I was just hoping that you and I could be friends, but I see now that you are just an evil little son of a bitch.
The positives of today are as follows: said puking girl child woke up this morning as if she had never had her face in the toilet bowl and wanted to go to school; rockstar has play school today - enough said with that.
So I realize that today is the last day I have to go pee in a cup for a drug test for a job that I have been told that I have (pending said drug test of course), but since I am sure I haven't smoked any pot or stuffed an eight-ball up my nose recently, I'm going to pass and start the job. I figure I'll take girl child to school and drop rockstar off at his school and then make the 25 minute trek to the pee place. How hard can this be, right?!
While driving girl child to school she informs me that it's pizza party day, and my mind goes quickly to last night's puking episode. I tell her not to eat too much to which I get a quick reply of I won't to which I know that she will stuff her face full of pie (just as I would). She gets out of the car and waves and blows kisses to me excited about her pizza party escapade. I then bring rockstar to his play school which is at the high school. *sigh* Oh, the sights and sounds of teenagers bustling through the hallways; the too short skirts, the UGG boots with said too short skirts -- and while trying not to sound old, I just don't get that trend of a cold ass and legs but snuggly feet and ankles -- and let's not forget the F bombs being dropped around my toddler's ears. Yeah, yeah, *MY* F bombs are much different than hallway echoing F bombs so don't even go there with me. Rockstar heads straight for the sand table without so much as a kiss and I am off to my episode, and do you really think it didn't turn into some type of episode?
I decide as I'm driving that I suddenly have pee anxiety. How do *I* have pee anxiety when I am constantly heading to the bathroom, I don't go to any playground that doesn't have a bathroom type thing, and my husband hates taking long drives with me for I will inevitably end up squatting behind a tree on the side of the highway or hovering over a random McDonald's toilet. I digress, I now realize I have pee anxiety, and so I know that a coffee will most certainly help my situation. While I'm in the convenience store I figure, hell, I didn't win the Mega Millions last night so I'll buy a ticket and some tic tacs for my bangin' coffee breath I'm sure to have in a few minutes. Excuse me, but since when do I have to purchase a lottery ticket with cash only?! I only have my debit card. Insert sinking heart feeling here because I cannot purchase said lottery ticket that was printed out, and with my luck, I just know in my heart of hearts that THAT is the mother fuckin' winning ticket. I just know it. If I see that convenience store come up this weekend as the store that sold the winning ticket, I suggest you look for me on the news for I will have headed straight for the nearest bridge. Okay, that's a bit dramatic, but I can't imagine the intense therapy I will need to get past this. Regardless, I leave with my coffee, tic tacs and a pouty face.
I get on the road still downtrodden about this damn ticket that I just know is the winning ticket when I am grateful that said coffee is lukewarm so I can swill it down like a well-made margarita only that now I'm sad that this is not a well-made margarita. I digress, yet again. I'm on the highway when I am blinded by this bright yellow sign from [insert law firm I used to work for name here] and I almost go careening into the guardrail. What a dick I think because that bastard couldn't pay me shit but can dole out hundreds, perhaps thousands, for a bright yellow ugly ass billboard, but then I think what a tricky smart move because how many people are going to get blinded like I was by such ugliness and crash into each other and lo and behold, there is that 800 number screaming at you to call now. Hmm, well played dick lawyer, well played.
Now I realize my exit is coming up and I don't feel the need to pee yet. How in the hell can this be happening?! I also realize that I am heading towards the state prison and oh dear lord am I going to be taking a piss test with a bunch of parolees. Somebody save me. I finally find the place, walk in and realize I'm all alone. Oh good, let's just get this over with. Some smiley girl from behind the window tells me to come back and do this and do that, and here's the cup and pee to this line and then we'll have you sign X, Y, Z and you can be on your way. Oh good, I say, let's just hope I can give you the best pee of my life. Whose phone rings while they're peeing in a cup the size of a Dixie cup?! *sigh* Fast forward to I guess I don't know why I had pee anxiety because here, here, take this cup and let me get the hell out of here.
Sign this, sign that, give me this, take that, here's your ID, good luck, and I'm free. For heaven's sakes get me out of here and back to my little hovel of an office before I have to go pick rockstar up from play school. I'm driving home thinking about how it's all downhill from here because I have a lot of work to do today, which means I can hide in my office and talk to myself, and for once I am happy about this. While I'm thinking how absolutely, positively lame I am I see a guy, on the highway, riding a bicycle. Isn't that shit illegal?! I think if I had the pick-up truck I'd have offered to take his ass to wherever the hell he was pedaling to the poor bastard, but with my luck I'd have been dumped into the river.
So I still didn't get my Mega Millions lottery ticket, but before I get into my workout pants and take off my bra, I suppose I should do just that, and I will try really hard not to hit up the liquor store before the end of my "work day."
*cheers my friends*
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
CAKE DECORATING, MY WALLET AND MY BENEFITS
So oldest child, as some of you may know, wanted to take an after-school class for Cake Decorating because my little entrepreneur wants to be a baker just like Buddy from Cake Boss. Well, said little after-school class is a whopping $75.00 to take for something like eight weeks. After some pleading from her and some hemming and hawing on my part, I decide to write out the check (that will eventually bounce I'm sure), but in exchange for said yet-to-bounce check she was to step it up in the chore department. She didn't flinch, and I was amazed at my new power I didn't realize I had.
So up on the dry erase board goes a daily list of chores (that I don't want to do) such as empty and fill the dishwasher, start the washer/dryer, you know, things of this nature. She also gets a daily extra chore once a week of shit I totally 100% do not even do, such as clean the baseboards. Who in their right mind does that weekly? I bet you often wonder what the hell a baseboard might even look like and refused to move the toys out of the way to even bother to check it out. Now, I can tell you that her idea of doing chores correctly and my way are two completely different versions, but I really do struggle with my OCD monster when I see her sweeping the floor at .2 miles per hour. Come on, come on girl, get the hell out of my way and finish these chores. I digress -- she does them and most of the time without a face.
This has been going on two weeks now. Let us fast forward to yesterday's first cake decorating class. I go and pick her up from school and out she comes with three cupcakes all decorated pretty with fondant or some shit, and the light bulb, this thing goes off and burns bright up in my head. Wait, wait, hold on a second, this mom didn't even stop to think that she was going to bring said goodness home and that, of course, I get first crack at whatever she makes. Shut the front door, I'm amazed at this new idea. She will come home weekly with goodies that I get first dibs on??!!
So let's recap shall we: I get chores done around the house that I don't want to do myself and I get goodies once a week to devour?! I'm not seeing the downfall to this (other than the check that has yet to be cashed and if they want their money, they better hurry up and cash it while there's funds in my account).
Alas, I figured out that it is roughly $9.35 per tasty treat that I am eating, but you know what, $9.35 a week is a small price to pay for the slave labor and the smile that comes with the pretty face of my girl.
*cheers my friends*
So up on the dry erase board goes a daily list of chores (that I don't want to do) such as empty and fill the dishwasher, start the washer/dryer, you know, things of this nature. She also gets a daily extra chore once a week of shit I totally 100% do not even do, such as clean the baseboards. Who in their right mind does that weekly? I bet you often wonder what the hell a baseboard might even look like and refused to move the toys out of the way to even bother to check it out. Now, I can tell you that her idea of doing chores correctly and my way are two completely different versions, but I really do struggle with my OCD monster when I see her sweeping the floor at .2 miles per hour. Come on, come on girl, get the hell out of my way and finish these chores. I digress -- she does them and most of the time without a face.
This has been going on two weeks now. Let us fast forward to yesterday's first cake decorating class. I go and pick her up from school and out she comes with three cupcakes all decorated pretty with fondant or some shit, and the light bulb, this thing goes off and burns bright up in my head. Wait, wait, hold on a second, this mom didn't even stop to think that she was going to bring said goodness home and that, of course, I get first crack at whatever she makes. Shut the front door, I'm amazed at this new idea. She will come home weekly with goodies that I get first dibs on??!!
So let's recap shall we: I get chores done around the house that I don't want to do myself and I get goodies once a week to devour?! I'm not seeing the downfall to this (other than the check that has yet to be cashed and if they want their money, they better hurry up and cash it while there's funds in my account).
Alas, I figured out that it is roughly $9.35 per tasty treat that I am eating, but you know what, $9.35 a week is a small price to pay for the slave labor and the smile that comes with the pretty face of my girl.
*cheers my friends*
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Tween v. Mom
Let me start by saying that I have no doubt that I will, in fact, survive the teenage years, but at what cost and how many months, dare I say years, of therapy will it take for me to come out on the other side even as half the woman I was going into it. I also have no doubt that I will be the reason my daughter says to me at age 30 that she sat her ass in many-a-therapy sessions for the same teenage years. Of course, I will know that her version of the events that are to take place will be the exact opposite of my version.
I digress, for this day is the day I really begin to question if I am a capable of even making it TO the dreaded teenage years. Girl child will be 11 in a few months. Is she officially a "tween" at this point? I don't have a clue as I don't pay much attention to that as she's been a thorn in my side for at least a good part of a year now (and that's being kind). I sure as hell hope that at this moment she is not considered a "mini me" for if this is truth, I apologize to those around me for I am an asshole.
These are things that are baffling my sleep-deprived, toddler induced craziness in no particular order, and if I could say these things to her without the drama that would surely ensue I would:
1. Girl child, before you speak, would you please think about what it is you are trying to convey because when you start a sentence and stop five damn times trying to spit out what the hell it is you're trying to say, I have shut down and moved onto my next five things I have to do in the next five minutes. I surely have not heard a single thing you said as my brain is screaming "WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT" all the while keeping a nodding head as if I'm paying you any kind of attention.
2. When you go to the kitchen to get a drink, get a drink and move on. Don't stand in the fridge, hemming and hawing, close the fridge, go sit back down and wait for my ass to get up and say, "Oh, can you get me some water," and when I look at you like you've got 10 heads don't say, "what" as if you have no clue as to what the hell I'm perplexed about -- which is how lazy one kid can possibly be.
3. Seriously, dear girl child, if I have to look at that downtrodden face for the next six to eight years you will see me running naked across the golf course one morning pulling my hair out and speaking in tongues in the hopes that the white van will quietly pull up next to me and put on that awesome little jacket with the buckles and feed me pills three times a day. It's okay if you don't come visit because I think that the sight of you will cause me to convulse and be put into that special room that has soft walls so I don't hurt myself.
4. Before I do get to the point of the above-stated golf course screaming scenario, would you please, for the love of all that is holy, get out of my ass, please. You know I work at home, and sometimes it is inevitable that I must work while you are home. Yes, dear girl child, my life is more than you. I know, I know how hard that is to comprehend, but I assure you, if you leave me be for 30 minutes, I will emerge from this dark hole I consider my office and tend to your every must-be-now desire. Also, yes, I have my headphones on and yes, I am typing, and yes, you are right, I am completely trying to ignore you, but your breathing on my neck literally is going to be the death of you. I know you are capable of being an independent human being for 30 minutes, and if you don't get out of my ass, you will find yourself adding an extra month onto your therapy sessions in your mid to late 20s.
These are just a few of the things I'm tossing around in my weary mind. There are tons more, but when I think about these few I get a twitch in my left eye. I do hope that this twitch does not become permanent as I realize people already look at me funny while I go about my daily life. I do apologize profusely to those I come into contact with as I know that any interaction with my frazzled mind must leave you dazed for a few minutes, and those are precious moments you cannot get back. Please forgive me if I don't care as I'm working on a few precious years that I will never get back, and as I stare at the mountain before me that leads to the Land of the Teenagers, please just push me forward and run far, far away because these screams of horror are just not becoming of me.
*cheers my friends*
I digress, for this day is the day I really begin to question if I am a capable of even making it TO the dreaded teenage years. Girl child will be 11 in a few months. Is she officially a "tween" at this point? I don't have a clue as I don't pay much attention to that as she's been a thorn in my side for at least a good part of a year now (and that's being kind). I sure as hell hope that at this moment she is not considered a "mini me" for if this is truth, I apologize to those around me for I am an asshole.
These are things that are baffling my sleep-deprived, toddler induced craziness in no particular order, and if I could say these things to her without the drama that would surely ensue I would:
1. Girl child, before you speak, would you please think about what it is you are trying to convey because when you start a sentence and stop five damn times trying to spit out what the hell it is you're trying to say, I have shut down and moved onto my next five things I have to do in the next five minutes. I surely have not heard a single thing you said as my brain is screaming "WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT" all the while keeping a nodding head as if I'm paying you any kind of attention.
2. When you go to the kitchen to get a drink, get a drink and move on. Don't stand in the fridge, hemming and hawing, close the fridge, go sit back down and wait for my ass to get up and say, "Oh, can you get me some water," and when I look at you like you've got 10 heads don't say, "what" as if you have no clue as to what the hell I'm perplexed about -- which is how lazy one kid can possibly be.
3. Seriously, dear girl child, if I have to look at that downtrodden face for the next six to eight years you will see me running naked across the golf course one morning pulling my hair out and speaking in tongues in the hopes that the white van will quietly pull up next to me and put on that awesome little jacket with the buckles and feed me pills three times a day. It's okay if you don't come visit because I think that the sight of you will cause me to convulse and be put into that special room that has soft walls so I don't hurt myself.
4. Before I do get to the point of the above-stated golf course screaming scenario, would you please, for the love of all that is holy, get out of my ass, please. You know I work at home, and sometimes it is inevitable that I must work while you are home. Yes, dear girl child, my life is more than you. I know, I know how hard that is to comprehend, but I assure you, if you leave me be for 30 minutes, I will emerge from this dark hole I consider my office and tend to your every must-be-now desire. Also, yes, I have my headphones on and yes, I am typing, and yes, you are right, I am completely trying to ignore you, but your breathing on my neck literally is going to be the death of you. I know you are capable of being an independent human being for 30 minutes, and if you don't get out of my ass, you will find yourself adding an extra month onto your therapy sessions in your mid to late 20s.
These are just a few of the things I'm tossing around in my weary mind. There are tons more, but when I think about these few I get a twitch in my left eye. I do hope that this twitch does not become permanent as I realize people already look at me funny while I go about my daily life. I do apologize profusely to those I come into contact with as I know that any interaction with my frazzled mind must leave you dazed for a few minutes, and those are precious moments you cannot get back. Please forgive me if I don't care as I'm working on a few precious years that I will never get back, and as I stare at the mountain before me that leads to the Land of the Teenagers, please just push me forward and run far, far away because these screams of horror are just not becoming of me.
*cheers my friends*
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The Price Paid for Trying to Lose Weight
SERIOUSLY!!!!!???? I have these monster boobs because they went from a size DDD, which was bad enough to a freakin' G after the baby was born TWO YEARS AGO and they haven't gone down. This pretty much kills my pipe dream of them ever going back to a suitable size. So when I run I have to wear two sports bras. Yes, yes, I do, and I've resigned myself to this fact. I mean yes, it's pretty painful that my entire neck is being tugged down by these two melons on my chest stuffed into two bras (which is not a pretty sight trying to get them off all sweaty...ack), but I've accepted this as my life. It could be worse as all my non-boobage friends might tell me.
ANYWAYS, so I put my heart rate monitor on this morning, which is the one that has a chest strap, and I'm all "strapped in" (pun intended apparently), and I'm runnin' and I'm runnin' all Forrest Gump like feeling pretty pleased with my awesome self. Fast forward to when I come home and jump in the shower only to find to my dismay --- STINGING UNDERBOOBS!!! They were rubbing up against the HRM and caused wicked rubage and now I'm all red and sooorrrreee. So, no, this is not my idea of a good time whatsoever.
How DARE i try to lose weight...*kicks rocks* I see now that this is my punishment for my "selfishness" of wanting some "me" time without the kids and wanting to be smokin' hot -- or let's just be honest; just pleasant to the eyes of those around me that I must offend with myself.
So, clearly this is Mother Nature's way of saying -- here, honey, have another cookie. You're meant to be fluffy.*head desk*
*cheers my friends*
ANYWAYS, so I put my heart rate monitor on this morning, which is the one that has a chest strap, and I'm all "strapped in" (pun intended apparently), and I'm runnin' and I'm runnin' all Forrest Gump like feeling pretty pleased with my awesome self. Fast forward to when I come home and jump in the shower only to find to my dismay --- STINGING UNDERBOOBS!!! They were rubbing up against the HRM and caused wicked rubage and now I'm all red and sooorrrreee. So, no, this is not my idea of a good time whatsoever.
How DARE i try to lose weight...*kicks rocks* I see now that this is my punishment for my "selfishness" of wanting some "me" time without the kids and wanting to be smokin' hot -- or let's just be honest; just pleasant to the eyes of those around me that I must offend with myself.
So, clearly this is Mother Nature's way of saying -- here, honey, have another cookie. You're meant to be fluffy.*head desk*
*cheers my friends*
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Lies (some) Mothers Tell Me
There are two extremely false statements I have found that people try to convince me are truth. The first thing I am pretty positive is a complete falsehood is the following statement: "Oh, you don't even remember the pain of childbirth." Excuse me while I try not to choke on my coffee. Were you in a land of rainbows and puffy clouds during those excrutiating hours or was I not given the correct drugs because I can tell you with sincere honesty I do remember and it is not fading into a distant memory.
In fact, I remember quite distinctly that while some doctor's hands were stuffed up my crotch I had a contraction that seemed to go on forever, and a nurse said, "Oh honey, on a scale of 1 to 10 how was that?" I think at this point I hissed at her, horns grew out of the front of my head and I said something along the lines of way more than a 10. I hear her sing-songy response, "Oh well, yes, yes, I can see that that was, in fact, quite bad as it is way off the chart. See here?" She puts that piece of paper in front of my face so that I can see clearly that yes, yes, I guess I was right and the machine agreed that yes, yes, I am off the charts. Excuse me while I don't smile and thank you for the confirmation, crazy nurse, but I am too busy trying to keep my body from turning inside out at this particular moment. So I guess I'm one of those few people that remembers quite well their labor pains.
The second statement of which I am positive is a lie is: "Oh, I don't even remember what my life was like before I had kids." Excuse me again while I laugh at you and try not to pee my pants because I carried a watermelon around and I now pee every time I sneeze. Maybe I'm just jealous of those people, but it's Saturday as I write this, and I most certainly can remember what my life was like before I had children.
*insert daydream music* It was a blissful Saturday morning while snow was falling quietly outside my window. I lazily stretched in my bed and snuggled deeper under the covers hiding my head and falling back to that blissful dream state until my body said that it got all the peace and rest it needed to function for the day. It was time to get up and leisurely stroll around the house until I had some pressing matter to attend to such as getting ready to go out to have dinner and drinks with my husband.
Sounds totally fantastic as I type it. I'm even staring longingly up at the ceiling as if my memory were encased in a cloud above my head. Now there is no sleeping in and snuggling. There is only this constant reminder that my kids decide when they think I've had enough sleep, and I can assure you that they are not on the same schedule as my body. There is the soul-sucking 7:00 a.m. cry of mommy, mommy and the awesome job of changing a wet diaper with my eyes half closed, and if I'm lucky, I won't fall down the stairs going to get breakfast for the soul suckers.
I also like to pretend I'm completely happy and that I am, in fact, something of a super woman, and while I make a cup of coffee, I repeat over and over to myself -- I can do this, I am awesome, I am super woman. I quickly realize that I am not as awesome and super womanly as I believe I can be because as I start walking with my wonderfully smelling fresh coffee, I step on a train, stumble and catch myself only to find that I have spilled my entire coffee all down the front of my shirt and onto the floor. I sigh as I wipe the coffee off the floor with my sock and collapse into my chair and close my eyes for a half a second. How dare I do such a thing when there are cars to be played with or blocks to build a tall tower with, and how dare I forget this fact for a split second.
I see that it is, by this time, only 7:30 a.m. and half my coffee is gone and not because I had the luxury of drinking it. It's 7:30 a.m. and already a tower as tall as my son must be built right this instant. I'm thinking how this could be a terrific time for that shower that I must have. It is 7:35 a.m. and said tower of blocks has not been built yet because there are trains, trains, more trains that just have to be brought into the station so the damn electronic conductor can scream at me and make my ears bleed. I begrudgingly get up and go try to figure out a way to make that guy stop yelling when I feel my feet on the kitchen floor sticking. It is, indeed, the coffee that was spilled that I so heroically cleaned up with my stocking feet that is screaming at me how no, no, no super woman, this half-assed cleaning shall not do.
So, you see, I quite clearly remember my life before my kids, and I will call you out on your crazy notions that this is a time of blissful motherhood. You can't pull one over on this girl because there is no time in this house to live in such fantasy worlds. There are trucks now for me to step on, and I pretty much think that there is a dirty diaper to be changed already. It's only 7:45 a.m., and I feel that this is, without a doubt, going to be another long day.
*cheers friends*
In fact, I remember quite distinctly that while some doctor's hands were stuffed up my crotch I had a contraction that seemed to go on forever, and a nurse said, "Oh honey, on a scale of 1 to 10 how was that?" I think at this point I hissed at her, horns grew out of the front of my head and I said something along the lines of way more than a 10. I hear her sing-songy response, "Oh well, yes, yes, I can see that that was, in fact, quite bad as it is way off the chart. See here?" She puts that piece of paper in front of my face so that I can see clearly that yes, yes, I guess I was right and the machine agreed that yes, yes, I am off the charts. Excuse me while I don't smile and thank you for the confirmation, crazy nurse, but I am too busy trying to keep my body from turning inside out at this particular moment. So I guess I'm one of those few people that remembers quite well their labor pains.
The second statement of which I am positive is a lie is: "Oh, I don't even remember what my life was like before I had kids." Excuse me again while I laugh at you and try not to pee my pants because I carried a watermelon around and I now pee every time I sneeze. Maybe I'm just jealous of those people, but it's Saturday as I write this, and I most certainly can remember what my life was like before I had children.
*insert daydream music* It was a blissful Saturday morning while snow was falling quietly outside my window. I lazily stretched in my bed and snuggled deeper under the covers hiding my head and falling back to that blissful dream state until my body said that it got all the peace and rest it needed to function for the day. It was time to get up and leisurely stroll around the house until I had some pressing matter to attend to such as getting ready to go out to have dinner and drinks with my husband.
Sounds totally fantastic as I type it. I'm even staring longingly up at the ceiling as if my memory were encased in a cloud above my head. Now there is no sleeping in and snuggling. There is only this constant reminder that my kids decide when they think I've had enough sleep, and I can assure you that they are not on the same schedule as my body. There is the soul-sucking 7:00 a.m. cry of mommy, mommy and the awesome job of changing a wet diaper with my eyes half closed, and if I'm lucky, I won't fall down the stairs going to get breakfast for the soul suckers.
I also like to pretend I'm completely happy and that I am, in fact, something of a super woman, and while I make a cup of coffee, I repeat over and over to myself -- I can do this, I am awesome, I am super woman. I quickly realize that I am not as awesome and super womanly as I believe I can be because as I start walking with my wonderfully smelling fresh coffee, I step on a train, stumble and catch myself only to find that I have spilled my entire coffee all down the front of my shirt and onto the floor. I sigh as I wipe the coffee off the floor with my sock and collapse into my chair and close my eyes for a half a second. How dare I do such a thing when there are cars to be played with or blocks to build a tall tower with, and how dare I forget this fact for a split second.
I see that it is, by this time, only 7:30 a.m. and half my coffee is gone and not because I had the luxury of drinking it. It's 7:30 a.m. and already a tower as tall as my son must be built right this instant. I'm thinking how this could be a terrific time for that shower that I must have. It is 7:35 a.m. and said tower of blocks has not been built yet because there are trains, trains, more trains that just have to be brought into the station so the damn electronic conductor can scream at me and make my ears bleed. I begrudgingly get up and go try to figure out a way to make that guy stop yelling when I feel my feet on the kitchen floor sticking. It is, indeed, the coffee that was spilled that I so heroically cleaned up with my stocking feet that is screaming at me how no, no, no super woman, this half-assed cleaning shall not do.
So, you see, I quite clearly remember my life before my kids, and I will call you out on your crazy notions that this is a time of blissful motherhood. You can't pull one over on this girl because there is no time in this house to live in such fantasy worlds. There are trucks now for me to step on, and I pretty much think that there is a dirty diaper to be changed already. It's only 7:45 a.m., and I feel that this is, without a doubt, going to be another long day.
*cheers friends*
Friday, January 27, 2012
My Life as a Movie
So it's Groundhog Day in my house today again. Same thing, same pace, same thoughts as yesterday. I send the husband off to work and make a cup of coffee and sit in my chair, scan my phone for messages, scarymommy confessions, post one or two or five, look at the clock and sigh.
After getting the kids up and settled I proceed to go hide in the shower. Yes, I am hiding. I already took a shower last night so technically I don't *need* another one.
Let's see, I'm thinking how it's Friday and how this means nothing to me. I think how I successfully (loosely used) drank every night this week and how pathetic this is, and I need to get off the pity-party-go-round because this is doing nothing positive for the waistline I'm trying desperately to lose.
Let's move on to how I'm dreading hitting up my spin class today, but not for the class itself; rather all it takes to just get ready for said spin class. I have to dig out some workout gear from the loads of laundry that have miraculously piled up in one day. How does that happen anyways I often wonder. Then I have to actually stuff myself into said finally found clothes, the sports bra being the worst offender out of the bunch. I'm thinking how the hell can my daughter be so damn chipper this morning because she hasn't shut her mouth once. She was in the bathroom peeing, talking to herself. Dear Lord, girl, it's 8:00 a.m.
So then I'm trying to find something positive about my day. At this point, I am totally not *green* at all as the hot water I am wasting is pretty pathetic. Okay, something positive. Come on, girl, you can do this. I need something other than the traditional "I woke up today" crap. Think, think, think. Then this leads me to think about Winnie the Pooh. Snap out of it, girl. What is wrong with you?! I'm about to give up and shut the water off when I hear feet pitter-pattering down the hall. I'm about to say crap, what does he want now when the bathroom door gets thrown open and I hear, "I love you, mommmmyyyyy."
You are so lucky kid. I shall let you make it through another day. Thank you for giving me the positive I was looking for. Now to find my sneakers and hit up my spin class. *cheers mommies*
After getting the kids up and settled I proceed to go hide in the shower. Yes, I am hiding. I already took a shower last night so technically I don't *need* another one.
Let's see, I'm thinking how it's Friday and how this means nothing to me. I think how I successfully (loosely used) drank every night this week and how pathetic this is, and I need to get off the pity-party-go-round because this is doing nothing positive for the waistline I'm trying desperately to lose.
Let's move on to how I'm dreading hitting up my spin class today, but not for the class itself; rather all it takes to just get ready for said spin class. I have to dig out some workout gear from the loads of laundry that have miraculously piled up in one day. How does that happen anyways I often wonder. Then I have to actually stuff myself into said finally found clothes, the sports bra being the worst offender out of the bunch. I'm thinking how the hell can my daughter be so damn chipper this morning because she hasn't shut her mouth once. She was in the bathroom peeing, talking to herself. Dear Lord, girl, it's 8:00 a.m.
So then I'm trying to find something positive about my day. At this point, I am totally not *green* at all as the hot water I am wasting is pretty pathetic. Okay, something positive. Come on, girl, you can do this. I need something other than the traditional "I woke up today" crap. Think, think, think. Then this leads me to think about Winnie the Pooh. Snap out of it, girl. What is wrong with you?! I'm about to give up and shut the water off when I hear feet pitter-pattering down the hall. I'm about to say crap, what does he want now when the bathroom door gets thrown open and I hear, "I love you, mommmmyyyyy."
You are so lucky kid. I shall let you make it through another day. Thank you for giving me the positive I was looking for. Now to find my sneakers and hit up my spin class. *cheers mommies*
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Have You Seen Where I Left My Head?!
I usually come here and write when I've just about reached the end of my rope. When I logged on I saw that I haven't been here since March of 2011. Really? Because I could have sworn I've been at the end of my rope a lot since that time. Regardless, here I am, head lost, hanging on for dear life. It has been a week where I am three bottles of red wine deep, and if I'm being honest with you, I'll tell you that they are 1.5 bottles. Please, there is no wussy drinking for this mama. If I'm going to drown my despair over losing control, I shall do it with gusto!! So, continuing on...
I am like a lot of people, I love to show my kids off in videos and pictures, and I don't discriminate. I post the good and the bad crap that they do and obnoxiously show it off on Facebook. I'm not ashamed of it because if you are sick of seeing my kids, then you surely are missing out on some entertainment. So, as the ever-obnoxious mom I am, I posted a video yesterday of my two-and-a-half year old son being a devil-child when he was supposed to be napping. I mainly posted it because I was desperate for the feedback and any advice anyone could offer to me about this sudden change in his napping. Now, I do realize that they grow out of naps, but since I work from home I was hoping to avoid this for a little bit longer.
So I did, indeed, get some advice; bendaryl (sorry, I can't waste that on nap times), books (a no go), turning the monitor off (still can hear his screaming voice through the walls), audio books (this is what I am trying currently, and I'll let you know if it was a success). Fast forward to a couple of comments where people pointed out how cute it was when my son saw me videotaping him he smiled and was so happy to see me. Cue that record screeching to a halt sound here. What the hell is everyone talking about? I go and review said tape and there it is; the adorable smile that I missed while I was so frustrated and irritated. I realize that it is quite clear that I am, indeed, an asshat. So now I have this awesome video displaying my asshatery and let's memorialize the moment in this blog shall we.
I was going to end this by saying something about pulling my big girl panties up and trying to regain the control I once had, but at that moment, the wood chipper guy started up his machine outside my window, i.e., the devil-child's window, and there is no napping going on. Yes, yes, there is an audio book going on, but while I try to control the twitch in my eye I am wondering if he can even hear said audio book. Oh yes my friends, I am indeed going to pull up my big girl panties, wash my wine glass, fill it to its brim and go to my window and wait until I catch the eye of one of the wood chipper guys and give him that good old fashion one-finger salute!! *cheers mommies*
I am like a lot of people, I love to show my kids off in videos and pictures, and I don't discriminate. I post the good and the bad crap that they do and obnoxiously show it off on Facebook. I'm not ashamed of it because if you are sick of seeing my kids, then you surely are missing out on some entertainment. So, as the ever-obnoxious mom I am, I posted a video yesterday of my two-and-a-half year old son being a devil-child when he was supposed to be napping. I mainly posted it because I was desperate for the feedback and any advice anyone could offer to me about this sudden change in his napping. Now, I do realize that they grow out of naps, but since I work from home I was hoping to avoid this for a little bit longer.
So I did, indeed, get some advice; bendaryl (sorry, I can't waste that on nap times), books (a no go), turning the monitor off (still can hear his screaming voice through the walls), audio books (this is what I am trying currently, and I'll let you know if it was a success). Fast forward to a couple of comments where people pointed out how cute it was when my son saw me videotaping him he smiled and was so happy to see me. Cue that record screeching to a halt sound here. What the hell is everyone talking about? I go and review said tape and there it is; the adorable smile that I missed while I was so frustrated and irritated. I realize that it is quite clear that I am, indeed, an asshat. So now I have this awesome video displaying my asshatery and let's memorialize the moment in this blog shall we.
I was going to end this by saying something about pulling my big girl panties up and trying to regain the control I once had, but at that moment, the wood chipper guy started up his machine outside my window, i.e., the devil-child's window, and there is no napping going on. Yes, yes, there is an audio book going on, but while I try to control the twitch in my eye I am wondering if he can even hear said audio book. Oh yes my friends, I am indeed going to pull up my big girl panties, wash my wine glass, fill it to its brim and go to my window and wait until I catch the eye of one of the wood chipper guys and give him that good old fashion one-finger salute!! *cheers mommies*
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