Tuesday, February 26, 2013

How to look good...as a mom

The title had you, right?!? Ha. If nothing else I can explain the process of how I get ready to leave the house to meet with someone, like say the High School guidance counselor...


Step 1: Work until the very last minute only to realize you haven't showered yet today...

More than likely not yesterday either. The day before may be questionable, too. It doesn't matter what kind of work you do. Just manual labor, later in the list you will know why. Just trust me on this. Scrub the toilet while you're at it, the nastiest shittiest toilet in the house. Change a crap diaper if it is available.

Step 2: If at the computer, by all means let the children play with pens...

Just be sure to ignore them for a minute so you can do a few last things. You have shit to do. The kid knows better than to write on the walls. When you decide to do the "fun" things on the computer like laugh at stupid shit on Pinterest or roll your eyes at some of the hags on your Facebook feed, let the child sit on your lap with the pen, of course.

Step 3: Decide it will be Cheese Balls for breakfast...

The name contains a protein. They look cheesy. They have a lid that comes off like the cottage cheese lid. It's not in a bag. You have been given the ALL CLEAR. You know what, as a treat have some yourself. You deserve it.

Step 4: Make sure your washer is inadequate...or has a leak

I don't care what you have to do with it. Kick it. Wash a handful of tacks. Dig up that tar they put between the concrete in the streets, give that a little run through in the wash. Do whatever it takes. Clean clothes are overrated.

Step 5: Have a catastrophe while getting ready...

A kid can clog the toilet. Bite a sibling. Remove a shoestring. Put their underwear on and decide the only way to use the restroom is to cut them off. Wipe their ass with a clorox wipe. Anything, as long as it's catastrophic to the short people and you have to stop everything. NOW.

Step 6: Never ever fold laundry or put your shoes away...

Clean or dirty those little bitches stay in the basket. No questions asked. You are a mom, not a damn maid. You have plenty of other things to do like wipe piss off walls than to fold some laundry. Same goes for shoes. Putting shit away...we can leave that to Martha.

Step 7: Someone must have an illness...

Hit the Chuck E Cheese. Send the kid to Kindergarten. Let your kid chew on tissues left in parking lots. Whatever it takes. There better be some form of green slime emanating from someone short's face.

Step 8: Never look in the mirror before leaving the house...

This is just a given. You already know you won't have time. You are a mom, damn it, not a fashion model.


If you do all this, you will make a FANTASTIC impression on who you are meeting. New moms, veteran moms you can all learn from this.

 Every mom needs to look in the rear view mirror after a meeting to find:

*That the baby powder you used in your hair to "fudge" your shower is clumped on your scalp.
*There is a wad of toilet paper hanging from your pant leg, and it has a shit on it. Best part, you didn't even have time to crap yet.
*Your child has drawn on your shirt and when he was messing with your face, actually drew you a beard.
*There are two cheese hand prints, right across your tits.
*The leg of your pants is soaked. You would have known it if you had changed out of your slippers.
*You forgot deodorant, and there are orange clumps in your teeth. Makeup...yeah you only got to the concealer, you don't need the sun to have raccoon eyes.
*You realize you retrieved your pants from the "dirty" basket and someone has been courteous enough to wipe their green snot on the side of your leg.

This is how it is done. Always put your best foot forward when going out. Don't look down, sometimes it is better not to know that you have mismatched slippers...

Sunday, February 24, 2013

And the verdict is.....

On Thursday was the biggest snow/ice storm St. Louis has seen in a few years. The whole area was flipping their effing lids over the possibility of cold precipitation. Seriously, try going to the store. Blue haired half decrepit ladies are pushing carts with 6 cartons of eggs, 4 gallons of milk and 10 loaves of bread. I highly doubt they send the prisoners occupants of the nursing homes out to the store to pick up a few things. Nor have I heard about an old person self-run commune so this lady was purchasing this all for herself. Asshole.

So of course the only day that I have to get out for my Dr. appt and ultrasound is the morning of this storm. The other day while I was driving half my windshield wiper just flew off out of nowhere so I had to stop and get a new blade. I walked in, and was giving the info for the guy to look up the size. While standing there this 80 year old man walked by and said something about it being cold out. I just agreed. He walked by again and said I was pretty. I thanked him. While paying he walked by and told me I had pretty hair AND fondled my head. Like totally freaking rubbed it. I wasn't sure what to do, I have been paying attention at the kids' karate class but I can't do that to an old man. I may be wrong on many levels, but I just can't put an old man through my half-assed self defense. He would start laughing so hard at me that he would've wet himself, slipped and then broke a hip. So I just looked at the guy checking me out and said... He's a handsy old fella isn't he? The employee just shook his head, I'm pretty sure there were no words to cover the thoughts about what he just had witnessed. Windshield wipers were put on and I left.

I had my ultrasound, and the lady kept on having me turn to my side and leaving the room. I did have a first at that place, apparently my placenta was in a place that they had to check with the vag wand to see if it was a previa- thank god not, but that was a little surprise I could have lived without. Dr came in at the end and I guess saw what the tech was trying to find and gave the ok.

So, shhhh... I knew what it was when I left. But I had her put it in an envelope so I could tell the kids I didn't know until I was ready to tell them. I knew some people would be pissed and some would be happy, and the ones that were going to be pissed would be REALLY pissed. I thought doing something fun would take the edge off. I wanted to do a scavenger hunt, and then I thought about how much work that would be and decided to just open the damn envelope...

I don't generally put pics of my kids on here, because I am kind of anonymous-ish but I will for a few days... This is the pic of them when I told them what the baby is....
Any idea what it is? Do you see the two disappointed boys?
The one on the end there doesn't give a shit what it is, he just
doesn't want to be the baby anymore...He's too old for that


So do you think you know what it is? According to the wives tales, all but two said I was supposed to have a BOY, which the kids wanted to name Cash Money Grip. Could you imagine being at the store and yelling at your kid Cash Money grip, you put that candy down- I am not paying for that. Just not right..



But..... this is our first purchase for the new kid on the block....
Now at least I don't have to argue with the
name Cash Money Grip....

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Ultrasounds, snow days name changes and ice storms...

Tomorrow is the big day. Not due day, we aren't ready for that type of shit. Tomorrow I get my ultrasound. I am excited-ish. I don't really like finding out, but if I hear one more kid fight over what the new kid on the block will be I swear I will loose my shit. Seriously, it is a daily argument and to be fully honest it has led to someone kicking someone kicking the bejesus out of their sibling, more than once. I'm becoming less of a fan of sibling blood-letting by the day.

Originally, I wanted to do something fun with it. I made plans for a babysitter after my morning ultrasound so I could get bent over paying for balloons to wrap. Really folks, they lock that damn helium up and charge so much it's like it has properties of cold medicine. We all know what kind of madness that causes. Since I don't want tweakers stalking my blog thinking I have an "in", we can't spell it out for the naive.

Ok, I drove off the road a bit, long story short- I wanted to do something cute. It was in the cards too, until storm "Q" had to show her bitch card. I had no chance at the not knowing bliss. I don't have the chance to just wake up and find out the day will turn into a clusterfuck of the kid's "snow day-high". If you have kids and live anywhere that it could remotely ever happen, you know exactly what I am talking about. It blows. I needed some damn bliss, going to bed not knowing is better than the worry of impending doom. That jerk school ( btw I love the kid's elementary school- just not today) called it off before dinner. And of course half the kids are smart enough to use a remote control so they found out. Damn it, I really hate smart kids.

So tomorrow there will be no "fun" telling, those runts are going to annoy the piss out of me until I break down and just give up and scream out the gender.

On a side note, #4 has changed his name. It is now Max, and he has convinced some of the staff at kindergarten that Max is his second middle name and he has the full right to use it as his name. It is not, it's funny how those saps believe him though. Anyway, last night "Max" had an idea about the gender reveal. He told me I could hide a "p" if it has a penis and a "b" if it has a bagina. I couldn't breathe, set off my gag reflex and literally pissed myself laughing. I tried to convince "Max" it is vagina with a "v", I googled it to try and prove my point. After the images popped up I decided to let him still go on believing it is a bagina, probably until he is at least 34 maybe 86.

Since drinking while pregnant is highly frowned upon, have a drink for me or throw me a prayer. 5 kids locked inside with an impending ice storm and power outages and them riding my nerves for the gender - I am waiting for dad to come home so we can tell them together, and it's tax season so it may be interesting. And the fact that that damn Ana White has me thinking I can take over the world one nail at a time and there are 346 projects running through my head AND wood and building supplies everywhere, not to mention I have a big work project and I woke up at 1 am because I was pissed out of my own bed and have chosen the floor over the puddle, tomorrow will be a LONG day.

Ps- I know that is a run on sentence that could clothespin half the lower 48 if it was a game of red rover, but it kind of really needs to stick together. So ignore it and pretend I'm not adjust writer snuggled on top of the heat vent at 2 am typing a blog post on my phone with my baby bump hanging out the bottom of my shirt. If we are pretending, I am much too glamorous for that... and we will go with the mistaken idea that I edited this too...

Friday, February 8, 2013

Wiping Memories...a secret subject swap

 I rejoined Karen's secret subject swap again. My subject is If you could wipe a memory from a loved one's mind what would it be. So I know what Miss Josie is trying to do here, I wasn't born yesterday. She wants me to divulge some embarassing/horrific story about my past or wants me to make her cry with a sad sad story. Although I have the ability to make people cry, I generally reserve that right for my children. Let's face it when they act like assholes hearing them cry because they are sorry is music to your ears- don't lie you smirk over the win too.

Since I like to keep things light and fun around here and I want you to have the opportunity to look in on a vacation you never want to be on, and still be at least slightly entertained.  I am going to spin it. The theme is:            

Some things are better left unseen... ( I am pretty sure we can just leave this to#4)

Let's take for example, the other day when I watched him brush his teeth. The kid beats to his own drum, even on mundane normal tasks. Now, since I would like to unsee this , I am just going to share with you and we can unsee this together.

The kid at his ripe age of 6,  fills the sink with water. Leaving me intrigued, I watch the kid around the corner. He picks up a toothbrush and looks at it for a minute and shrugs his shoulders, telling me this toothbrush may not be his. 4 then dips his toothbrush into the filled sink and puts toothpaste onto the sink, the actual sink counter. He then uses his toothbrush to "scoop up" said toothpaste. He sees the counter has residue of his toothpaste endeavour, so he jumps onto the counter and licks it off...  He licked the toothpaste off the counter. I am attempting to decide if this is funny or a sanitary issue, where he could get sick. I figure the bathrooms are cleaned damn near everyday so he is probably fine, and the fact that toothpaste has something to do with killing germs, I step back and watch the events unfold. The boy continues to brush his teeth and spits into the full sink. Gross, but wait for it. He sticks his face into the toothpaste-spit filled sink and slurps up the water to rinse his mouth with. OMG, and spits it back into the sink.  This is gross enough as it is, but this kid NEVER does anything half-assed.

 He decides one brushing just isn't going to cut it, so he dips his toothbrush back into the nasty toothpaste-spit sink and then instead of squeezing the toothpaste onto the sink, he sees that there is toothpaste on the side of the tube. I shook my head in shame when I saw him inspecting the tube, I knew what was about to happen would  a) make me puke, b) re-think my stance on child abuse or c) emergency Wal-Mart run. The kid took the toothbrush and used it to get the paste off the rim of the tube, Oh dear, but that is not all... he then  attempts to lick the rest off the tube... HE LICKED THE WHOLE DAMN TUBE. I now know the next home reno. project will be to install a safe in my bathroom so I can keep my toothpaste and toothbrush safe.  He then dips the toothbrush into the spitty toothpaste sink and keeps on going about his business, with the unidentified toothbrush. Spits, slurps, the whole drill. I am nauseous just thinking about it. When he is done, he decides the toothpaste tube is not up to his "cleanliness standards" and puts the toothpaste into the double toothpaste-spit/ gingivital water and tries to clean the rest of the caked up toothpaste off the rim. There are so many words to describe this incident. Shock, awe, disgust but I bet we can all agree we can file this one under : Some things are better left unseen.

Here are more swap participants:

The Sadder But Wiser Girl       Suburbia Interrupted     Stacy Sews and Schools      Go MaMa       Snakfest
Baking In A Tornado       The Mommy Ref       Come Play in the Kitchen        MacDonald's Playland
The Family Pants                Adventures in Hickey Land              Dawn's Disaster          Black SheepMom



Wednesday, February 6, 2013

What a fat girl needs to do to feel good about herself...

So I have this thing called pregnancy. It is not really a sought after experience unless you are a glutton for punishment. I figure it is a means to an end. I am starting to get excited about the new kid on the block coming, at least it will add to the adventure, ahem massacre, we have everyday. I have done this baby shit so many times, with my own kids and babysitting kids I have it under control- I am not worried. It is just the getting there part...

I am about halfway through, I had to graduate to maternity pants which is about the most unflattering pile of shit clothes you can find. Even the yoga pants make you look like shit. Well they make ME look like shit because I carry a Kardashian behind me so the pants have to be baggy and unflattering so I don't appear to be birthing a sausage out of a mountain on each cheek. If you live near me, you're welcome. Anyway I have lost what I consider my best asset, my stomach. Not that is was a chisseled piece of art but it was probably one of the better things going on around here. So with the fat ass and the monstrous belly- that everyone asks if I am having twins because it is an effing mountain right in front, I have been feeling like the fat girl that gets stood up at prom. I don't like that feeling.

Now the other day this pregnancy has started bearing another great gift. Swelling. My hands, my face, my feet. Since I can't bear to give up my Diet Coke- I mean I have cut down, but giving it up completely, yeah that shit is not happeneing,  I am retaining water. I told the hubs since everything else looks like shit, I am getting my nails done. Some big-ass fake tappy nails, so when the kids do annoying shit I can just stand next to them and tap my big fake-ass nails and annoy them right back. Mature. I know- but sometimes you have to stoop to their level to get the point across without loosing your voice or smacking them on the head.

Anyway, I went to this place to get my nails done (because a fat girl needs to do what she needs to do to feel good about herself). A french manicure, that will turn yellow in 5 days because cleaners and white don't mix. I am in there and they are chatting away in their native tongue, like I don't exist, and this guy is filing my nails with this rotary tool- or whatever the hell it is. He seems to like my cuticles and also to glue the tip to my actual finger. I am wondering if this mofo is blind or doesn't care, probably both. So I get done, they look great so I give him a decent tip and go on about my business.

I get home and start to do the dishes and my hands feel like I stuck them in the fryer at McDonald's. They are seriously burning and searing in pain. So I stop what I am doing and start picking up toys, but my damn hands are hurting every time I grab something. What the Hell?!?

A few hours later I start to investigate my nails, there are 7 cuts on my fingers from that damn rotary tool. I only have 10 fingers, 7 out of 10 is a pretty shitty average. I mean in school that is a 30%, you have to work hard to be that stupid. And there is a ridge of extra nail crap coming from my cuticle because he was trying to be efficient? Yeah right, he was being lazy.

So how do I handle this? Should I just ignore it and go to a different place next time? Just deal with the weird edges at the cuticles. Should I go up there and talk to them? I wonder if this guy speaks English at all- he didn't say a word to me and when I told him things he didn't listen. Maybe I should use the old Google Translate and try to address it in their native tongue... Maybe that would be too much, I do want to walk away with all my fingers still attached. Hmmm...