Good Clean Family Fun

My oldest son has become obsessed with his Shrek 2 Playstation game. It is a nice, kids game, or so we thought. The newest character to the Shrek family is Puss-in-boots. He is a lot of fun to play, so we (hubby was in town) listened to variations on this conversation all weekend long.

Bud: “Oh, pussy, pussy, I love pussy.”
Scoots: “Can I be pussy now?”
Bud: “No, I want to be pussy, I just love pussy. Pussy is my favorite.”
Scoots: “I want to snuggle with pussy all day.”
Bud: “Mom, do you want to be pussy?”

Heaven help us (insert a visual of me throwing up my arms)! What do you say to this? We tried telling them to stop with the pussies, but then, they asked, why. How do you answer that question? I spent the weekend waffling between hysteria and mortification. Scoots loves pussy so much he says he is now to be addressed as Puss-in-boots.

All I can say is, “Thank God, he does not want to be addressed as pussy!”

Don't Come Around Here No More

George W. Bush you have fucked up my commute for the last time! This is the FOURTH time I have had to endure closed roads and horrific traffic for your motorcade. I had to put up with your motorcades 3 times in North Carolina, alone. Two of the times you were not even Prez, yet. So, I move 2,000 miles away and what happens? You visit Phoenix, on the night I have to take my husband to the airport. I spent a total of 2 hours and 20 minutes in traffic thanks to your lame duck presidency. While you rode through closed off roads during the Phoenix rush hour. How considerate of you. I only wish you could have also enjoyed the added bonus of my 3 screaming children, who wished they could have left with Daddy, because, I could not get out of traffic to get them fed.

A note to my readers; this is not necessarily a rant because it pertains to G.W., I would have strangled Clinton if he was the one responsible for trapping me in the car, with starving children, for that long. I am not ordinarily a political person, as I like to think that I have better things to do with my time than try to reform politicians. Although, if you have read 100 things about me you can probably guess that I don't care for G.W., but I could also say that about most politicians, democrat or republican. Unless they are raising/lowering my taxes or fixing daycare, they do not affect my daily life and I don't give a rats ass what they are doing or not doing in Washington. If you want to have a political debate, go find one of the pundits’ blogs, there are enough for either side; they think they are educated on the issues. I am not. At this point in my life a newspaper only comes in handy when I have run out of toilet paper.

Oh, one more thing, I do think you should vote. That gives you 4 years of, “I didn’t vote for the sommofabeotch,” bragging rights. That’s pretty important conversation material and also, seems to have something to do with the democratic process.

Gluttony, Gluttony and More Gluttony on the Side

I had a TV and movie overload this weekend, it was fabulous, I recommend this to anyone. I started out by taking my children to see ‘Chicken Little’. A cute if almost completely forgettable movie, but the kids liked it.

The next day I took care of myself. I could have gone for sex, love and violence, but, no, at 10:30 am on a Saturday I sat my butt down to go mano a mano with Lord Voldemort. A kids movie without my kids? I’ve gone soft. I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, almost more than the book (they did a great job bringing the book to life). One of the reasons I opted for this movie is Ralph Fiennes (see ‘The English Patient’ to understand this sentiment). I will admit he is a little on the scrawny side, but with the British accent you can overlook that flaw. Also, apparently, in British parlance his name is pronounced Rafe not Ralph. Let me explain how this pronunciation is better for the high points of your life…”Oh, Ralph, Ralph, Ralphie….?” versus, “Rafe, Rafe, oh, Rafe, RAAAAFFFEEE!” Ahem, much sexier. Anyway, he does not look at all like himself in the new Harry Potter, he is creepy and disgusting. Why do men do this to us? Cary Elwes did this after ‘Princess Bride’. We fall in love with you and then you turn into a serial killer, appear in ‘Saw’ and the most unforgivable act was “Robin Hood, Men In Tights.” This is too much like my real life relationships and who needs that?

My final coup was ‘Desperate Housewives’. Since I have missed it for the last several weeks much of it went over my head. However, Gabrielle, the young, beautiful, spoiled, rich, housewife has a cat fight with a nun, Sister Mary. At one point Gabrielle says something along the lines of, “It’s not better to be poor. That’s just what we tell them, so that they don’t start rioting.” You just cannot argue with that kind of logic.

One Down, One to Go

Thanksgiving dinner at the local truck stop/greasy spoon was tasty, but not, so very healthy. We had turkey, that I am guessing was rubbed in lard and then fried in peanut oil…mmmmm, mmmm. Then, I discovered a new favorite of mine, deep fried mashed taters and we were treated to deep fried pumpkin pie.

To top off the weekend we ate at the Cheesecake Factory and I could not say no to the chocolate-peanut butter-cookie dough-cheesecake. You would have to be a much smaller woman than I to forego that treat. However, I did share, I let my sons lick the plate (okay, so, not the plate, I may have licked that too. I did let them search for crumbs on the table and possibly the floor. I would never officially sanction eating from the floor, but I may have turned a blind eye, in order to stop the begging and subsequent sharing of MY treat. I have plans to sneak my lard ass back over there early next week to try some of that Godiva cheesecake; it's a limited edition for heaven sake! How can I meet my maker and tell her I lived a full life, when I missed out on Godiva cheesecake? This I ask you?).

If this weekend was any indication; I may have to buy a couple of new pairs of elastic waistband pants to get me through the holiday season. My ass completely disregarded the memo and who gives up chocolate over the holidays? Not this gal. Here’s to New Year’s resolutions! I have a perfect track record with all my resolutions - I have blown them all before the end of New Year ’s Day. It relieves the pressure immediately and hey, there's always next year.

A Letter To My Ass

Before we rush into my post, just a note. I have posted 3 entries today. They are meant to hold people over until I get back to a computer to post, which will be a couple of days. Read them at your leisure, you have time.

This is an imaginary letter between my various body parts. I know my body parts do not talk to each other. At least I don't think they do....

Dear Ass,

We, that is the rest of the body and I, wanted to let you know that we see you! You think that we cannot because you are quite literally the caboose, but, no, we see you. You are not the plague, so stop spreading yourself around like you are! Thighs are jealous of your growth rate and are threatening to exercise. Mouth is contemplating a chocolate strike. So for the love of God, stop trying to take on the formation of the office chair you are parked in, before we find ourselves on a diet!

Sincerely,

Brain

Snippets From My Sons

A couple of gems from my boys.

Right after I got out of the shower the other day my oldest son said, "oh, are going out without a shirt on?"

"No, girls cannot go out without their shirts on."

"How come? Boys can? Is it because people would laugh at you?"

"Yes, people would laugh at me."
**********
Last night my 4 year old asked me, "Momma when I get bigger can I have a gun? A real gun?"

"What do you need a gun for?"

"To shoot bad guys, real bad guys." (I am a mommy that does not buy toy guns for my kids - swords and light sabers, yes, but I draw the line at guns. I suppose it is a thin line, but at least it's a line.)
*********
My 17 month old was walking around with his hands in his diaper, again. "Squiggy, get your hand out of your diaper! Your are not supposed to have your hand in there."

He turns to me and with all the sarcasm a 17 month old can muster, he says, "I know." Which had me thinking, "You know? You know! You're 17 months old, you don't know squat."

Happy, Happy Turkey Day, Things Are Gonna Go Your Way

I am a turkey, eat me!
- Puglsey, 'Addams Family Values'

I have fond memories of Thanksgiving day. My parents were always on their best behavior, which means, they were well on their way to getting toasted, but thanks to the tryptophan in the turkey, they passed out long before they remembered how much they hated one another.

I love the traditional Thanksgiving meal and my mom is a good cook. Essentially, I don't think I could ever hate any day where I did not have to go to school and was served mountains of mashed potatoes. I was also served a little wine, once I was past a reasonable age, at my house this would mean I was at least 7 (hey, I could drink it at church every Sunday by then).

I look forward to making the Holidays something my children with both enjoy in the future and in the here and now. This year, I will be taking them out to dinner, because I do not have a table to use for dinner. I hope this does not permanently damage my children into thinking I can cook or they should expect good turkey from me. I only left the gizzrds in once, give me break! However, I would like the rest of the day to be remembered as fun family time and the day mom let them eat pie more than once.

So, with a whole lot less alcohol and a whole bunch of napping, happy turkey day to each of you!

Fall 2004 Picture

Three cute boys, I have never met before, playing in the leaves of our backyard last year. Look at the angelic face of baby, while his brothers are creating mayhem in the background.

I miss the fall. Phoenix has nice weather, but the leaves, well, they were a frickin' pain in the ass. However, they provided a decent photo op.

Running Late and Bad Hair

As I came into the building this morning, I was busy muttering something along the lines of, "note to self, deodorant must be applied after the shirt is on."

Flashback to 40 minutes earlier...

"Mom, what is that white stuff on your shirt?" As most of you know it is never a good thing when you children point out 'white stuff' on your shirt. I had done something I don't recall doing since junior high. I had deodorant plastered up and down the sides of my blouse. On to the task of finding a new shirt and of course, new pants, since the ones I had on only went with that particular blouse.

Second note to self for the day; it is not a good idea to have a radical new hairstyle in the middle of a full blown life crisis. I spent 3 and a half sodding hours in the hair salon yesterday and $185 (with tip - I tipped her?!!!), so that I could walk out with the female version of the mullet, complete with shag.

There is nothing technically wrong with my haircut, except that it is completely out of style and the horror of having people think this is what I meant to do to myself. It might also be an acceptable hairstyle if I were over the age of 60, which most of her clientele apparently is, however, that probably applies to 90% of the stylists in the Phoenix metro area. At least my hair is not blue (and the first person to remind me I look like my mom with this style will lose a finger - got it?!!). I am not even sure she was done cutting my hair. I just told her I had to pick my kids up and then she hurried to finish up. Probably not a good thing either.

I now have the dilemma of, "do I go back to the same gal to get it fixed (note; I would have to pay the bag to fix it, it would not be a freebie)? Do I go to someone else? Or do I suck it up and let it grow out?" I don't think I can live with the shag, but I also don't want to pay more money to have it fixed. I think it should be perfectly acceptable to wear a baseball hat for 6 weeks. So, here I am at work with my head held high. All the while thinking, "I'm sportin' a mullet, where's the nearest Van Halen concert?"

The upside to the radical change is messing with the minds of the men I work with. "Did you get a haircut?" "Nope." "Your hair looks different (furrowed brow male tries to remember hair color and style from yesterday - with limited success). "I did wash it today."

Ahh, well, screw it. It'll grow back. Right? Right?

100 Things About Me

Sex Education – Catholic School Style

All Freshman were required to take sex ed at my high school. The sex ed class was taught by Father Kelsch. He was a nice man and fairly young for a priest ( he is a heterosexual and not one of the pervs you hear about, trying to bump uglies with any and all of the students within a 20 mile radius). Oh, I know he is a heterosexual, because a few years after I graduated he left the priesthood to marry a parish secretary and I heard they have kids now. He is about the 4th priest I know of to have an affair with a parish secretary, so if you’re into priests, you know what job track to be headed down. So, where was I? Father Kelsch taught sex ed and no matter how nice he was, it is creepy being taught about sex ed from a man who has vowed to be chaste for most of his adult life.

This was no mild mannered sex ed class, we were given handouts, booklets and watched videos on conception and childbirth (that video did it for me, there wasn’t no man worth going through that for, uht, uh, no way). We were also taught, in detail about birth control and the pros and cons of each method (at least they did not show us how to use condoms with a banana), with an emphasis on abstinence. And, yes, the only approved method of birth control in the Catholic Church is ‘The Rhythm Method’ (I am not sure but, I think, the failure rate is around 60%). It was with complete revulsion that we sat and listened to one of our married male teachers, who was certified to teach ‘The Rhythm Method’, tell us how to read our cervical fluid. He also stated that for a 7-10 period each month you had to abstain from sex (I am sure he was thinking, if you are still having sex after the first 6 months of marriage. We were thinking, how in the hell do you do that? Is that possible? Hormonal teens, don’t you just love ‘em?)

The good Father also took pains to tell us of some of the confessions he had heard over the years to debunk common myths. My favorite is the poor girl who came in after she found out she was pregnant. She told Father she did not know how she had gotten pregnant. “Weeelll, did you have sex?” “Oh, yes, Father, we had sex… in the car, on the beach, on the floor, sure we had sex, but not in the bed. I thought you could only get pregnant if you had sex in bed.”

I got an A plus in the class, don’t tell my husband, he’ll wonder what for….but, I had 2 good male friends that actually got D’s in the class. Apparently, they are going to need a roadmap to find the feminine pearl of happiness. I hope they wives/girlfriends were made aware of this before anything substantial took place, in the bed (or on the beach or in the car….)

Teflon Tiff

(Frequent Reader Bonus – Two posts in a day. I cannot post from home (computer broken, no internet access, sob, must keep going). Who reads blogs on the weekend anyway? Isn’t that on your own time?)

I used to have a co-worker that we actually referred to as Teflon Tiff. She could deflect any assignment or take-away faster than most of us can blink. I have been thinking that in the realm of superpowers, that is a damn fine power to have. There are some others I think I would like to have as well:

Super Daycare Spying – Ability to see what both my children and their teachers are doing at school. Coupled with…..

Ability To Cause People To Fart From Long Distances – When the daycare teacher even looks at my child cross-eyed, I would force her to the bathroom, while the children laughed, hysterically, at the funny noises teacher is making.

Douche Bag Radar – Okay, so I already have this power. What I really need is the repellant.

In Cubicle Invisibility – The ability disappear each time annoying co-worker heads over to ask the obvious question of the day or to assign you needless work.

Along with this, there are some superpowers, I do not want. I don’t want X-ray vision, heaven knows that with my supermommy hearing I have a good enough idea of what my kids are up to, I don’t need to hit the ceiling any faster. I don’t want to know what men are thinking, I am going to take Jeff Foxworthy at his word; that men are only thinking about sports, they want to see somethin’ nekkid and they want a beer. I have never seen any real proof that this is not the case.

What powers will you choose? Let me know.

Friday Morning Confessional

Children For Sale - Cheap!

It may or may not have escaped your notice that I did not post yesterday. Let me recount the last 48 hours of my life and that will help you to understand.

Tuesday morning, I received a call from daycare. My middle son (the one who inherited mommy's grace quotient - which is non-existent) had fallen and had a cut on the back of his head and probably needed stitches. Could somebody come get him?

After dropping everything and speeding out of the office, I had time to think that the freeway problem in this world is not due to speeding drivers, it is due to all of the shithead assemaholes who cannot figure out that the right lane is the slow lane and they want to do below the minimum speed in the middle and left lanes. Minimum speed, as I define it, is 65 or whatever the speed limit is on the freeway near your home. These are the same people who think it wise to speed down neighborhood streets, where our children play, in an effort to make up for the lost time on the freeway. Do you know why I had time to think about this on the way to get my child? Because I was stuck behind each and everyone of you assholes!

I spent the remainder of the afternoon swaddled in our FUBARed health care system, a.k.a. the emergency room (there’s a misnomer, if ever there was one). My poor boo had to get a stitch in the back of his head. He was very brave and even though, he was screaming he could feel everything, the doc stitched him up with no shots, just some numbing gel that clearly did not work.

Wednesday morning started out with my noticing the door to the hallway bathroom was shut and the light was on. I asked if everything was okay and I hear, “don’t come in here, there is poop everywhere, but I am alright.” “Mommy is coming in.” He was right, there was poop all over, the floor, the walls the toilet and his pajamas. He had tried to clean it up, but really that just spread it around. Note; while my hubby would have changed a poopy diaper, there is no way his breakfast would have stayed down, once he viewed and smelled this mess. I made the executive decision to keep him and my youngest home. Which meant I had to take my oldest to school.

We get out to the car and dead battery. No matter how many times I tell them not to turn on the lights over their heads, they do and they had managed to leave them on again. We had to walk/jog .60 miles to my son’s school in 7 minutes. We failed miserably.

“Momma, I’m tired, I need to take a rest.”
“We should have brought water.”
“I’m feeling sad, I wish daddy were here.” (GRR! I wish your daddy were here, too!)
“You’re walking too fast.”
“Can we play in the park?”
And finally, “You shouldn’t have made us late!”

I walked over to the Home Depot to get a battery charger. There was almost no incident with this. I get home and read the instructions and it says, charge for 48 hours before using. I call my sister-in-law for help and before she calls me back, I get a call from Ashley Furniture. The poor girl who called me will never forget this day. It seems that even though they quote 4-6 weeks for furniture delivery. They really mean 4-6 months.

“Your furniture will be delivered at the end of November.”
“What happened to Friday, the earlier message said Friday.”
“I’m sorry, it looks like the end of November, the 4-6 weeks is not a promise, just a guideline.”
“Where are we supposed to eat Thanksgiving dinner? On the floor? I have small children and we have been eating and sitting on the floor for a month (we ordered the furniture 2 weeks before we moved in).”
“I’m sorry ma’am (ma'am, MA'AM!?) it won’t be in.”
“Okay, so how do we fix this? I can try to pick it up, whatever, but I need a table for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“The only pieces we have are 3 bar stools and we cannot split the order since it is so close to your delivery date.”
“Then, I need to speak to your Corporate Office or a supervisor.”
“I am a supervisor and there is nothing else we can do.”
“Here’s what your going to do, you are going to cancel my order and not charge me your 20% restocking fee and I am going to order from someone who will have furniture here within 2 days.”
“I can check with my supervisor and call you back, but I am not promising anything.” She hung up grateful to get off the call and probably thinking she would never hear or speak to me again. Unfortunately, for her, she left her name and number on my voicemail and I saved it! There is nothing more satisfying than taking out a bad day on some poor underling, I don’t care what they say on church on Sundays, it feels oh, so satisfying!

Surgery

Scrubbed in, mask in place, ready to rock and roll! Is the patient immobilized?

"Yes."

"Let's do it."

"Diaper."

"Diaper."

"Wipies."

"Wipies."

"Whoo, major gushser, more wipies."

"How many more?"

"5, STAT!"

"Baggie."

"Baggie."

"Get that one straight to the garbage. Get your hands out of there!"

"Okay, we're closing it up!"

"Get your hand out of there!"

"Patient has recovered well and is running away....."

The Best of The Weekend

There was a lot to be accomplished this weekend and once again, I accomplished about 10 out of the 100 things I set out to do. Since I have not posted since Friday, I thought you might enjoy the best of my weekend.

Best Bumper Sticker - "We're all wearing the blue dress now."

Best conversation between myself and my children -
Scootie is playing with his toys, "Look, Bud, I have the good Anakin and the bad Anakin."
Bud replies, "Bad Anakin sucks! He sucks because he is a sucker."
Mommy jumps in with, "Where did you learn about the word sucks, Bud?"
He replies (sensing a trap, because of my overly sweet tone of voice), "Nowhere and no one. Uhh, actually, Spongebob."

Best T-shirt - And she lived happily ever after.

Best Craft Show - Fountain Hills, Arizona. (I cannot afford any of the shit they are peddling, but it is nice to know how untalented I really am and to admire the talent these craftspersons have.)

Favorite Show I missed (again!) - Desperate Housewives. Two weeks in a row! I am going insane, someone please take pity on me and tell me what is going on!

Favorite Purchase - Two mugs from the aforementioned craft show. Forty bucks, for two, forty bucks! They'll be broken before my credit card payment is due.

Shopping In Phoenix

Before I get into my real story for the day, I should mention that I am actually in a really good mood today. It is no heels Friday and my feet are dancin'.

I have had my first experience with blogging actually getting me in trouble. You see I read the A rated books from the Smart Bitches blog and had to run out to B&N and buy them. Of course, they only had a couple of the books and I will be forced to spend hours on the Internet surfing for the rest of them, but with the books I did purchase and the free time I have, we’re looking at about a 2 year supply of reading.

Here is where I get into trouble. Walking out of the store, a lady with 2 kids in the car starts asking me if I could help her.

Lady says, “We’re out of money and we need gas, could you help us?”

I take in her children and the spanking new Honda Accord and say, “No, I do not have any cash on me.”

Lady says, “Well, it does not have to be cash you could follow me to a gas station and we could use your credit card.”

“I have to get back to work for a meeting.”

“What about your cell phone, can we use your cell phone?” (All the while her oldest daughter? pulls up the hood on her sweatshirt and tries to sink into the seat.)

“No, you can’t.” (I checked and I do not have gullible tattooed across my forehead, really!)

“You are such a bitch!!”

“Yeah, well, that’s life.” (Damn, how did she peg me so quickly?)

Um, this bitch is the one who used her cell phone to call the cops on your ass. Have a nice day.

Blogging

I am new to blogging, but clearly I am addicted. It all started when my best friend Yna set-up her blog and it has gone down hill from there. I have been perusing the blogs through links from other blogs and comments on my blogs and you are all great. She also clued me in to Dooce, which I love, but I have enjoyed so many of your postings, that I have forgotten to read Dooce for a couple of days.

Here are a few of the highlights or lowlights depending on your point of view.


My Best Friend (who has found her voice!)-
Reality-Challenged
http://reality-challenged.blogspot.com/

Everybody Loves Her (she also has some great links from her site) -
Crouching mommy, hidden laundry
http://musingsofstressedoutmom.blogspot.com/

Just plain funny (more than one in this category)
- Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com/index.php/weblog/C24/
- Random Ramblings
http://midwesthick.blogspot.com/ (my favorite post is entitled Spam...It Isn't Just The Meat In The Can Anymore)

Most Clueless Blogger - http://linuxlizard.blogspot.com/ (somebody may want to drop him a hint)

Mommies Unite
- Mom of Many Male Youngsters
http://www.heidimdavis.com/MoMMY.html
- White Trash Mom (could be in either funny or the mommy category) http://whitetrashmom.blogspot.com/


As always, read Dooce.com - I think I am safe in saying - she started it.

There is so much great stuff out there! You make me laugh and think and it is amazing how often I think I could have written what I am reading.

Wow (a little tongue in cheek)... over 100 hits to my site as of yesterday. I love your comments, thanks to anyone determined enough to rustle through my typos to read my posts.

An Open Letter to the Dickweed who walked away from the copier without adding toner.

Thank you for your courtesy and thoughtfulness of letting the newbie learn this valuable new skill. What a learning experience! I especially appreciated the learning opportunity on the day I am meeting my SVP for the first time. I am enjoying the black toner spots on my white shirt that I just picked up from the cleaners last night. Thankfully, one of our more observant co-workers noticed that I was not just sporting a she beard and clued me in to my toner covered chin.

If I ever find out who you are, dear colleague, I’ll be sure to send you a thank you, appropriate to my level of gratitude – in fact, the pet store just received a new shipment of frozen mice, wouldn’t a dozen of them defrosted on your desk feel appropriate?.

Your Ever Humble Protégé.

Don't Ya Wish You Were Hot Like Me?

I have never, ever considered myself to be someone that people look at and wish they could be me. But, it would be nice, every once in awhile, to not be the person everyone in the room does not want to be... Last night I had to run to the pet store to get bedding for our hamsters (Ariel and Aladdin, it used to be Ariel and Jasmine, but Jasmine did not even make it for a week. They are my 2 oldest sons’ pets. Really, they are my pets, I feed them, clean their cages and actually think they are fun to watch every once in awhile. As far as teaching my children responsibility with a pet – i.e. feed them and water them or they will die, we’ll peg this one as a complete failure. Which is why we do not have anything larger as a pet, but I digress).

I took my 4 year old, Scooter, and 19 month old, Squiggy, with me. Before we actually made it to the pet store, I walked over with my sons to get the mail. Squiggy insisted on walking by himself and walking through the grass, because it was wet. I packed them into the car and we were off. We went all through the store, we looked at fish, birds and reptiles. All the while, I get odd looks from other patrons – great, I know my shoes don’t match, but I have a no heels policy after 5, leave it alone people! I pack the kids back in the car and I could swear Sir Poop A-Lot, has done it again.

I arrive back at my apartment and my mother immediately says, “What’s all over your shirt and pants? God, it is even all over the back of your shirt.” Thanks for pointing out that I am the napkin for my children and maybe those looks at the store were not due to my shoes – I think. Just as she says, “eeeeww, look at the dog poop all over Squiggy’s shoes, did you have him outside? I thought it was his diaper.”

My white shirt and tan pants are now soaking at home and I am calling the apartment manager to talk to them about the poop issue again!

Oh, My Aching Back!

Since re-entering the office environment, I have been getting reacquainted with an old nemesis – high frickin’ heels. I have never liked them, I have never mastered walking in them and at just under 5’8”, I don’t need them for the height. In fact, in heels, I tower over 97.22% of most women and can see the bald spots of men, while looking at their faces. To top off the issue, I have a pinched nerve in my back and it is not doing any better with this gawd awful heels!

In light of this I have something to get off my chest…………………..

Carrie Bradshaw you can take your stilettos and shove them up your c-- (no, I won't use the whole word, let's go for euphemisms here; nether regions, female parts, beaver - pick your favorite)!!!!!

A New Kind of Hero

My 4 year old was playing with his light saber the other night. He managed to stick it between his legs and shake it around. He then turns to me a says, "look momma, I have a fighting weiner!"

Thank You Uncle Walt

DISCLAIMER – If you are one of the poor souls who actually know me, you may want to seriously consider if you want to read this posting…. don’t say you weren’t warned! Actually, I should put this disclaimer on the whole site. In fact, what was I thinking sending the link out to people I know in the first place?

I went the direct route with the private part naming convention for my children. However, contrary to venerable Dr. Sears, it is NOT a good way to go. Witness the conversation below in an unnamed Sears’ (there's irony in there somewhere) bathroom last year with my two oldest children. I was nominated to take my oldest and middle offspring to the restroom. Making our way to the handicap stall, I waited until they were done.

Bud says, “Momma is that your bagina?” (Only being 5 at the time, his v sounded like a b)
“Shush!”
Scooter looks in horror, “What happened to your penis? Did it fall off?” (I begin to hear the other patrons tittering)
“SHUSH!”
Scooter then says, “What is taking you so long? Why are you sitting down Momma?”
“SSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
At the same time, “We’re going out.” And they proceeded to swing the door open and leave it hanging there. I am in no position, literally, to save what remained of my dignity.

It occurred to me then that openness and honesty with my children was out of the question (oh, yeah, and that I will not take my children to the restroom with me again for as long as I live). I came up with the term hoohaw to describe the female anatomy. That lasted until we sat down to watch PB and J Otter on the Disney Channel (contrary to popular belief, I care what my children watch and want them to grow up with a modicum of decency). It seems that Disney, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that the otters live on Lake HooHaw (click on the blog title to see their page). Try explaining that one to your children.

Author’s Note: Up until now, I would not have said that I was overly fascinated by bathroom behavior. I will endeavor to limit my bathroom humor in the future.

All The Things They Say

I might have mentioned my kids before, but let me dedicate this posting to the things that come out of their mouths. My disclaimer is as follows - my boys are really good kids - there is slightly more substance to this claim than just the usual parental delusions. However, they have inherited their mother and father's sense of humor and mouths. From time-to-time, I will post some of these gems for you to enjoy and I know you will, since the majority of them are at my expense. Oh, one more thing, my middle child is the king of comments, so you will mostly be seeing those comments.

Background: My oldest son, Bud, decided to draw a picture of me a couple of days ago.

He could not see me from where I was standing so he says, "Mom, can I see the shirt you are wearing for my picture." I moved so he could see it and he returns to drawing.
A few minutes later I hear Scooter telling him, "Momma's a little fat."
"What? What did you say Scoots?"
"I was talking to Bud."

Background: We are going up and down the isles at the grocery store for at least the 3rd time last night. I kept trying to find a pyrex dish that was the correct size for a boxed meal I wanted to try, but I could not see them.

Scooter says to Bud, "Momma should take more of her pills."

Background: My children love Star Wars. They were Obi Wan Kenobi, Anakin and Yoda for Halloween. They love to fight with light sabers and they will talk to anyone who mistakenly tells them they like Stars Wars for 20 minutes. One day, out of nowhere, we hear this.

Scooter, "Does Master Yoda have a penis."
Incredulous Parent, "What?"
Scooter, "Does Master Yoda have a penis."
Incredulous Parent, "Well, I guess if he is a boy, then, yes, he would have a penis."
Scooter, "Is it green?"

Background: I nursed my children and they seem to view me as their personal property. Scooter came up with the term duba for my boobs - I have no idea why. One day while all 3 of the boys were in the tub we had the following conversation. Scooter is the most attached to dubas and he is my only thumb sucker.

Bud, "Does Squiggy still get duba milk?"
"No, dubas don't make milk anymore."
Scooter, "WHAT!!!???" (like the core of his world has just been shaken)
"Dubas don't make milk anymore."
"Oh, that's why we suck our thumb."

Background: While lecturing Scooter on his inappropriate behavior, I get this comment.

"Scooter, you cannot continue to throw fits every time you don't get what you want. You need to learn to share. You never get what you want when you act that way. So, stop acting that way. do you hear me?"
Scooter responds with, "blah, blah, blahbidy, blah blah."

Stolen Material

I found a funny blog, for those of you with more time to waste, check it out (click on the title of this posting to get to the site).

Below is an interaction between 2 men I know. I will keep their identies secret, but I assure you this is based upon a real conversation.

John #1: "Hey, John! I went to a real Cuban restaurant last night! It was great! I had the fried guacamole balls for an appetizer."

John #2 (who is Cuban): "Fried guacamole balls? What the hell is that? We don't eat those. What was the name of this place?"

John #1: "La Havana."

John #2: "Habana is spelled with a B. They're not authentic."

John #1: "But the fried guacamole balls are awesome!"

Losin' It

My mother is crazy and while many of you may claim this, my mother is truly crazy and I have the Doctor's note confirming this. She is only 58 years old and has been diagnosed with dementia. It is heartbreaking and everytime she loses another skill, I get scared. When she fumbles for words, I get scared. In and of itself her disease is not funny, but since the things she does that are nutty and she has been doing them for most of my life, I consider her fair game for blog topics. If I were any kind of decent human being, I would not use her as a source for a quick laugh, nor would I poke fun at her. Good thing for you I am apparently not a decent human being and like many others I will not pass up prime opportunity to highlight my mother's idiosyncrasies.

Today Mom tells me that we have roaches in our apartment. Mind you she said this about our North Carolina apartment as well. It may be wishful thinking on my part, but I never saw one and I lived there everyday for 8 months. She was there for a week and saw and killed several. So, today, I asked if they were crickets and not roaches. I see and hear the crickets in our apartment all of the time. "No", she says, "they're roaches and they are all over the place. Pat saw them too and he killed a bunch of them. They are coming over to spray today."
"OK." I say, thinking that Pat had neglected to mention this and I am going to have him taken out by a hit man at my earliest convenience.

On my way to work I call Pat, "Do we have roaches?"
Pat says, "I don't know."
"Mom said we do and that you saw and killed a bunch of them."
"No. I did see a weird bug in the bathtub, but it did not look like any roach I have ever seen."
"Well, she told the apartment manager we have roaches and they're spraying today."
"WHAT?!! With the kids there?"
"Yep."
"I'll call and ask them to look first."
"Umm, yeah, you had better."

Musings on Why I Could Not Be A Lesbian

Over the years I have thought about what the benefits there would be in being a lesbian. I have some understanding of the gay world, I love gay men. Nothing makes me happier than to find out one of my male co-workers is gay. My brother (who has in no way authorized me to out him on the blog, so I will call him Michael) is gay. I have never ever had an issue with people that were gay, just because they were gay. So, why not explore the possibilities? First of all, I would have a partner who actually cleans up after themselves. There would be someone who would understand the nuances in laundry terms between gray and white and cottons and silks. And FINALLY, a partner who really knows what women want.

However, I just cannot get past the down sides.

• You would have 2 women in the same household PMSing on 2 different cycles - this could take up the entire month instead of the current 1-2 week variety we enjoy in my house.
• The sex just feels like work...you would actually have to make sure both of you reached the finish line and given that women average 13 minutes to get there, that's a solid 35 minutes. I will take my good old 5-8 minutes with hubby - and let's face it they just don't care if you cross the line or not - you can do that stuff on your own time.
• I cannot even imagine having a partner as bitchy/ornery as me in the house all of the time (my husband does not read this site, so I can admit this without fear of repercussion). The conversations would go something like this, "Are you gonna sit and watch TV all night?" LP "Why, no, I would much rather exercise, but I figure if you aren't going to give a shit about yourself, they why should I take the time to look good?"
• Ownership - I would have to fight daily to be top banana and who needs that?
• I don't want to see myself naked, why add to the pain?

So in light of these reasons, I would prefer to give a nod to my Mormon heritage (my father was raised LDS and my mother is Catholic - apparently the female Catholic gene is Dominant over the male LDS gene. I think that makes me a half-breed. I prefer to think of my self as a half-Cath with a twist of Mo) and have asked my husband to go the polygamy route. Think about it, second wife does not have to reside in my house. I would always be first wife. Husband can have all the nookie he wants with nubile 19 year old second wife (preserving my sleep). Second wife could stay home, cook, clean, do laundry, run errands and watch children. Just think of the money we are saving. I just cannot think of a downside here.

Advice From My Hair Dresser

After experimenting for 2 months with not having bangs, my hair dresser had the following observation.

"Well the bangs do cover your forehead and they are cheaper than Botox."

Bathroom Etiquette

Since Emily Post has passed on, I feel it is my duty, no, calling, to correct rampant misbehavior in our American Society today. After returning to the workplace and a public bathroom I have become aware of certain things that need to be addressed.

1. It is NEVER!!!! OK to talk on a phone in a public restroom! People do not need to hear you or me pee in the background, I do not care who you are or what the issue is, IT CAN WAIT!! There is nothing more disturbing than to hear someone speaking in the stall next to you! There is already enough pressure to finish your business in a public arena, without knowing that the boyfriend of the gal in the stall next to you is in on all the action as well, and while you are at it, hell, why not record the conversation for posterity?!
2. Always wash your hands after using the restroom. In case you do not know, there are people in the workplace who keep unofficial lists of people who do not wash their hands and that list gets around. Don't be on it!
3. Do not peek through the gaps between the doors. A quick glance underneath the stall gives you all you need to know about the occupancy of said stall. You do not need the details regarding nylons, cotton or polyester to get through the rest of your day.

Stick with these guidelines and you will go far kiddo!

Diaper Dan

I have 3 sons (kinda has a ring to it doesn't it?). My youngest son is 19 months old and being the youngest he thinks he can do anything his big brothers do. For the purposes of this blog, I will call him Squiggy - the actually nickname we used for him when he was just a clump of cells and we did not know if he was a boy or girl, yet. Little Squigs has a problem, he walks around constantly with his hands down his diaper. I have to put on onesies so that he cannot gain access to his favorite new toy.

Given his new found hobby, he loves to be naked. You have never seen anything run so fast as my naked child once he spots a parental unit with a clean diaper in hand - all while grasping his favorite toy in hand. We have to forcibly remove his hand from his toy in order to fasten his diaper on him. I am not certain as to why he has become so enamored of himself at such a young age, but I am sure Playboy is going to enjoy the loyalty they get from this up and coming subscriber.