kiddy pool!
Plus the heat makes everyone so irritable. Well, it is either that or the constant stream of political posts on Facebook.
And there are all these crazy fires in Colorado and terrible hurricanes in Florida. Guess I shouldn't complain about the usual hot temps in the Midwest, but this is my blog and I can do what I damn well please. Don't like it? Stop reading it.
Okay, don't stop reading it. I need you to read it to justify my existence. Who else is going to do that? My husband? My kids? Bitch, please.
For real though, how is it that man has managed to create something as amazing as an iPhone, but we haven't evolved enough as a society to figure out how to put out a fire? Doesn't that seem like something we should have figured out by now? Can't you buy a fire extinguisher at Walmart? I know I have a good gallon of water collecting under my breasts right now. I'd be happy to dump it on the fire. I've seen footage of these huge flames that are miles and miles wide, and then there is a little plane flying over it with essentially the equivalent of an old man peeing on the fire. Really? That's all we've got? Is that really the best we can do?
I'd solve all the world's problems today, but it is just too damn hot. Maybe when we're under triple digits I can do some more good for my community. Until then it's probably better to keep a safe distance away.
Alright, enough with the accent. I have things to complain about. Specifically this hot-as-hell weather. Someone please call the Waaa-mbulance because I'm hot and cranky and whiney. Temps over 100 degrees are ridiculous and everyone should receive the day off to just let all their fat hang out in the privacy of their own home. When that doesn't happen they let all their fat hang out where I can see them. Plus I've become annoyed by the sound of my own flip flops. I made the mistake of wearing wedges the other day and I think I actually lost consciousness for a moment when I took them off due to the horrendous stench.
My kids have a BMI of -2% so they aren't nearly as affected by this heat which means they want to play outside 24/7. When I try to play with them outside, they complain that I take up all the space in the kiddy pool. Well, fuck me. It's too hot out to not be submerged in water. Go fend for yourselves! Grow bigger so you can fight me off. Until then, I'm the queen of this kiddy pool!
Plus the heat makes everyone so irritable. Well, it is either that or the constant stream of political posts on Facebook.
And there are all these crazy fires in Colorado and terrible hurricanes in Florida. Guess I shouldn't complain about the usual hot temps in the Midwest, but this is my blog and I can do what I damn well please. Don't like it? Stop reading it.
Okay, don't stop reading it. I need you to read it to justify my existence. Who else is going to do that? My husband? My kids? Bitch, please.
For real though, how is it that man has managed to create something as amazing as an iPhone, but we haven't evolved enough as a society to figure out how to put out a fire? Doesn't that seem like something we should have figured out by now? Can't you buy a fire extinguisher at Walmart? I know I have a good gallon of water collecting under my breasts right now. I'd be happy to dump it on the fire. I've seen footage of these huge flames that are miles and miles wide, and then there is a little plane flying over it with essentially the equivalent of an old man peeing on the fire. Really? That's all we've got? Is that really the best we can do?
I'd solve all the world's problems today, but it is just too damn hot. Maybe when we're under triple digits I can do some more good for my community. Until then it's probably better to keep a safe distance away.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Lesson of the Day
I worked at a garage sale today. The proceeds benefitted my oldest's school. This garage sale was just one of many throughout the neighborhood. I always enjoy having garage sales because the garage sale clientele is so versatile. Every walk of life shops garage sales and it is always interesting to see and talk to them all.
There are the people that come just to check out your stuff and judge you. They don't typically talk to you too much. There are the people that are hoarders and are buying such an array of items that you know they have six more of all of these in their car. There are the people that come just to talk and not to shop. These people are full of free advice about an array of topics. Today my garage sale partner learned from a nice older gentleman how to turn her Hydrangeas blue.
Here are the two most important things I leanred today:
#1. I understand why there is the rule: no shirt, no shoes, no service as there were many people that came through the garage sale without shoes. I don't know if they lived in the neighborhood or came by car, but obviously shoes were too stiffling for them and were deemed unnecessary.
#2. I put my youngest's high chair in the garage sale. He's moved onto a booster seat at the kitchen table and I was tired of cleaning up all the crevices of his high chair. It was the type of high chair that straps onto a chair and pulls up to the table and a tray attaches to it. A couple came through the garage sale with a baby and decided to buy the high chair. According to them it would be perfect to take to the race track with them because they get tired of holding the baby. I thought the cutest thing about the family was how they all matched so much. Mostly just in their number of teeth, but still it was cute.
What have you learned from garage sales?
There are the people that come just to check out your stuff and judge you. They don't typically talk to you too much. There are the people that are hoarders and are buying such an array of items that you know they have six more of all of these in their car. There are the people that come just to talk and not to shop. These people are full of free advice about an array of topics. Today my garage sale partner learned from a nice older gentleman how to turn her Hydrangeas blue.
Here are the two most important things I leanred today:
#1. I understand why there is the rule: no shirt, no shoes, no service as there were many people that came through the garage sale without shoes. I don't know if they lived in the neighborhood or came by car, but obviously shoes were too stiffling for them and were deemed unnecessary.
#2. I put my youngest's high chair in the garage sale. He's moved onto a booster seat at the kitchen table and I was tired of cleaning up all the crevices of his high chair. It was the type of high chair that straps onto a chair and pulls up to the table and a tray attaches to it. A couple came through the garage sale with a baby and decided to buy the high chair. According to them it would be perfect to take to the race track with them because they get tired of holding the baby. I thought the cutest thing about the family was how they all matched so much. Mostly just in their number of teeth, but still it was cute.
What have you learned from garage sales?
Friday, June 1, 2012
To whom it may concern.
Dear Sir or Madam,
A co-worker picked me up a bagel from Panera this morning. You were in front of my co-worker and paid for our order. Thus, you bought my breakfast this morning. To that I say, you are fucking awesome. Yes, I can afford the few dollars my breakfast would have cost me, but your generosity was a welcome surprise. So please accept my gratefulness.
The only problem is now I have this guilt to "pay it backward" to someone else. I'm not a fan of feeling guilty. I'm neither Catholic nor Jewish so this feeling of guilt is not a daily occurrence for me. To coincide with that, I'm also a cheap bitch so now I need to figure out the cheapest place I can drive thru for lunch so as to hopefully incur the smallest debt possible.
Sincerely,
4th Gear Molly
A co-worker picked me up a bagel from Panera this morning. You were in front of my co-worker and paid for our order. Thus, you bought my breakfast this morning. To that I say, you are fucking awesome. Yes, I can afford the few dollars my breakfast would have cost me, but your generosity was a welcome surprise. So please accept my gratefulness.
The only problem is now I have this guilt to "pay it backward" to someone else. I'm not a fan of feeling guilty. I'm neither Catholic nor Jewish so this feeling of guilt is not a daily occurrence for me. To coincide with that, I'm also a cheap bitch so now I need to figure out the cheapest place I can drive thru for lunch so as to hopefully incur the smallest debt possible.
Sincerely,
4th Gear Molly
Thursday, May 17, 2012
A change will do you good.
My office is in the midst of a move. My oldest is graduating from pre-school and tonight we're attending a Kindergarten 101 class to meet his new teacher and see his classroom. My youngest is about to turn the big 02.
Makes me think maybe I should make a big change. I could color my hair a radical color. Maybe be a red head. I don't know if I'm the right kind of crazy to be a red head. Maybe go Platinum? My tits aren't perky enough to be a platinum blonde. I could chop a ton of hair off. Except I'm not a lesbian.
Hmmm. What to do. What to do.
Maybe I'll just poop in a public restroom today.
Makes me think maybe I should make a big change. I could color my hair a radical color. Maybe be a red head. I don't know if I'm the right kind of crazy to be a red head. Maybe go Platinum? My tits aren't perky enough to be a platinum blonde. I could chop a ton of hair off. Except I'm not a lesbian.
Hmmm. What to do. What to do.
Maybe I'll just poop in a public restroom today.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
First Kiss
Last night my 5-year-old told me he had a secret to tell me, but I couldn't tell Daddy. This was in front of the hubby of course because whether you are 1 or 100, the best part of having a secret from someone is them knowing you have a secret from them. So he came over to me to whisper in my ear. I expected it to be something like, "Optimus Prime is my favorite Transformer." or "I shot a bunny."
"Shooting a bunny" is code for farting in our house. Yes, it is necessary to have a code for farting. We're classy people. You don't just let one rip and laugh. You rip one and then say you shot a bunny.
Instead, my son whispered, "I kissed Emma." Emma is a girl in his class, also 5-years-old. Later in the evening he came clean to the hubby who got more information out of him about this kiss. Here's what we know.
- It happened Friday.
- On the playground.
- It was both of their idea.
- It was on the lips.
- No one else was around.
I'm not upset about the kiss. I think it is funny and adorable. And I'm impressed he's already kissing girls. If I was kissing boys in pre-school, I don't remember it. I was much older when I had my first kiss.
Boys didn't become interested in me until the glasses became contacts, the braces came off, the Jehri curl mullet grew out and I learned to straighten my hair and my concave breasts became ample B cups almost overnight. So my first kiss didn't happen until an embarrassingly lot of years later.
I also don't believe this was his first kiss. I've seen him play kiss tag. He's not scared to pin a girl down and kiss her. These kinds of things are cute at 5. It will probably feel a little more criminal in ten years. So I just told him what any good mother would tell her son after he had his first kiss.
Play on, Playa!
"Shooting a bunny" is code for farting in our house. Yes, it is necessary to have a code for farting. We're classy people. You don't just let one rip and laugh. You rip one and then say you shot a bunny.
Instead, my son whispered, "I kissed Emma." Emma is a girl in his class, also 5-years-old. Later in the evening he came clean to the hubby who got more information out of him about this kiss. Here's what we know.
- It happened Friday.
- On the playground.
- It was both of their idea.
- It was on the lips.
- No one else was around.
I'm not upset about the kiss. I think it is funny and adorable. And I'm impressed he's already kissing girls. If I was kissing boys in pre-school, I don't remember it. I was much older when I had my first kiss.
Boys didn't become interested in me until the glasses became contacts, the braces came off, the Jehri curl mullet grew out and I learned to straighten my hair and my concave breasts became ample B cups almost overnight. So my first kiss didn't happen until an embarrassingly lot of years later.
I also don't believe this was his first kiss. I've seen him play kiss tag. He's not scared to pin a girl down and kiss her. These kinds of things are cute at 5. It will probably feel a little more criminal in ten years. So I just told him what any good mother would tell her son after he had his first kiss.
Play on, Playa!
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
50 Shades of Perv
I haven't read 50 Shades of Grey. I'm not entirely sure I will. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about some good erotica reading material. After reading Hunger Games I thought about writing some additional scenes and sending them to the author thinking they could sell the G rated version to teens and the X rated version to adults. Really, it is a brilliant idea that earns you twice as much money. If I ever write a book, I should do that. Although I'm not sure I'm capable of doing anything G rated.
When something is a big hit and I haven't gotten on the train from the beginning I always think I will just let it pass me by. At one point I claimed I would not read the Twilight books and then eventually did and loved them. I said I wouldn't read the Hunger Games book and of course did. I think the only thing I've stuck with to this day is that I've still never watched one minute of Lost. (Cut to me watching it tonight.)
As I understand it, 50 Shades of Grey is super kinky - some dude in his 50's meets a girl in her early 20's. She's a virgin and he has a secret sex room. He takes her virginity and tries out all his kinky ideas on her. Maybe they're in love. I haven't heard the word "love" mentioned from friends that have read it.
This series of books reminds me of V.C. Andrews (Flowers in the Attic). When I was in grade school my girlfriends and I would find the dirty parts in the V.C. Andrews books and read the section over each other's shoulders giggling thinking it was all very taboo. V.C. Andrews had some incest in her books so she may have a leg up on 50 Shades of Grey. If the couple in 50 Shades of Grey are father/daughter, please someone let me know immediately because then I definitely don't ever want to read it. Kissing cousins is one thing, but that's a whole other Alabama craziness that I'm not ready for. A girl has to have her limits.
Even me.
When something is a big hit and I haven't gotten on the train from the beginning I always think I will just let it pass me by. At one point I claimed I would not read the Twilight books and then eventually did and loved them. I said I wouldn't read the Hunger Games book and of course did. I think the only thing I've stuck with to this day is that I've still never watched one minute of Lost. (Cut to me watching it tonight.)
As I understand it, 50 Shades of Grey is super kinky - some dude in his 50's meets a girl in her early 20's. She's a virgin and he has a secret sex room. He takes her virginity and tries out all his kinky ideas on her. Maybe they're in love. I haven't heard the word "love" mentioned from friends that have read it.
This series of books reminds me of V.C. Andrews (Flowers in the Attic). When I was in grade school my girlfriends and I would find the dirty parts in the V.C. Andrews books and read the section over each other's shoulders giggling thinking it was all very taboo. V.C. Andrews had some incest in her books so she may have a leg up on 50 Shades of Grey. If the couple in 50 Shades of Grey are father/daughter, please someone let me know immediately because then I definitely don't ever want to read it. Kissing cousins is one thing, but that's a whole other Alabama craziness that I'm not ready for. A girl has to have her limits.
Even me.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
I have several friends that are pregnant right now. I like the optimism and blind ignorance of parents-to-be. I remember being one. I remember all the claims I made before I became a parent. Like claiming I would never let my child sleep with me. I would never let my child have a pacifier after the age of one.
My oldest comes down and sleeps in a sleeping bag next to our bed on most nights, a trick we finally learned to keep him out of our bed. And we finally kicked the pacifier habit after he turned three.
I also thought I would never be the kind of parent that is yelling at their kid during a soccer game, but for the last few weeks that's definitely been who I am. I realize he's only five, but if he could just spend 90 seconds a game paying attention to what is happening around him instead of chasing his shadow, turning into a transformer mid-game or seeing how fast he can wind his arm around like a windmill it would be a small miracle. I'm not looking for him to be the next Beckam. I just want him to focus and try...at least a little.
Occasionally some of the other kids are more interested in their own imaginations than what is happening on the field around them. The other day at practice one of the other players was crawling around on the ground and roaring. Then I heard his mother yell, "Aidan, you are not a fire dragon!"
God bless her and her fire dragon son.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Three Wishes
Let's pretend I've rubbed the genie's bottle and I get three wishes. First I'd wish for more wishes, but that dick of a genie will tell me that's not allowed. And that's how we know genies are dudes.
#1. I'd wish that I could learn and retain information through osmosis. No, I wouldn't just wish for the cure for cancer. Because we'll eventually figure it out and then something worse than cancer will arise. I believe the information is out there, we just need to figure out how to make the cure. So through osmosis I can be the smartest person in the world and surely can figure it out. This also solves my issue for money. I need not wish for money if I know more than everyone else. The person that comes up with the cure to cancer is going to make a few bucks. I feel pretty certain of that. Plus I'll have a ton of schools and libraries named after me and I won't even have to give them money. They will just name them after me because I'm so awesome. Hello Nobel Peace Prize winner! And you know Madonna would totally want to meet the person that cures cancer. Hello, new BFF!
No, I'm not going to wish that everyone could learn through osmosis. I'm giving you the cure to cancer. Be reasonable. How can I be better than you if you know just as much as I do? You can be this smart, you just have to actually read all of the words instead of putting it under your pillow at night. You're so lazy.
#2. I wish that all of the calories in foods were opposite. For example, say a Chicago-style slice of pizza - really loaded with cheese and pepperoni and dripping in grease - would normally have 1,000 calories or something terribly high like that and a slice of celery has like 1 calorie. It now is switched around. So the more delicious the food is to me the better it is for me. The taste is still the same, it's just the health assets in it are opposite. There will be commercials about staying away from peas as they will give you cancer. I mean, there will be those commercials until I come up with the cure for cancer. Then it will just be that they are generally bad for you and make you obese or whatever.
See, this wish is good for all of us. You know who it is not good for? Those annoying all organic, vegan skinny assholes. Let them be the fatties for a while.
#3. Lastly, I'd wish for an unlimited amount of motivation. This goes beyond energy level. I have energy now. I just don't have the motivation to do things. For example, I hate the clutter on my dresser, yet I lack the motivation to designate the time to finding homes for all the mundane items that collect there. Plus, without the motivation my osmosis wish really means nothing.
What would your three wishes be? I mean, beyond to hang out with me.
#1. I'd wish that I could learn and retain information through osmosis. No, I wouldn't just wish for the cure for cancer. Because we'll eventually figure it out and then something worse than cancer will arise. I believe the information is out there, we just need to figure out how to make the cure. So through osmosis I can be the smartest person in the world and surely can figure it out. This also solves my issue for money. I need not wish for money if I know more than everyone else. The person that comes up with the cure to cancer is going to make a few bucks. I feel pretty certain of that. Plus I'll have a ton of schools and libraries named after me and I won't even have to give them money. They will just name them after me because I'm so awesome. Hello Nobel Peace Prize winner! And you know Madonna would totally want to meet the person that cures cancer. Hello, new BFF!
No, I'm not going to wish that everyone could learn through osmosis. I'm giving you the cure to cancer. Be reasonable. How can I be better than you if you know just as much as I do? You can be this smart, you just have to actually read all of the words instead of putting it under your pillow at night. You're so lazy.
#2. I wish that all of the calories in foods were opposite. For example, say a Chicago-style slice of pizza - really loaded with cheese and pepperoni and dripping in grease - would normally have 1,000 calories or something terribly high like that and a slice of celery has like 1 calorie. It now is switched around. So the more delicious the food is to me the better it is for me. The taste is still the same, it's just the health assets in it are opposite. There will be commercials about staying away from peas as they will give you cancer. I mean, there will be those commercials until I come up with the cure for cancer. Then it will just be that they are generally bad for you and make you obese or whatever.
See, this wish is good for all of us. You know who it is not good for? Those annoying all organic, vegan skinny assholes. Let them be the fatties for a while.
#3. Lastly, I'd wish for an unlimited amount of motivation. This goes beyond energy level. I have energy now. I just don't have the motivation to do things. For example, I hate the clutter on my dresser, yet I lack the motivation to designate the time to finding homes for all the mundane items that collect there. Plus, without the motivation my osmosis wish really means nothing.
What would your three wishes be? I mean, beyond to hang out with me.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Happy Birthday to my mom!
Tonight as I was putting my oldest to bed, we said a little prayer for my friend, Mona, and her donor as they have a kidney transplant tomorrow. After I gave a 5-year-old's description of what is entailed in a kidney transplant - which says more about my medical knowledge than the fact that I was talking to a 5-year-old - we talked about who else he wanted to pray for.
He included his usual list of friends and Transformers before moving onto his grandparents who are coming back from Florida this week. Then the conversation went a little something like this...
We have to pray for my other grandma, too.
We just did.
No, the one who's going to die soon.
What????
The one who just had a birthday. She's even older so she's going to die soon.
Technically, her birthday is tomorrow (May 1), but we celebrated it yesterday. I thought about explaining how we are all one day closer to death, but that seemed too morbid so I just left it that because it's her birthday she's going to die soon. For some reason it seemed less morbid at the time.
Happy Birthday, Mom!
He included his usual list of friends and Transformers before moving onto his grandparents who are coming back from Florida this week. Then the conversation went a little something like this...
We have to pray for my other grandma, too.
We just did.
No, the one who's going to die soon.
What????
The one who just had a birthday. She's even older so she's going to die soon.
Technically, her birthday is tomorrow (May 1), but we celebrated it yesterday. I thought about explaining how we are all one day closer to death, but that seemed too morbid so I just left it that because it's her birthday she's going to die soon. For some reason it seemed less morbid at the time.
Happy Birthday, Mom!
Two Minutes Too Late
I tried to make it to my bank tonight, but was two minutes past closing time. As I pulled into the drive thru another car was in another drive thru lane being helped. Although all of the aisles were marked closed, because the other car was there being helped I thought maybe the teller would take pity on me and help me out. Obviously someone was still there.
The bank branch closest to my house is a drive up only bank. There are screens next to each terminal instead of a large bay window where you see the tellers. So I hit the call button ready to give her my sweetest face and nicest smile...or ready to be ignored. She came on the screen immediately so I flashed her my smile thinking of course she was going to help me. And in a matter of one second I turned bi-polar. The bank teller flashed me her own kind of smile - not nice so much as evil bitch - and said "Sorry, we're closed." Then her face was gone replaced by the static screen welcoming me to my bank.
I have no idea if she could still hear or see me. In that moment I assumd she could and also assumed I was not going to get her to change her mind so opted instead for bitching at her. Or bitching at a blank screen as it was.
I know you're closed, but you're obviously there! I thought you could hook a girl up and take my money. You're a bank. You can't just do your job a few minutes past closing time! Heaven forbid you stay a few minutes late.
Then I pulled away, pissed that this teller wouldn't help me, but satisfied that I had somewhat let her know how I feel. Or at least let the blank screen know.
Still mad and pulling up to the next intersection I yelled, "That's ridiculous!" Obviously a term I must say too much out of anger because my 5 year old immediately piped up from the back seat. "I didn't do it!" Oops. Kind of forgot about the kids in the car. That's why I was late to begin with. That and the fact that I work at the one place on Earth that doesn't offer direct deposit. My son then continued the rest of the way home to repeat my complaints. I tried to turn it into a life lesson about working hard and understanding people's needs and being considerate of those needs. He just kept repeating, "She needs to do her job. She wasn't being very nice."
I'd switch banks except I'm lazy and they have their ATM machine set to a British voice. I just love to hear her tell me my transaction is PRO-cessing.
It's the little things in life.
The bank branch closest to my house is a drive up only bank. There are screens next to each terminal instead of a large bay window where you see the tellers. So I hit the call button ready to give her my sweetest face and nicest smile...or ready to be ignored. She came on the screen immediately so I flashed her my smile thinking of course she was going to help me. And in a matter of one second I turned bi-polar. The bank teller flashed me her own kind of smile - not nice so much as evil bitch - and said "Sorry, we're closed." Then her face was gone replaced by the static screen welcoming me to my bank.
I have no idea if she could still hear or see me. In that moment I assumd she could and also assumed I was not going to get her to change her mind so opted instead for bitching at her. Or bitching at a blank screen as it was.
I know you're closed, but you're obviously there! I thought you could hook a girl up and take my money. You're a bank. You can't just do your job a few minutes past closing time! Heaven forbid you stay a few minutes late.
Then I pulled away, pissed that this teller wouldn't help me, but satisfied that I had somewhat let her know how I feel. Or at least let the blank screen know.
Still mad and pulling up to the next intersection I yelled, "That's ridiculous!" Obviously a term I must say too much out of anger because my 5 year old immediately piped up from the back seat. "I didn't do it!" Oops. Kind of forgot about the kids in the car. That's why I was late to begin with. That and the fact that I work at the one place on Earth that doesn't offer direct deposit. My son then continued the rest of the way home to repeat my complaints. I tried to turn it into a life lesson about working hard and understanding people's needs and being considerate of those needs. He just kept repeating, "She needs to do her job. She wasn't being very nice."
I'd switch banks except I'm lazy and they have their ATM machine set to a British voice. I just love to hear her tell me my transaction is PRO-cessing.
It's the little things in life.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Remember me?
Okay, so I realize it's been a while since I last posted. My apologies. But I'm here to tell you...no promise you that you will be hearing a lot more from me. No I haven't quit my job to take this on full time. As much as I wanted to win the Mega Millions, I didn't.
You see, I have a friend. Well, I have several friends. At least a dozen. Maybe a baker's dozen. Well, maybe just a dozen. One of them - we'll call her Mona - is about to have a kidney transplant. No, Mona is not a random 85-year-old diabetic woman I befriended by volunteering at the local nursing home. Nursing homes freak me out. I really don't want to get so old that I'm stuck living someplace that I am not smart enough to get out of even though plastered on the door is the difficult passcode of "1 2 3 4".
Back to Mona. She's one of these skinny bitches that is great at everything, nice, stylish, talented - your basic nightmare that you would never be friends with. Her only saving grace is she's a boozy whore like me. And she's my date to see uncomfortable movies like "Girl with a dragon tattoo" and "Black Swan." You just can't see a movie about ass rape or masturbation with just anyone.
Mona has her transplant surgery in a few days and then will be stuck out of town for many weeks while she recovers from surgery. She has to stay close to the clinic (many hours away from our town) to make sure the new kidney is good to go. I know she'll be going partly nuts during this time away as she's normally a very busy, active girl. (Again, why am I friends with her?) So I figure the least I can do is write a little something funny everyday that she can read and remember how awesome I am. And never let it be said that I don't do the least I can do. Also never let it be said that I can't turn any situation back to being about me. It's one of my greatest gifts.
Tonight we're "Carbing up for Cancer" by indulging in a lot of pizza and beer before she heads out. (I'm pretty sure it is what her doctor prescribed.) However, I realized a little while ago that of my girlfriends that are attending this soiree - 3 are pregnant, 1 doesn't drink and 1 is a transplant patient. Holy shit! Maybe I need to hit the nursing home to find some partners in crime for tonight. So I'm taking applications for a new set of girlfriends. I must have proof of your birth control method and a physical will be required.
P.S. On a serious note, please say a prayer for my dear friend. It's okay, God knows her real name. And a very special prayer for the super generous donor who is giving up one of his kidneys. God bless him today and every day.
You see, I have a friend. Well, I have several friends. At least a dozen. Maybe a baker's dozen. Well, maybe just a dozen. One of them - we'll call her Mona - is about to have a kidney transplant. No, Mona is not a random 85-year-old diabetic woman I befriended by volunteering at the local nursing home. Nursing homes freak me out. I really don't want to get so old that I'm stuck living someplace that I am not smart enough to get out of even though plastered on the door is the difficult passcode of "1 2 3 4".
Back to Mona. She's one of these skinny bitches that is great at everything, nice, stylish, talented - your basic nightmare that you would never be friends with. Her only saving grace is she's a boozy whore like me. And she's my date to see uncomfortable movies like "Girl with a dragon tattoo" and "Black Swan." You just can't see a movie about ass rape or masturbation with just anyone.
Mona has her transplant surgery in a few days and then will be stuck out of town for many weeks while she recovers from surgery. She has to stay close to the clinic (many hours away from our town) to make sure the new kidney is good to go. I know she'll be going partly nuts during this time away as she's normally a very busy, active girl. (Again, why am I friends with her?) So I figure the least I can do is write a little something funny everyday that she can read and remember how awesome I am. And never let it be said that I don't do the least I can do. Also never let it be said that I can't turn any situation back to being about me. It's one of my greatest gifts.
Tonight we're "Carbing up for Cancer" by indulging in a lot of pizza and beer before she heads out. (I'm pretty sure it is what her doctor prescribed.) However, I realized a little while ago that of my girlfriends that are attending this soiree - 3 are pregnant, 1 doesn't drink and 1 is a transplant patient. Holy shit! Maybe I need to hit the nursing home to find some partners in crime for tonight. So I'm taking applications for a new set of girlfriends. I must have proof of your birth control method and a physical will be required.
P.S. On a serious note, please say a prayer for my dear friend. It's okay, God knows her real name. And a very special prayer for the super generous donor who is giving up one of his kidneys. God bless him today and every day.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Not my average St. Patty's Day Weekend
I'm sure most of you have been nursing a hangover all day as March 18th is National Hangover Day. This is the first day after St. Patrick's Day that I haven't had a hangover in a very long time. The weekend didn't quite go as planned for me. I should be writing this post from Florida, but instead I'm sitting in my basement watching Fashion Police.
Why is Marc Jacobs wearing a pink polo dress? Is this really the way fashion is going? Are men all over the midwest going to be wearing polo dresses in five years? I just can't imagine a world where that is happening.
But I digress.
I mentioned in my last post that my oldest is in Florida with the in-laws. The plan was for the hubby, the youngest and I would fly out on St. Patty's Day to stay for a few days and bring the oldest back with us. In fact not long after I wrote my last post I fell into a flu coma. While I was laying in bed fluctuating between the chills and the sweats, the hubby calls to say the airline we were supposed to fly went under. I thought maybe I was just having a weird drug-induced nightmare, but nope this was real. I don't know if you've ever looked at flights a few days before "spring break week" to of all places - Florida, but they were a little different than your average flight. First of all, all the good flight times are spoken for so you're left with inconvenient departure and arrival times. Secondly, the prices are four times the normal cost. So between the cost and the idea of taking the youngest on his first flight at horrendous times of the day, mixed with the fact that he and I had been sick all week - we decided it would be best for the baby and I to stay put and the hubby to head to his folks' place and bring Cody back with him.
Honestly, not going to Florida didn't make me too sad. I had been looking forward to it, but the craziness of the flight issue, the flu, missing work most of the week and a sick baby on top of it all made the idea of staying home with just Keaton seem peaceful and relaxing. That is until I remembered it was St. Patty's Day weekend. Then my girlfriend called with the offer of a free wristband to a private St. Patty's Day bar party. So then I was forced to be the person no one likes on St. Patty's Day....a responsible mother. Ugh! Buzz kill. Making that decision to stay home and nurse your child back to health over day drinking with your girlfriend on my favorite holiday was incredibly hard. It went against everything that is right and good in the world. Well, my world at least. But I made the decision so I better go to awesome mommy heaven. And when he brings me into one of his future therapy sessions to blame everything that is wrong with his life on my parenting skills I'm showing him this post.
I chose your physical well being over St. Patty's Day day drinking! Is there a bigger sacrifice a parent can make?
From this sober St. Patty's Day experience did come a new tradition that I'd like to pass on to all of you which is the St. Patty's Day ice cream cake. It's for more than just birthdays.
Why is Marc Jacobs wearing a pink polo dress? Is this really the way fashion is going? Are men all over the midwest going to be wearing polo dresses in five years? I just can't imagine a world where that is happening.
But I digress.
I mentioned in my last post that my oldest is in Florida with the in-laws. The plan was for the hubby, the youngest and I would fly out on St. Patty's Day to stay for a few days and bring the oldest back with us. In fact not long after I wrote my last post I fell into a flu coma. While I was laying in bed fluctuating between the chills and the sweats, the hubby calls to say the airline we were supposed to fly went under. I thought maybe I was just having a weird drug-induced nightmare, but nope this was real. I don't know if you've ever looked at flights a few days before "spring break week" to of all places - Florida, but they were a little different than your average flight. First of all, all the good flight times are spoken for so you're left with inconvenient departure and arrival times. Secondly, the prices are four times the normal cost. So between the cost and the idea of taking the youngest on his first flight at horrendous times of the day, mixed with the fact that he and I had been sick all week - we decided it would be best for the baby and I to stay put and the hubby to head to his folks' place and bring Cody back with him.
Honestly, not going to Florida didn't make me too sad. I had been looking forward to it, but the craziness of the flight issue, the flu, missing work most of the week and a sick baby on top of it all made the idea of staying home with just Keaton seem peaceful and relaxing. That is until I remembered it was St. Patty's Day weekend. Then my girlfriend called with the offer of a free wristband to a private St. Patty's Day bar party. So then I was forced to be the person no one likes on St. Patty's Day....a responsible mother. Ugh! Buzz kill. Making that decision to stay home and nurse your child back to health over day drinking with your girlfriend on my favorite holiday was incredibly hard. It went against everything that is right and good in the world. Well, my world at least. But I made the decision so I better go to awesome mommy heaven. And when he brings me into one of his future therapy sessions to blame everything that is wrong with his life on my parenting skills I'm showing him this post.
I chose your physical well being over St. Patty's Day day drinking! Is there a bigger sacrifice a parent can make?
From this sober St. Patty's Day experience did come a new tradition that I'd like to pass on to all of you which is the St. Patty's Day ice cream cake. It's for more than just birthdays.
Monday, March 12, 2012
one down, one to go
I'm down a kid this week. My in-laws took my oldest to Florida with them for the week. We fly down with the youngest this weekend. This is the first time Cody's been on a trip without one of us. It's weird only having Keaton here. It's weird to think he's half way across the country and able to survive without me. It's weird that he wasn't crushed at the idea of leaving me to go away to an exciting land of warm weather, pools, beaches, parks and no school. They even upgraded to first class. He's going to get a nice warm dose of reality on the flight home.
It's kind of nice to focus on just one kid for a week. Keaton's never been an only child and seems to have grown accustomed to it very very quickly. We Face Timed with Cody this evening. Cody wasn't interested in talking to me, but was very interested in telling his little brother all about the swimming pool and park. Nevermind that his younger brother is not even 2 and just wants to push buttons on the phone. I only gave him life. No big deal.
The plus side of having one kid is my evening was free at 8PM. I'm using this free time wisely by blogging and watching Poetic Justice. Yes, that Poetic Justice. TuPac is alive, yo! P.S. Janet Jackson needs to stop trying to act. The fashion is hot though. TuPac has a "diamond" in his nose the size of my thumb nail. If that isn't gangster, I don't know what is. This was Janet's best music though. Well, with the exception of Nasty Boy. They could have fit that song into the movie somewhere.
In true 4th Gear fashion I switch from Poetic Justice to Idina Menzel concert on public access. For those of you that are clueless who I'm talking about - she played the witch in Wicked on Broadway, Rachel's mom on Glee and is married to Taye Diggs - that tall, glass of chocolate milk. Yum. It's on all the time. Check it out. It will make you a better person.
Don't call me baby. It's Molly. Ms. 4th Gear if you're nasty.
It's kind of nice to focus on just one kid for a week. Keaton's never been an only child and seems to have grown accustomed to it very very quickly. We Face Timed with Cody this evening. Cody wasn't interested in talking to me, but was very interested in telling his little brother all about the swimming pool and park. Nevermind that his younger brother is not even 2 and just wants to push buttons on the phone. I only gave him life. No big deal.
The plus side of having one kid is my evening was free at 8PM. I'm using this free time wisely by blogging and watching Poetic Justice. Yes, that Poetic Justice. TuPac is alive, yo! P.S. Janet Jackson needs to stop trying to act. The fashion is hot though. TuPac has a "diamond" in his nose the size of my thumb nail. If that isn't gangster, I don't know what is. This was Janet's best music though. Well, with the exception of Nasty Boy. They could have fit that song into the movie somewhere.
In true 4th Gear fashion I switch from Poetic Justice to Idina Menzel concert on public access. For those of you that are clueless who I'm talking about - she played the witch in Wicked on Broadway, Rachel's mom on Glee and is married to Taye Diggs - that tall, glass of chocolate milk. Yum. It's on all the time. Check it out. It will make you a better person.
Don't call me baby. It's Molly. Ms. 4th Gear if you're nasty.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
I wonder if this will hold up in court?
Does DCFS even have a court? I don't know how the system works, but I think I'm going to find out soon.
You know how I've mentioned before that I'm kind of like a gay Ice Cube in that I love musicals and gangster rap with a little pop music thrown in? I know how that can get mixed up with a lot of other people.
So I had always figured it would be the gangster rap music biting me in the ass when it came to the kids. They play with my phone constantly, but luckily it always seems to be Neil Diamond's "Coming to America" that gets accidentally played.
Ahhh, the Jazz Singer - Jews and Jazz. Those were good times. I digress, back to my story.
Recently I've been listening in my car to The Book of Mormon soundtrack. For those of you that aren't up to speed on current Broadway shows, The Book of Mormon was created by the same guys that created South Park. If you don't know what South Park is but you read this blog then my parents might have done something right. Well, my dad. You'll soon learn why it wouldn't be my mom.
The Book of Mormon is about two guys that are going out on their mission. It is common for Mormon men in their late teens/early 20's to do a couple of years of mission work. So these two guys - polar opposites of course - get sent to Uganda and havoc unfolds.
It's hysterical and completely inappropriate. It makes me as a Christian concerned that God will strike me with lightening just from listening to it, but it is so damn funny I can't help myself. Another example that Trey Parker might be the Devil.
I have only listened to it without the kids in the car. Usually on my way to and from work while I sing along. I'd try out for American Idol if I could have the exact same acoustics that are in my car.
This past weekend my mom kept my kids for the night. She has a convertible and I have Vegas - a Gold Hyundai Santa Fe. So we swapped cars so she could take them out to do fun stuff with the ease of getting them in and out of the car without putting the top down first. Cody, the 5-year-old, asked her to play the "fire" song. She didn't know what he was talking about so she pressed the "CD" button and The Book of Mormon came on. The fact that she let it play in the car, knowing what it was and not squashing it instantly probably explains a lot about me.
So now, Cody has two new favorite songs. "Spooky Mormon Hell Dream" and "Man Up".
"Spooky Mormon Hell Dream" ends with one of the main characters saying, "I can't believe Jesus just called me a dick." He says this very clearly. There's no mistaking any of his words. I let him listen to it one time with me because I honestly couldn't remember how bad it was. I turned it off immediately after it said "dick" and told Cody he could never listen to the song again and never to say those words.
"That's a very bad sentence. Don't ever say that sentence."
"I won't say, Jesus called me a dick, Mommy."
"Ummm, good. Don't say that."
"Man Up" talks about how Jesus grew a set and died for our sins on the cross. I've let him listen to that one a few times since then. I call it Mobile Sunday School.
For the record, the "fire" song is Adele's "Set fire to the rain".
You know how I've mentioned before that I'm kind of like a gay Ice Cube in that I love musicals and gangster rap with a little pop music thrown in? I know how that can get mixed up with a lot of other people.
So I had always figured it would be the gangster rap music biting me in the ass when it came to the kids. They play with my phone constantly, but luckily it always seems to be Neil Diamond's "Coming to America" that gets accidentally played.
Ahhh, the Jazz Singer - Jews and Jazz. Those were good times. I digress, back to my story.
Recently I've been listening in my car to The Book of Mormon soundtrack. For those of you that aren't up to speed on current Broadway shows, The Book of Mormon was created by the same guys that created South Park. If you don't know what South Park is but you read this blog then my parents might have done something right. Well, my dad. You'll soon learn why it wouldn't be my mom.
The Book of Mormon is about two guys that are going out on their mission. It is common for Mormon men in their late teens/early 20's to do a couple of years of mission work. So these two guys - polar opposites of course - get sent to Uganda and havoc unfolds.
It's hysterical and completely inappropriate. It makes me as a Christian concerned that God will strike me with lightening just from listening to it, but it is so damn funny I can't help myself. Another example that Trey Parker might be the Devil.
I have only listened to it without the kids in the car. Usually on my way to and from work while I sing along. I'd try out for American Idol if I could have the exact same acoustics that are in my car.
This past weekend my mom kept my kids for the night. She has a convertible and I have Vegas - a Gold Hyundai Santa Fe. So we swapped cars so she could take them out to do fun stuff with the ease of getting them in and out of the car without putting the top down first. Cody, the 5-year-old, asked her to play the "fire" song. She didn't know what he was talking about so she pressed the "CD" button and The Book of Mormon came on. The fact that she let it play in the car, knowing what it was and not squashing it instantly probably explains a lot about me.
So now, Cody has two new favorite songs. "Spooky Mormon Hell Dream" and "Man Up".
"Spooky Mormon Hell Dream" ends with one of the main characters saying, "I can't believe Jesus just called me a dick." He says this very clearly. There's no mistaking any of his words. I let him listen to it one time with me because I honestly couldn't remember how bad it was. I turned it off immediately after it said "dick" and told Cody he could never listen to the song again and never to say those words.
"That's a very bad sentence. Don't ever say that sentence."
"I won't say, Jesus called me a dick, Mommy."
"Ummm, good. Don't say that."
"Man Up" talks about how Jesus grew a set and died for our sins on the cross. I've let him listen to that one a few times since then. I call it Mobile Sunday School.
For the record, the "fire" song is Adele's "Set fire to the rain".
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Oh hair we go!
Shit's about to get real people. Saddle up!
Reality has been crapping all over me recently. Three family members diagnosed with cancer in the last couple of weeks then last night I was watching the Oprah interview with Viola Davis. They were talking about growing up poor, black children - yes, like Steve Martin - and the obstacles they overcame and I just wanted to scream at all of them. "Shut up! I have real problems here!"
I'm just going to come out of the closet with it.
My name is Molly and beginning last night...I wax my mustache.
Well, I don't actually wax it. My stylist does because I don't believe in causing yourself physical pain. That's dumb and those people just want attention. Stupid cutters. So like a reasonable human being I pay someone to rip hair off my body using hot wax. At my last appointment she found a single dark hair. We swore never to speak of it again and she plucked it immediately. At this appointment, no dark hair but the blond peach fuzz toward the corners of my mouth was increasing significantly. The time had come. It must be waxed. The saddest part of this is not getting the hair actually ripped off my body and feeling the heartbeat in my lip. It's the fact that this process - this new step in my beauty regime, will never end. In 50 years I'll be whoring it up in my mid-80's (hubby will be dead by then and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, yo!) still waxing my mustache.
Now, I'm sure you're saying, "But Molly, I had no idea you had a flaw."
You better correct yo'self before you wreck yo'self. A flaw is something you don't fix. If I were to let the mustache go - this would be a flaw. This is a slight imperfection that I cover up. Like my roots. God put these little things on me to help bring me down to your level. Make me look less super human.
Mustaches belong on child molesters only. It's the key identifier. You don't need that web site that identifies the child molesters in your neighborhood. Does your neighbor have a mustache? Then keep him away from your child. Or move. If you're telling me I'm wrong - your husband has a mustache and he's not a child molester - then explain to me why he spends so much time at the park without the kids. It's not a stereotype if it's true, people.
As for me, the area above my upper lip has never been so smooth.
And no, I don't want your balls on it, pervert. Go shave your 'stache.
Reality has been crapping all over me recently. Three family members diagnosed with cancer in the last couple of weeks then last night I was watching the Oprah interview with Viola Davis. They were talking about growing up poor, black children - yes, like Steve Martin - and the obstacles they overcame and I just wanted to scream at all of them. "Shut up! I have real problems here!"
I'm just going to come out of the closet with it.
My name is Molly and beginning last night...I wax my mustache.
Well, I don't actually wax it. My stylist does because I don't believe in causing yourself physical pain. That's dumb and those people just want attention. Stupid cutters. So like a reasonable human being I pay someone to rip hair off my body using hot wax. At my last appointment she found a single dark hair. We swore never to speak of it again and she plucked it immediately. At this appointment, no dark hair but the blond peach fuzz toward the corners of my mouth was increasing significantly. The time had come. It must be waxed. The saddest part of this is not getting the hair actually ripped off my body and feeling the heartbeat in my lip. It's the fact that this process - this new step in my beauty regime, will never end. In 50 years I'll be whoring it up in my mid-80's (hubby will be dead by then and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, yo!) still waxing my mustache.
Now, I'm sure you're saying, "But Molly, I had no idea you had a flaw."
You better correct yo'self before you wreck yo'self. A flaw is something you don't fix. If I were to let the mustache go - this would be a flaw. This is a slight imperfection that I cover up. Like my roots. God put these little things on me to help bring me down to your level. Make me look less super human.
Mustaches belong on child molesters only. It's the key identifier. You don't need that web site that identifies the child molesters in your neighborhood. Does your neighbor have a mustache? Then keep him away from your child. Or move. If you're telling me I'm wrong - your husband has a mustache and he's not a child molester - then explain to me why he spends so much time at the park without the kids. It's not a stereotype if it's true, people.
As for me, the area above my upper lip has never been so smooth.
And no, I don't want your balls on it, pervert. Go shave your 'stache.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
10 and 2
While I was driving the other day....
Cody: "Two hands! I told you, two hands!"
Me: "Sorry. I forgot you're such a good driver."
Cody: "I'm a really good driver."
Me: "How did you get so good at driving?"
Cody: "I was just born that way."
I thought listening to Lady GaGa while the boys were in the car might make them gay - not know-it-all pricks.
Cody: "Two hands! I told you, two hands!"
Me: "Sorry. I forgot you're such a good driver."
Cody: "I'm a really good driver."
Me: "How did you get so good at driving?"
Cody: "I was just born that way."
I thought listening to Lady GaGa while the boys were in the car might make them gay - not know-it-all pricks.
P is for Probation
You know those moments in life where everything seems to be right and you feel really good about yourself? This blog post is not about that feeling. It's about that feeling when you have spread yourself too thin, taken on too much and feel like you are near drowning in responsibilities...
So there I was. It was a typical weeknight. I had an exhausting day at work (mentally exhausting - hard to be physically exhausted from sitting at a desk all day), picked up the kids and were feeding them leftovers as the hubby was out of town so while they were eating I can do fun tasks like empty the dishwasher, go through the mail, take out the garbage, etc. The youngest finished with his dinner first and wanted out of his high chair to take a bath. (He's obsessed with playing in the bath lately.) The oldest was still eating so I put the youngest in the bath and relaxed on the bathroom floor. The oldest came in to take a dump, decided his little brother looked like he was having too much fun in the tub and decided he wanted in, too. The moment he got in the tub, the youngest flipped his lid and tried to do what he could to beat up his older brother before deciding he couldn't handle sharing water with his brother any longer and got out of the tub. So I took the youngest to his room to get his p.j.'s on. Of course there were no clean p.j.'s in his room so I had to dig a pair out of a laundry basket of clean clothes I hadn't put away yet. By this point the youngest was running around the house naked. I got him back to his room and wrestled him into a diaper which is very similar to wrestling a crocodile. I made several attempts to get him in his p.j.'s, but he kept escaping and eventually said "screw it" and put him back in his highchair.
About this time I hear the oldest calling for me. Mind you - this was not a panic call, just an ordinary holler for Mommy. I get to the entrance of the bathroom and this is where time stood still. Either that or I had a minor seizure from what I saw. Boy Genius decided playing with the 30 different bath toys in the tub wasn't fun anymore, but you know what would be fun? Filling up cups of water from the bath tub and pouring it into the basket that holds the bath toys that was sitting on the bathroom floor. The most important fact about this toy basket is that it has holes on the sides so it will not retain water. This is a little science lesson I thought my 5-year-old already understood, but obviously I was incorrect. There was nearly a half inch of water on the bathroom floor. The rug was completely soaked as well as the towel that had been sitting on the floor for him.
It was one of those parenting moments where you have to jump into action to deal with the situation which delays your anger at the child. So while I'm cleaning up the water, he's standing in the tub repeatedly saying "sorry". Because if he says it enough maybe it will make all of the water evaporate sooner?
"Cody, this is really really bad. Do you understand how bad this is?"
"Will Daddy spank my bottom."
"Your father is out of town, he has an allibi. You need to worry a little less about him and more about me and the fact that there is a hair dryer in this drawer and you're still standing in water."
"Are you going to use the hair dryer to dry up all the water?"
"Forget the hair dryer - I'm trying to. That's a science lesson for another day."
I finally got the bathroom cleaned up - about 6 beach towels later and with both kids in pj's took them to the basement to see how much damage had been done there. The bathroom where he was playing God and I guess I was supposed to be Noah is on the main floor of the house. Our basement is unfinished, but we do have a family room area set up down there, a bar, poker table, pool table - your typical man cave. Except it is a man cave that has been taken over by children's toys. The water didn't stop in the bathroom, it came down through the floor soaking an area of the basement.
To give you some perpsective of how much water he poured out of the tub in a remarkably short amount of time - there was a box of large legos in a container that was half underneath an end table in the basement. It has a few tiny holes in the top of the container. There was water covering the bottom of the container.
He is still alive and has been on probation this week. Any violation of his probation prohibits him from playing at a friend's house today, going to a birthday party this afternoon and another birthday party tomorrow afternoon.
I will admit he has been a pretty angelic child since the incident. Good to know watching mommy have a nervous breakdown has some effect on a child.
So there I was. It was a typical weeknight. I had an exhausting day at work (mentally exhausting - hard to be physically exhausted from sitting at a desk all day), picked up the kids and were feeding them leftovers as the hubby was out of town so while they were eating I can do fun tasks like empty the dishwasher, go through the mail, take out the garbage, etc. The youngest finished with his dinner first and wanted out of his high chair to take a bath. (He's obsessed with playing in the bath lately.) The oldest was still eating so I put the youngest in the bath and relaxed on the bathroom floor. The oldest came in to take a dump, decided his little brother looked like he was having too much fun in the tub and decided he wanted in, too. The moment he got in the tub, the youngest flipped his lid and tried to do what he could to beat up his older brother before deciding he couldn't handle sharing water with his brother any longer and got out of the tub. So I took the youngest to his room to get his p.j.'s on. Of course there were no clean p.j.'s in his room so I had to dig a pair out of a laundry basket of clean clothes I hadn't put away yet. By this point the youngest was running around the house naked. I got him back to his room and wrestled him into a diaper which is very similar to wrestling a crocodile. I made several attempts to get him in his p.j.'s, but he kept escaping and eventually said "screw it" and put him back in his highchair.
About this time I hear the oldest calling for me. Mind you - this was not a panic call, just an ordinary holler for Mommy. I get to the entrance of the bathroom and this is where time stood still. Either that or I had a minor seizure from what I saw. Boy Genius decided playing with the 30 different bath toys in the tub wasn't fun anymore, but you know what would be fun? Filling up cups of water from the bath tub and pouring it into the basket that holds the bath toys that was sitting on the bathroom floor. The most important fact about this toy basket is that it has holes on the sides so it will not retain water. This is a little science lesson I thought my 5-year-old already understood, but obviously I was incorrect. There was nearly a half inch of water on the bathroom floor. The rug was completely soaked as well as the towel that had been sitting on the floor for him.
It was one of those parenting moments where you have to jump into action to deal with the situation which delays your anger at the child. So while I'm cleaning up the water, he's standing in the tub repeatedly saying "sorry". Because if he says it enough maybe it will make all of the water evaporate sooner?
"Cody, this is really really bad. Do you understand how bad this is?"
"Will Daddy spank my bottom."
"Your father is out of town, he has an allibi. You need to worry a little less about him and more about me and the fact that there is a hair dryer in this drawer and you're still standing in water."
"Are you going to use the hair dryer to dry up all the water?"
"Forget the hair dryer - I'm trying to. That's a science lesson for another day."
I finally got the bathroom cleaned up - about 6 beach towels later and with both kids in pj's took them to the basement to see how much damage had been done there. The bathroom where he was playing God and I guess I was supposed to be Noah is on the main floor of the house. Our basement is unfinished, but we do have a family room area set up down there, a bar, poker table, pool table - your typical man cave. Except it is a man cave that has been taken over by children's toys. The water didn't stop in the bathroom, it came down through the floor soaking an area of the basement.
To give you some perpsective of how much water he poured out of the tub in a remarkably short amount of time - there was a box of large legos in a container that was half underneath an end table in the basement. It has a few tiny holes in the top of the container. There was water covering the bottom of the container.
He is still alive and has been on probation this week. Any violation of his probation prohibits him from playing at a friend's house today, going to a birthday party this afternoon and another birthday party tomorrow afternoon.
I will admit he has been a pretty angelic child since the incident. Good to know watching mommy have a nervous breakdown has some effect on a child.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Funniest conversation I've had this week.
Hubby put the 5-year-old to bed last night. 20 minutes later he starts hollering for me.
Me: What's the problem, buddy?
Cody: I told you I can't sleep for 7 days.
He's referring to a bribe I've made with him that if he stays in his bed for 7 days I'll buy him anything in the world he wants including a house with an indoor swimming pool.
Me: No one can stay awake for 7 days. You need to go back to sleep. I'll lay down with you for one song.
Referring to the Best of Thomas the Train Music that he listens to every night. Why do I torture myself with this music? I think some of my friends back in college stayed awake for 7 days, but that was due to some pharmaceutical help. When is Ambien going to come out with a product for children?
Cody: How are ears pierced?
Me: My ears aren't pierced.
He feels my ears. Is there no trust in this world?
Cody: I know, but how are ears pierced.
Me: They put a needle through your earlobe. It's very quick, but hurts a little.
Cody: I'm never going to do that.
Me: You don't want to look like Uncle Mark?
Cody: Grandma has her ears pierced.
Me: Yep, Grandma likes her earrings.
Cody: She wears them to look pretty.
Me: Yes, she does.
Cody: She's old and going to die.
Me: Don't say that! That's not nice.
Cody: No, she's old and going to get older and then going to die.
Me: Well, yes, I guess one day, but we hope that day isn't for a long time.
Cody: Unless she believes in beaver.
Me: What?
Did he just say Beiber or beaver. I'm not sure what's worse.
Cody: If you believe in beaver, you will live forever.
Me: Do you mean God?
Cody: Yes. Beaver is another name for Jesus.
Me: Ok. It's time to go to bed.
Me: What's the problem, buddy?
Cody: I told you I can't sleep for 7 days.
He's referring to a bribe I've made with him that if he stays in his bed for 7 days I'll buy him anything in the world he wants including a house with an indoor swimming pool.
Me: No one can stay awake for 7 days. You need to go back to sleep. I'll lay down with you for one song.
Referring to the Best of Thomas the Train Music that he listens to every night. Why do I torture myself with this music? I think some of my friends back in college stayed awake for 7 days, but that was due to some pharmaceutical help. When is Ambien going to come out with a product for children?
Cody: How are ears pierced?
Me: My ears aren't pierced.
He feels my ears. Is there no trust in this world?
Cody: I know, but how are ears pierced.
Me: They put a needle through your earlobe. It's very quick, but hurts a little.
Cody: I'm never going to do that.
Me: You don't want to look like Uncle Mark?
Cody: Grandma has her ears pierced.
Me: Yep, Grandma likes her earrings.
Cody: She wears them to look pretty.
Me: Yes, she does.
Cody: She's old and going to die.
Me: Don't say that! That's not nice.
Cody: No, she's old and going to get older and then going to die.
Me: Well, yes, I guess one day, but we hope that day isn't for a long time.
Cody: Unless she believes in beaver.
Me: What?
Did he just say Beiber or beaver. I'm not sure what's worse.
Cody: If you believe in beaver, you will live forever.
Me: Do you mean God?
Cody: Yes. Beaver is another name for Jesus.
Me: Ok. It's time to go to bed.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Mmmmm Mmmmm Good.
Welcome to my blog today. It's a safe place. A place free from judgement for not knowing what SOPA is or anything about the Republican candidates. A place full of judgement for not knowing who Lisa Turtle is or what song Jesse Spano sang during her speed addiction. Welcome home.
Last night I had a meeting after work for a committee I'm on. I don't spend much time doing anything past work or being with my kids so sadly I treasure meetings like this that get me out of my norm and get my brain ticking in a different direction. I got out of the meeting and immediately received a call from the hubby. An unfortunate accident had occurred - McDonald's messed up his order in the drive-thru. He got home to discover the mistake, called McDonald's and they were expecting my arrival to pick up the correct order. I must have been reeling from my hour of freedom because I didn't do my usual routine which would be to point out the fact that he should have checked his order before leaving the drive-thru and how necessary is it - principle aside - to get the order corrected. Instead I just learned what the correct order should be.
Because I know you are wondering. He got a McNugget Happy Meal for the youngest, but what he received was a Happy Meal container that only held fries and a girl's toy.
So I stopped by McDonald's, stood in line and got the correct order. Got home to find the youngest was done with dinner. Hubby and the oldest had eaten by this point, too. Hubby asked me what I was going to have for dinner.
"Looks like a McNugget Happy Meal."
To make the dinner a little more pathetic I got to eat it sitting next to the bath tub while the youngest took a bath. While eating my gourmet meal I reflected on the video someone had sent me earlier in the day regarding chicken nuggets and how they contain disturbing parts of a chicken. This kind of thing really doesn't bother me. I love hot dogs. Pig assholes and lips? Tasty. In college I took a Philosophy class which was more so about the teacher spreading her Vegan beliefs than anything to do with Philosophy, but the class was required. On the last day of class she showed a video of cows being slaughtered followed up with a vegan cake. Some in the class had to walk out of the movie because they were so nauseous from watching it. I went to McDonald's afterward and got a double cheeseburger.
I don't mean to be insensitive. I like animals just fine. I also like them with just a little pink on my plate. I have a girlfriend that only buys free range eggs after driving behind a chicken truck that had the chickens packed in the truck to such an extent she felt it was inhumane. God love her. I'm sure it was much more humane for the chickens to live freely. You know, before their unhatched babies were stolen from them for human consumption.
Whatever helps you sleep at night. All I know is if a study comes out that shows that McDonald french fries are made of adorable puppies. I'm still eating them. Those things are amazing.
UPDATE: The hubby says the original Happy Meal order actually contained a container of Sweet n Sour sauce and a girl's toy. He also pointed out that they received one straw for three drinks. Drive-thru fail.
Last night I had a meeting after work for a committee I'm on. I don't spend much time doing anything past work or being with my kids so sadly I treasure meetings like this that get me out of my norm and get my brain ticking in a different direction. I got out of the meeting and immediately received a call from the hubby. An unfortunate accident had occurred - McDonald's messed up his order in the drive-thru. He got home to discover the mistake, called McDonald's and they were expecting my arrival to pick up the correct order. I must have been reeling from my hour of freedom because I didn't do my usual routine which would be to point out the fact that he should have checked his order before leaving the drive-thru and how necessary is it - principle aside - to get the order corrected. Instead I just learned what the correct order should be.
Because I know you are wondering. He got a McNugget Happy Meal for the youngest, but what he received was a Happy Meal container that only held fries and a girl's toy.
So I stopped by McDonald's, stood in line and got the correct order. Got home to find the youngest was done with dinner. Hubby and the oldest had eaten by this point, too. Hubby asked me what I was going to have for dinner.
"Looks like a McNugget Happy Meal."
To make the dinner a little more pathetic I got to eat it sitting next to the bath tub while the youngest took a bath. While eating my gourmet meal I reflected on the video someone had sent me earlier in the day regarding chicken nuggets and how they contain disturbing parts of a chicken. This kind of thing really doesn't bother me. I love hot dogs. Pig assholes and lips? Tasty. In college I took a Philosophy class which was more so about the teacher spreading her Vegan beliefs than anything to do with Philosophy, but the class was required. On the last day of class she showed a video of cows being slaughtered followed up with a vegan cake. Some in the class had to walk out of the movie because they were so nauseous from watching it. I went to McDonald's afterward and got a double cheeseburger.
I don't mean to be insensitive. I like animals just fine. I also like them with just a little pink on my plate. I have a girlfriend that only buys free range eggs after driving behind a chicken truck that had the chickens packed in the truck to such an extent she felt it was inhumane. God love her. I'm sure it was much more humane for the chickens to live freely. You know, before their unhatched babies were stolen from them for human consumption.
Whatever helps you sleep at night. All I know is if a study comes out that shows that McDonald french fries are made of adorable puppies. I'm still eating them. Those things are amazing.
UPDATE: The hubby says the original Happy Meal order actually contained a container of Sweet n Sour sauce and a girl's toy. He also pointed out that they received one straw for three drinks. Drive-thru fail.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
The only thing irrational about fears is the rationale for those fears.
I don't really know what that blog title means. Does it make me sound smart? At this point is there even a chance of that? I'm guessing no.
I'm writing this blog to force myself to take a break from reading the Jaycee Dugard book. I'm enjoying the book - if you can say enjoying. It's kind of like a train wreck that you can't walk away from. I know it has a happy ending so I guess that helps. I enjoy it like I enjoyed The Girl With a Dragon Tattoo movie. I read that book, too so it really doesn't make sense why I went to see the movie. It's full of perversity, misogyny and violence. And I'm not even giving away anything by telling you that. So what does it say about me that I am putting myself through this? That I like that kind of thing? I probably need therapy.
So I'm taking a break from the book, doing a load of laundry, watching the 25th Anniversary special of Les Miserables on public access and writing this blog. And obviously counting down the days until my next birthday when I will turn 93. I've said before I'm like a gay Ice T. I was listening to gangster rap all day at work - because there is nothing that keeps me more focused than some hardcore, dirty rap. I get home from work to play with my kid and now here I sit drawing comfort from some showtunes in my Forever Lazy.
If you know of a good therapist, please leave it in the comments section below.
So about Jaycee Dugard. She might be my hero because she lived through what is my ultimate worst nightmare. My biggest irrational fear is being kidnapped. I can only claim this as an irrational fear in the last 5 years because now that I have children, shouldn't I worry more about them getting kidnapped? Is it even considered kidnapping if you are 34?
The idea that my kids could be kidnapped rarely enters my head. Aside from the few occasions I've been at a park or children's play area and a random dude on his own is hanging out there. Then it's splitzville.
Back to me. (I have to say this way too often I've noticed.) I won't sit in a car by myself when I'm in the passenger seat. Well, I will but I immediately lock the doors and sit there in paranoia checking everyone out, waiting for someone to come up to the car and snatch me. Because, yes, someone is going to come up and kidnap me. Not mug me. Not attack me. They are going to kidnap me and call my parents for ransom. If that happens, I wonder if my parents will give them the hubby's phone number. I have been this way as long as I can remember. So I guess my only saving grace is I didn't start doing this when I was in my 20's. I've been terrified of being kidnapped since I was a child.
My other big fear is snakes, but I don't find this to be irrational. You should be scared of snakes. They are evil animals, put on this Earth for absolutely no reason. I am certain the Devil put them here and God allows them to be here so we are reminded that the Devil exists. In my opinion, the people that deserve to be kidnapped are those that try to keep a snake as a pet. I don't understand the point of it. You can't play with a snake, you can't cuddle with a snake. What is the point? Snake owners are stupid. And snake handlers? Words cannot express the stupidity.
And now I'll probably have nightmares of getting kidnapped, held in a tent in some pervert's backyard with a bunch of snakes to share my space with. I won't last a minute.
At least I can gay out to the finale of Les Miserables.
I'm writing this blog to force myself to take a break from reading the Jaycee Dugard book. I'm enjoying the book - if you can say enjoying. It's kind of like a train wreck that you can't walk away from. I know it has a happy ending so I guess that helps. I enjoy it like I enjoyed The Girl With a Dragon Tattoo movie. I read that book, too so it really doesn't make sense why I went to see the movie. It's full of perversity, misogyny and violence. And I'm not even giving away anything by telling you that. So what does it say about me that I am putting myself through this? That I like that kind of thing? I probably need therapy.
So I'm taking a break from the book, doing a load of laundry, watching the 25th Anniversary special of Les Miserables on public access and writing this blog. And obviously counting down the days until my next birthday when I will turn 93. I've said before I'm like a gay Ice T. I was listening to gangster rap all day at work - because there is nothing that keeps me more focused than some hardcore, dirty rap. I get home from work to play with my kid and now here I sit drawing comfort from some showtunes in my Forever Lazy.
If you know of a good therapist, please leave it in the comments section below.
So about Jaycee Dugard. She might be my hero because she lived through what is my ultimate worst nightmare. My biggest irrational fear is being kidnapped. I can only claim this as an irrational fear in the last 5 years because now that I have children, shouldn't I worry more about them getting kidnapped? Is it even considered kidnapping if you are 34?
The idea that my kids could be kidnapped rarely enters my head. Aside from the few occasions I've been at a park or children's play area and a random dude on his own is hanging out there. Then it's splitzville.
Back to me. (I have to say this way too often I've noticed.) I won't sit in a car by myself when I'm in the passenger seat. Well, I will but I immediately lock the doors and sit there in paranoia checking everyone out, waiting for someone to come up to the car and snatch me. Because, yes, someone is going to come up and kidnap me. Not mug me. Not attack me. They are going to kidnap me and call my parents for ransom. If that happens, I wonder if my parents will give them the hubby's phone number. I have been this way as long as I can remember. So I guess my only saving grace is I didn't start doing this when I was in my 20's. I've been terrified of being kidnapped since I was a child.
My other big fear is snakes, but I don't find this to be irrational. You should be scared of snakes. They are evil animals, put on this Earth for absolutely no reason. I am certain the Devil put them here and God allows them to be here so we are reminded that the Devil exists. In my opinion, the people that deserve to be kidnapped are those that try to keep a snake as a pet. I don't understand the point of it. You can't play with a snake, you can't cuddle with a snake. What is the point? Snake owners are stupid. And snake handlers? Words cannot express the stupidity.
And now I'll probably have nightmares of getting kidnapped, held in a tent in some pervert's backyard with a bunch of snakes to share my space with. I won't last a minute.
At least I can gay out to the finale of Les Miserables.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Forever Awesome
This blog must start with me telling you about my soul mate. I'm not talking about my hubby. Don't get me wrong. He's awesome. I love him completely. He's a fantastic husband, partner, lover and friend. But this has nothing to do with him. This is about a person God put into my life when I was in 8th grade and has been by my side ever since. Now, more so, in a symbolic capacity as we live several states apart.
I have to tell you about her because only she would know the absolute best gift someone could ever give me. And I received that gift on Saturday. The other back story to this gift is that she ordered it at the beginning of December and told me I had something "special" coming my way. We don't normally buy each other gifts, but she said she had to get this for me. Mid-December came and went and still no package. End of December came and went and again no package. This past Friday I let her know I still hadn't received a pacakge so she could continue to track it and make sure she isn't charged for it. She spent some time yelling at the company's customer service rep and then called me to finally tell me what I would most likely never receive - a Forever Lazy for myself and the hubby. I enjoyed the thought of course, but was really disappointed that I wouldn't be receiving it. I was hoping I would get one for Christmas. I had joked about it some, but never "officially" requested it. Saturday I went out to check the mail and there outside my door was a package - return address "Forever Lazy". I couldn't get it into my house, opened up and on me fast enough. Unfortuantely I was home alone with the kids so I had to leave the photo session to the 5-year-old so I could text a picture to my girlfriend to let her know the Forever Lazy finally made its destination. After the mini photo shoot I slipped out of it, saving it for later that evening when hanging out with the hubby.
Now, onto my official consumer report of the Forever Lazy. First, it comes in three sizes. Small/X-Small, Medium, and Large/X-Large. She ordered two mediums which claims to fit someone 5'0-6'0 tall, 100-200 pounds. I thought that's what you called One Size Fits All. However, they sent two Large/X-Large. I'm pretty sure the Forever Lazy isn't supposed to be fitted in anyway, but with a Large/X-Large the major disadvantage is dealing with extra long arms and legs. I had to roll the bottoms several times and the arms a little, but the rolls held easily so no harm/no foul. Lots of room in the mid-section. Definitely the article of clothing to wear when going on a good eating binge. The Forever Lazy comes in three colors - blue, pink or grey. She chose blue. I'm sure to bring out the color of my eyes. The weight of the Forever Lazy is the exact weight of a Snuggie. It's the exact same material. It's not incredibly thick, but will keep you warm. When wearing the Forever Lazy , you are transformed into a cross between a Smuf and an Oompa Loompa. So....super hot. One of the major selling points of the Forever Lazy is that it includes a back hatch so you don't have to take the onesie off in order to use the restroom. I doubted how easily this would work. The back hatch is a zipper that runs across the back of the Forever Lazy. It keeps the Forever Lazy sticking out, similar to what would happen if you added the frame from a hoop skirt. The back hatch worked perfectly. The hubby and I sat around drinking beers last night late into the evening and I tend to pee an extraordinary amount when I drink so the back hatch got quite a work out. It was a breeze every time. The hubby didn't sport his Forever Lazy until this morning. I tried to talk him into it the night before, but I guess he felt the room was only large enough for one of us to be super sexy at a time. He was probably right. After the hubby had it on for a few hours this morning, the 5-year-old said he wanted "one of those blue things", too. So we placed an immediate call into the Forever Lazy fairy - my girlfriend.
With the Forever Lazy you're guaranteed a full range of motion. I was able to do physical activites like multiple 12 ounce reps, running up the steps to the bathroom, Wii Beer Pong and Wii Guitar Hero. Plus, I stayed warm and cozy the entire time.
So thank you Forever Lazy and thank you to my dear girlfriend for my new favorite item. I need to check the human resources dress code before the morning to make sure I can wear it to work.
I have to tell you about her because only she would know the absolute best gift someone could ever give me. And I received that gift on Saturday. The other back story to this gift is that she ordered it at the beginning of December and told me I had something "special" coming my way. We don't normally buy each other gifts, but she said she had to get this for me. Mid-December came and went and still no package. End of December came and went and again no package. This past Friday I let her know I still hadn't received a pacakge so she could continue to track it and make sure she isn't charged for it. She spent some time yelling at the company's customer service rep and then called me to finally tell me what I would most likely never receive - a Forever Lazy for myself and the hubby. I enjoyed the thought of course, but was really disappointed that I wouldn't be receiving it. I was hoping I would get one for Christmas. I had joked about it some, but never "officially" requested it. Saturday I went out to check the mail and there outside my door was a package - return address "Forever Lazy". I couldn't get it into my house, opened up and on me fast enough. Unfortuantely I was home alone with the kids so I had to leave the photo session to the 5-year-old so I could text a picture to my girlfriend to let her know the Forever Lazy finally made its destination. After the mini photo shoot I slipped out of it, saving it for later that evening when hanging out with the hubby.
Now, onto my official consumer report of the Forever Lazy. First, it comes in three sizes. Small/X-Small, Medium, and Large/X-Large. She ordered two mediums which claims to fit someone 5'0-6'0 tall, 100-200 pounds. I thought that's what you called One Size Fits All. However, they sent two Large/X-Large. I'm pretty sure the Forever Lazy isn't supposed to be fitted in anyway, but with a Large/X-Large the major disadvantage is dealing with extra long arms and legs. I had to roll the bottoms several times and the arms a little, but the rolls held easily so no harm/no foul. Lots of room in the mid-section. Definitely the article of clothing to wear when going on a good eating binge. The Forever Lazy comes in three colors - blue, pink or grey. She chose blue. I'm sure to bring out the color of my eyes. The weight of the Forever Lazy is the exact weight of a Snuggie. It's the exact same material. It's not incredibly thick, but will keep you warm. When wearing the Forever Lazy , you are transformed into a cross between a Smuf and an Oompa Loompa. So....super hot. One of the major selling points of the Forever Lazy is that it includes a back hatch so you don't have to take the onesie off in order to use the restroom. I doubted how easily this would work. The back hatch is a zipper that runs across the back of the Forever Lazy. It keeps the Forever Lazy sticking out, similar to what would happen if you added the frame from a hoop skirt. The back hatch worked perfectly. The hubby and I sat around drinking beers last night late into the evening and I tend to pee an extraordinary amount when I drink so the back hatch got quite a work out. It was a breeze every time. The hubby didn't sport his Forever Lazy until this morning. I tried to talk him into it the night before, but I guess he felt the room was only large enough for one of us to be super sexy at a time. He was probably right. After the hubby had it on for a few hours this morning, the 5-year-old said he wanted "one of those blue things", too. So we placed an immediate call into the Forever Lazy fairy - my girlfriend.
With the Forever Lazy you're guaranteed a full range of motion. I was able to do physical activites like multiple 12 ounce reps, running up the steps to the bathroom, Wii Beer Pong and Wii Guitar Hero. Plus, I stayed warm and cozy the entire time.
So thank you Forever Lazy and thank you to my dear girlfriend for my new favorite item. I need to check the human resources dress code before the morning to make sure I can wear it to work.
Friday, January 6, 2012
shut up...shut up...shut up...
This is what happens in my house when I start talking. The hubby puts his hands over his ears, closes his eyes and says, "shut up...shut up...shut up..."
It doesn't work, but he tries.
This is what I have been doing every time I hear from these New Year's Resolutioners. Ugh. They are so annoying. And some have been doing this long before the New Year. I realize being a fatty isn't for everyone. Some people want to be fit and healthy. Fine. To each their own. But stop beating the rest of us over the head with it.
I - and the rest of your Facebook friends - do not need to know how many miles you ran today and in what time. We're not impressed. Yes, we are judging you. But for all the wrong reasons. We are not gathering motivation from you. Instead we are simply having hateful thoughts about you. None of us think you will continue all year with this regime. Mostly we are wishing for you to give up on your New Year's resolution just so you will stop posting about it.
Then there are those of you - some of my closest friends by the way - that are signing their lives away for various races throughout 2012. Now, I'm not trying to be a hypocrite here. I've done some races. Normal things like 5K's and one 12K - which I fell on my face after the first mile (got laughed at by a bunch of gays) and spent the rest of the time hobbling to the finish line with blood running down my legs. Lesson learned. And that wasn't a slam on someone calling them gay as a put down. The race was in San Francisco. Some hot young gentlemen in super hero bikini briefs were running behind me. They stopped, pointed and laughed. They didn't even help a hag up. Now, those are some mean gays.
These ex-friends of mine are signing up for fucking marathons. Marathons are about the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. It might even be dumber than the do-it-yourself wall print of my initials made up of buttons that another girlfriend keeps trying to talk me into. I need some new fucking friends. The ones I have are ridiculous.
A marathon is 26 miles. A few miles more - and we're at my daily commute that I do twice a day, 5 days a week...in a car. Like a civilized person. Do these people not understand that we have cars now? It's 2012. You don't have to run away from lions or some other wildlife. And if that was the case, you are no where fast enough to out run the majority of wild animals. And I don't believe for a second that it is "fun". If this is your definition of fun then you obviously need to hang out with me more to discover what real fun is.
And then we have CrossFitters. Oh holy shit, these people speak in their own language and love it. It's like a freaking cult. I'm not going to lie. CrossFit interested me and I asked a friend about it. From what I understand it is about a 30 minute work out that you can do at a gym or at home daily. Each day is a different set of calisthenics looped together to push different parts of your body. Sounds pretty good, right? Wrong. Because then these fools start talking in code saying things like "WOD, Burpee, Clean and Jerk - which doesn't mean what I think it should mean - Ring Dips, Snatch Balance - again, not what you think - and more." Do I have to join a cult just to get some exercise?
Now, I know there are some freaks of nature that do Iron Men and crazy shit like that. More power to them. I enjoy watching it from the comfort of my couch. Their efforts are amazing, scary and mentally questionable. But I'm impressed.
I just think we should go back to a world where people exercise and they don't push it in your face. You see, I had a dream that one day fatties and skinnies can live together in peace and harmony with love for each other without judgement and most importantly without pushing your actions on one another.
Now, if you will excuse me I have some chips to get back to.
It doesn't work, but he tries.
This is what I have been doing every time I hear from these New Year's Resolutioners. Ugh. They are so annoying. And some have been doing this long before the New Year. I realize being a fatty isn't for everyone. Some people want to be fit and healthy. Fine. To each their own. But stop beating the rest of us over the head with it.
I - and the rest of your Facebook friends - do not need to know how many miles you ran today and in what time. We're not impressed. Yes, we are judging you. But for all the wrong reasons. We are not gathering motivation from you. Instead we are simply having hateful thoughts about you. None of us think you will continue all year with this regime. Mostly we are wishing for you to give up on your New Year's resolution just so you will stop posting about it.
Then there are those of you - some of my closest friends by the way - that are signing their lives away for various races throughout 2012. Now, I'm not trying to be a hypocrite here. I've done some races. Normal things like 5K's and one 12K - which I fell on my face after the first mile (got laughed at by a bunch of gays) and spent the rest of the time hobbling to the finish line with blood running down my legs. Lesson learned. And that wasn't a slam on someone calling them gay as a put down. The race was in San Francisco. Some hot young gentlemen in super hero bikini briefs were running behind me. They stopped, pointed and laughed. They didn't even help a hag up. Now, those are some mean gays.
These ex-friends of mine are signing up for fucking marathons. Marathons are about the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. It might even be dumber than the do-it-yourself wall print of my initials made up of buttons that another girlfriend keeps trying to talk me into. I need some new fucking friends. The ones I have are ridiculous.
A marathon is 26 miles. A few miles more - and we're at my daily commute that I do twice a day, 5 days a week...in a car. Like a civilized person. Do these people not understand that we have cars now? It's 2012. You don't have to run away from lions or some other wildlife. And if that was the case, you are no where fast enough to out run the majority of wild animals. And I don't believe for a second that it is "fun". If this is your definition of fun then you obviously need to hang out with me more to discover what real fun is.
And then we have CrossFitters. Oh holy shit, these people speak in their own language and love it. It's like a freaking cult. I'm not going to lie. CrossFit interested me and I asked a friend about it. From what I understand it is about a 30 minute work out that you can do at a gym or at home daily. Each day is a different set of calisthenics looped together to push different parts of your body. Sounds pretty good, right? Wrong. Because then these fools start talking in code saying things like "WOD, Burpee, Clean and Jerk - which doesn't mean what I think it should mean - Ring Dips, Snatch Balance - again, not what you think - and more." Do I have to join a cult just to get some exercise?
Now, I know there are some freaks of nature that do Iron Men and crazy shit like that. More power to them. I enjoy watching it from the comfort of my couch. Their efforts are amazing, scary and mentally questionable. But I'm impressed.
I just think we should go back to a world where people exercise and they don't push it in your face. You see, I had a dream that one day fatties and skinnies can live together in peace and harmony with love for each other without judgement and most importantly without pushing your actions on one another.
Now, if you will excuse me I have some chips to get back to.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Symptoms of White Trash
There are many symptoms of white trash that I come down with occasionally. One of these is running out of toilet paper at home.
It happens a little something like this...
Run into the bathroom nearly pissing my pants - I like to play the "wait to the last minute to pee" game. Plop down on the toilet just in time for no pee spillage without glancing over at the toilet paper roll. Grab at the toilet paper when I am done and then discover the remnant of a square left behind. Lean forward to check the basket that holds the spare toilet paper rolls. Looks empty, but there could be a roll at the bottom. Can't tell from this position. Do a little shimmy to shake off any excess and waddle over to the basket to discover....empty. Waddle back to the toilet to drip dry in my own home. During the drip dry, if the hubby is home, comes the argument over who used the last of the toilet paper. Blame is always set on the other person. I assume once the kids are old enough we will blame it on them. Then comes the walk to the basement to discover what I already knows to be true. There's no more toilet paper in storage. You see, I'm a big believer in buying in bulk. That and the hubby and I have a torrid love affair with Sam's Club. It's not physically possible to walk out of there without spending $100. It's not physically possible for us to walk out of there without buying something ridiculous. And wouldn't you know it, Sam's sells "ridiculous" in bulk, too.
Back to the toilet paper search. By this point, I've accepted the consequences of my drip dry or lack there of and now head to the other bathroom in the hopes there is a spare roll there. We have two bathrooms. The bathroom on the main floor is what we use 99% of the time. The other bathroom is between the toy room and the 5-year-old's room and is mainly used by the 5-year-old who requires very little toilet paper. (With his poor aim, he also doesn't seem to require much of a toilet, but that's another tale for another day.) However, we've had company in from out of town that have used that toilet and I knew I stocked it with a spare roll before they arrived in town. I was hoping I had gotten lucky and the spare roll hadn't been used yet. Not the case. There was less than a 1/3 of a roll, but it was at least some to get us through to the next day so we didn't have to venture out that evening. Proof there is a God.
Drip drying at home is not a good feeling. In my 20's at a bar....well, that's just natural. But in my 30's at home just feels wrong. Maybe it isn't white trash. Maybe African Americans, Asians, maybe even Canadians run out of toilet paper at home occasionally. Those Canadians probably don't even use toilet paper! Sickos!
I don't know. I haven't looked at the census report to know how whites fair against other ethnicities when it comes to the at-home-drip-dry, but my gut tells me it is a white thing.
If you're sitting on the can, reading this from your smart phone...I hope you have TP for your bun hole.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Happy New Year!
Happy 2012. Hopefully you are reading this while still hungover from partying on New Year's Eve, but I'm guessing you are not as New Year's Eve is notorious for being underwhelming. Once I had kids I stopped even attempting to plan an exciting New Year's Eve. So instead I stay up to see how uncomfortable I will feel by watching Dick Clark try to count backwards from 20. This year I almost turned the channel, but am morbid enough that I had to watch.
As the year came to a close, of course, I started thinking about what resolutions I was going to make. Eat better. Work out more. Kick some vices. Be more attentive and patient with the people in my life. Work with my children on their development more. Keep a cleaner house. I could go on and on. However, after thinking about it a little more I decided I needed to think bigger and better. And that's when I thought of the biggest and the best....ME! Okay, so maybe I should still add something in there about weight loss.
Regardless, the #1 resolution is to give myself time away from those I love most in this world so that I can love them better when I am around them. As much as I'd like this to take the form of travel, I'd say it is more likely to be evenings out with friends or even by myself to just escape my children for a few hours. They are cute little suckers, but I think they might be trying to smother me with their love. I guess I can't blame them. I am pretty awesome. If I were them, I'd want to be around me. Heck - I am me and I want to be around me.
Also, I resolve to be a more active blogger. So you will be hearing a lot more from me in 2012.
Fuck, that makes me feel old typing 2012.
As the year came to a close, of course, I started thinking about what resolutions I was going to make. Eat better. Work out more. Kick some vices. Be more attentive and patient with the people in my life. Work with my children on their development more. Keep a cleaner house. I could go on and on. However, after thinking about it a little more I decided I needed to think bigger and better. And that's when I thought of the biggest and the best....ME! Okay, so maybe I should still add something in there about weight loss.
Regardless, the #1 resolution is to give myself time away from those I love most in this world so that I can love them better when I am around them. As much as I'd like this to take the form of travel, I'd say it is more likely to be evenings out with friends or even by myself to just escape my children for a few hours. They are cute little suckers, but I think they might be trying to smother me with their love. I guess I can't blame them. I am pretty awesome. If I were them, I'd want to be around me. Heck - I am me and I want to be around me.
Also, I resolve to be a more active blogger. So you will be hearing a lot more from me in 2012.
Fuck, that makes me feel old typing 2012.
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