Earth to Husband!

Dear Husband,


You are the greatest person I have in my life and I love you so very,very much. But if you don't start doing some dishes, I'm gonna have to kick your ass! I was out of town for 10 days and when I returned I had to do all of your dishes. As a matter of fact, I can't remember the last time I saw you wash a dish. Did you forget how and you're just embarrassed to tell me that? Because if that's the case, I'll be more than pleased to teach you.


According to my estimate, you dirty up about 5 dishes per day. And it has been about 340 days since you washed a dish . (I think it was my last birthday...maybe...I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt on this one) That means I've washed approximately 1,700 of your dishes. So either start buying paper plates, hire a maid, or get busy washing, asshole! I'm getting tired and grouchy, and I just might start taking it out on you!! That's fair warning, in my opinion. In addition, I'm PMSing and so this whole situation is likely going to turn me into a raving lunatic at any minute. (But if you mention the PMS thing, I'm really going to give you an ass-whooping. So watch yourself, boy!)

Love,
Your sweet-hearted, caring, and adorable wife

Food for Thought

So our cable and internet went out for 2 days. Two days!! Good lord almighty, two days! (yes, we paid our bill! You smart ass. I outta whoop your butt for even thinking that.) So after I baked cookies, cleaned out the van, did all of the laundry,vacuumed the floor in the garage (man, I sure can get a lot of work done when I'm not parked in front of a computer all day!), mopped the kitchen floor, and realphabetized the food in the pantry (what?!), the question became "What now?". I missed the news. I missed my only source for a social life...facebook...I know, it's sad. I was feeling so disconnected from the world. We could have been nuked and I'd still be outside fucking around with my Christmas lights, totally clueless. And I'm not too sure the local radio station would have the gall to interrupt the ongoing Christmas music to actually let me know that New York has been wiped off of the map. (shrug) Anyway, my husband came home from work and just sat there, staring at me. He hasn't looked at me that long in over 10 years. It was quite unnverving. We had NO idea what to do next! Well, my husband had ONE idea. But that only used up one hour and five minutes of our long night ahead of us. One hour to shave off my winter fur, and well, you know what the other five minutes was for! Tee-hee-hee. (that's my innocent-little-girl laugh) Uh oh, Mom, are you reading this? Crap.
By the way, I asked my husband if it was ok to blog about our sex life and he replied, "hell no!" I don't know why. What's he ashamed of? Once a month he gets to be the "Master of the bedroom" for five whole minutes. Right on, brother!
But I digress, because when I was soaking in the tub and mowing my leg hairs (hey, it's been really cold out lately!), I had plenty of time to think. And what, you ask, does Catherine think about when she has lots of time on her hands? (You probably don't wanna know - but here it goes) I was thinking about how gross hotel rooms are. You see, I'm a camper. Not only that, but I'm a germaphobe. Despite being a germaphobe, I'll throw my ass on the ground and sleep with the raccoons and bugs anyday! But put me in a hotel room and I will completely freak out on you! I'm seriously grossed out! Women who are snobs about staying in hotels vs. camping are totally dilusional, in my opinion. They've obviously never watched a 20/20 expose' on "funk in hotel rooms". There are 4 things that I will NEVER touch in a hotel room. (1) faucets. Imagine some really nasty guy, wiping his big, shitty ass and then turning on the faucet to wash his hands (unlikely that he's even doing that, but let's just pretend, for argument sake.) Sure, you're also about to wash your hands, right after touching the faucet, but don't you also touch the faucet to turn the water off? Thus, you've just defeated the purpose of even washing your hands to begin with. (I've given this a lot of thought!) Gag.
(2) light switches. Imagine Mr. Shitty flipping on the lights after said trip to the crapper. Enough said, right? Wrong! When did you EVER see the maid clean the light switches. I rarely even do that and I vacuum my garage floor, for chrissake!
(3) the remote control. Yuck! Imagine a "John" romping around the hotel room with his $5.00 whore and then picking up the remote to finish off with a little porn. God lord. I can feel the chunks coming up my throat even now.
(4)The floor. Yes, I said the floor. You will never see my feet touch the floor in a hotel. My feet may smell like hell after wearing my shoes for 4 days straight, but that's preferrable to picking up a toe fungus from the skanky $5.00 whore. Ew.
So this is just food for thought when you all venture off for the holidays to visit family and you're snuggled up in your cozy sheets at the Drury Inn. Happy Holidays!

The Second Coming

I guess because we've been discussing Christmas lately, my son has Jesus on his mind. While enjoying a coffee at the local Barnes and Noble bookstore, my son said to me, "Look, Baby Jesus!" And I asked, "Where?" (No, I wasn't expecting to see him!) I was thinking that he was probably looking at a picture or ornament or something. Then my son replied, "Right there!" He was pointing to an actual baby. Hey, he's two years old. We haven't had the all-too-important A.D. and B.C. talk, ok?!! So anyway, I said, "No, that's not Baby Jesus." But he was obviously bound and determined to spot Jesus in the Starbuck's of Barnes and Noble. It was like playing a Biblical version of Where's Waldo. He started pointing to any child under two feet tall, and asking if that was Him. "Is that him? Is that him? Is that him?" (I really have a LOT of patience when I'm with only one child. You'd be amazed.) I look over at the last child that my son has pointed to and I see a little boy with bed-head and he's sucking on his own shirt. "Nope. That's not him either, William." But then I can't help but wonder, what would the modern version of the second coming look like? Would he walk around in droopy diapers with chocolate on his face and vomit on his shirt? Would he quote Elmo and call his blanket a "woobie"? Would he sass back at his mom, and eat his boogers, like the rest of our kids do? How weird would that be?! Or maybe God will make him the most well-behaved child in modern history. Which would probably disturb most of us, as opposed to impress us. We'd want to know what was wrong with that weird child?!! In lieu of bowing down and praising him, we'd be more prone to poking and prodding him, like an alien autopsy. Then we'd piss him off so much that he'd run back to Heaven and tell God to waste our sorry asses. I'm sure of it!
But I digress, because this is actually supposed to be a sweet story. So, I finally ask my son, "Are you Baby Jesus?" And he said, "No Mama. I'm an angel." (all together now) Awwwwwwwwww! How sweet.

...BLAST OFF!

First of all, you have to understand that I have no breasts. I've said this many times before. But it's a critical piece of information that you must hang onto in this next blog. Otherwise I come across as a bit of a weirdo ( or even worse, a pervert!). Anyway, as a result of my being mammary-challenged, my "mini-bras" are all fully padded. I could take a swift punch in the chest and not feel a damn thing. The padding also gives the wonderful illusion that I'm at least a full A-cup. Woohoo! I'm in the big time now! Jealous? (All of my ex-boyfriends are taking a collect sigh of relief that they dodged that pathetic bullet) So anyway, my two-year-old son was sitting on my lap, playing with my hair and he suddenly looked down and grabbed ahold of my boobs. (or at least the padding of my bra) and he said, "what deez?" I said, "oh, nothin' much" (literally). Then he started the countdown: "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...blast off!!!!" And my breasts became critical buttons in the control room of his space shuttle. It quickly reminded me of the old "tune in Tokyo" joke. You know the one. So there we are, on the couch, my son making rocket noises and ocassionally pushing on the puffiness of my bra. And I think, "I wonder if this is going to give him a false sense of what a woman really looks like?" "Is this a good thing or bad?" "Is he going to follow in his Dad's footsteps and bring home a flat-chested woman (and love her anyway, damnit!) or will he rebel and bring home one of those freaks with a double M rack?" Anyway, because he was literally grabbing hold of a bra, and nothing else, I didn't really bother to stop him. Unfortunately, this has led him to believe that he can do this at any moment. I was waiting for my kids to get out of school and he sat on my lap, in front of the other mothers, and started counting down. I freaked out because I knew what would follow "3,2,1..." I quickly pushed him off of my lap and yelled, "noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Like a bad movie. That, of course, brought on more attention than if I had just let him grab my boob! I smiled, like a coward and said, "I thought I saw an ant on my pants." Oh lord. Good cover, Catherine. You're such a smart, quick thinker! 'Cause that was a much better response. They won't think you're an over-reacting weiner at all! I'm an idiot. I'm sure I was the hysterical highlight of many dinner conversations that night. (Narcissism is fun, isn't it?!)

You Liars!

I just watched a commercial where a woman is bargaining with her friend, to share the phone number of her babysitter. She offers her a trip to Cancun, or something like that. Anyway, the offer is impressively high. That's when it occurred to me that I'm surrounded by lying bitches! Oh my god, you guys have been holding back on me and I didn't even realize it. When I've been sitting around complaining about not having a babysitter, I've aways wondered why you all stare at me like a deer in headlights and offer up NO advice. I just thought you were in the same boat and were stumped for good ideas. How naive of me! But it suddenly hit me like a stinking sack of shit...you all have a sitter and you're not giving up her number unless I kill you first! I didn't know that Motherhood was such a dog-eat-dog world. I haven't been playing the game, but now that I know that it actually IS a game...it's ON! Look out ladies, cause I'm after your babysitter and I'm gonna steal her away from you. I'm gonna let her watch my kids while talking long distance on my phone, eating my food, inviting over her boyfriend, and getting drunk off of my booze. She'll never sit for you again. So there! Muwaaaaahahahaha!! Who's the winner now, bitches?!! Wait....what?!!

ugh...again

Dear Kids,
Today I sadly had to declare it official: No more taking a bath together. You've been splashing around and making a bubbly mess together for five years now. It's been fun. But it's time for that to come to an end, and frankly, I'm a little sad about it. But it had to be done. Yesterday, you were slapping each others bare asses and laughing at each others private parts. And the piece de resistance was when Ian showed Abby "why boy parts are cooler than girl parts" and he proceeded to stand up in the tub and pee on your head. Yea, I thought I'd step in before Dr. Freud did. I didn't want it to come down to that one REALLY awkward moment when I catch the two of you "playing doctor" and my shocked and disgusted expression fills you with shame and scars you for life. I love you too much for that. So,separate bubble baths from now on...that's how it goes. Sorry.
Love,
Mommy

Dr. B

My five year old twins are obssessed with "potty words". They spend the majority of their day laughing hysterically over words like "butt" and "poopie". They think they're hilarious! And they struggle, hour after hour, to come up with alternatives like "doodie face", "tushy head" and "butt nugget". So, I spend most of my time, of course, saying, "please stop saying that"........."please stop"......."STOP!" It's ridiculous. And I've become totally paranoid about the possibility of them sharing these words with their little friends at their preschool. I'm sure that would reflect well on me. "Mom of the Year" award, here I come!
But I've come to realize that as much as I struggle to keep my kids from finding humor in disgusting words, I fall victim to it myself. The other day, my husband came home with some HEB brand Dr. Pepper. It's called "Dr. B". And my husband said, "I guess since HEB stands for H.E. Butt, then this drink is Dr. Butt" And we both proceed to laugh our asses off. Good lord. And then we realized what we were doing. How do we expect our 5 year olds to rise above our own level of maturity? Pathetic!

ew, gross

Have you ever seen those shows about sick people who allow their nails or hair or other disgusting body parts to grow excessively, just to get into the Guiness Book of world records? You know what I'm talking about. And we're all thinking, "who are these people"?! And then you start to wonder, "how long, exactly, whould I allow something to grow on my body before my gag reflex was tested?" Well I can now answer that question: 1/4 inch. A normal, well-adjusted, human being with good hygeine will only allow 1/4 inch. You see, I have this awful mole on my arm (really just looks like a little freckle, but I hate it). It has a hair growing out of it that seems to have a mind of it's own. I noticed it getting a little long (I'm already testing your gag reflex with this storty, aren't I?). I thought, for one brief moment, what if I let it grow...how long would this thing actually get? I went three more days, out of curiosity. And once it reached about 1/4 inch I couldn't stand it anymore. I wanted to throw up every time I saw it. It seemed to be staring back at me and daring me to keep it going. No deal! I yanked it out, root and all. Hurt like hell, but it's gone. Who are these disgusting people who can just let these things go?!! 1/4 inch is definitely more than acceptable. That's my limit. (gross)

Look out!!!!!

I've recently discovered something significant about myself. I'm overall an easy-going person, when it comes to my own life. But when dealing with my children, it's a whole different story. I'm so paranoid. I'm like "Debbie Downer", from Saturday Night Live. waaa,waaaaaaaa..... (frown)

I can turn ANY moment into a stress-filled adventure. In my mind, everything has the potential for certain death to my children. "Here's some peanuts to snack on kiddos - don't choke to death!" "Hold the hand rail on the stairs - you're going to break your neck." "Stop watching the rain out the window - you're gonna get struck by lightning!"

It's seriously irrational and most likely getting under my kids skin by now. And I'm fully aware that if I don't learn to back off now, they'll HATE ME in their teen years. But I can't help myself! Not only are they the most important people in my life, but I also don't want to spend anymore money in the ER! If we go there one more time, they're going to call CPS on my ass. How do you back off when you have the clumsiest kids in the world? They can get hurt sitting on the toilet!

My husband is also very paranoid. (so we're a very annoying couple) We've discussed this issue and decided it comes down to the age old question of "the chicken or the egg". Were we paranoid to begin with or did our clumsy children instill this sense of paranoia in us, out of necessity? I'll give you a great example. My sisters boys were playing baseball on the wii. Her eldest son took a swing at the ball, while the youngest was walking by. The youngest simply ducked down. Common sense, right? My kids would have been lying flat on their backs! Oh, what to do, what to do. I guess after enough broken bones they'll figure it all out, huh? I'm just hoping that happens soon because we're going bankrupt, paying all of these medical bills. No college for them, just a well-adjusted sense of danger.

Ode to our Saturn

I'd like to take a moment to talk about my husbands car. AKA "the green crap box". I was the one to actually buy the car, 10 or 11 years ago, after I graduated from college. It didn't take long for it to deteriorate and therefore, I generously and unselfishly passed it on to my husband and got myself a new one. (wink) But everytime I get into that car I fall in love again. I refuse to let him sell it because it bears the marks of so many events in our lives. For instance, the back seat belt was yanked out of the wall when I was in total pain from a kidney stone, en route to the hospital. The bottom is completely rusted out because of the salt on the roads, when we lived in Chicago. You cannot use the lock on the passenger side because someone tried to break into the car, when we lived downtown. Good times. The brakes turned to shit because of all the red lights conveniently located at the BOTTOM of a steep hill, now that we live in the hill country. The middle a/c vents don't work. It's so noisy you can hear it coming down the street from a mile away...literally. The cd player won't eject my husbands rap cd, so the whole time I'm driving with the kids in the back, I'm cringing when the F-bomb is dropped every five seconds. The driver-side visor is peeling away, revealing some flakey orange crap that falls in your eyes when you pull the visor down. Underneath the orange flaky crap is cardboard...wow, Saturn spared no expense, huh? And last night, my husband was the victim of a random drive-by deering. If you live in the hill country, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The deer was either incredibly stupid or suicidal. The deer broke off the side mirror and dented in the door so that we cannot open it anymore. If you recall, I mentioned that the passenger lock is busted too. Therefore, the only way into the car is through the trunk. Can you imagine my poor husband popping the trunk and climbing in, at his work's parking lot?! Hysterical! The other employees are probably thinking, "what the hell do they actually pay those Senior Engineers?" And yet, we still love the "green crap box" and are not even considering buying a new one. We'll keep ragging this one out until it dies on the side of the road and is beyond repair. We love you, you nasty hooptie! Keep going, girlfriend!!

Ianese

As many of you know, I have one particularly precocious son. The things he says frequently blow my mind! I've recently deemed it "Ian-speak" or "Ianese". So I'd like to compare the way a normal five year old would say something vs. the way Ian says it...

Normal kid: Mama, can I play outside?

Ian: Mama, I'm gonna play outside before it rains because I think I see some cumulonimbus clouds.

Normal kid: Ahhhhhh, a bug!

Ian: Look at that interesting insect. I think it's a horned beetle.

Normal kid: Can I have a Milky Way candy bar?

Ian: Mama, how can we see the Milky Way when we're IN the Milky Way?

Normal kid: I like dogs.

Ian: Mama, did you know that Orion had a dog named Serius? He's a constellation too.

Normal kid: I wanna be a fireman when I grow up.

Ian: I don't want to be a scientist, I am a scientist!

Normal kid: ouch, that pinecone just hit me on the head!

Ian: That pinecone fell from the tree because of gravity.

Normal kid: Lightning is scary.

Ian: Lightning is electricity in the clouds. Purple lightning is the hottest lightning. If you see lightning, don't go under a tree or you'll die.

Normal kid: Good dinner, Mom.

Ian: That dinner was scrumptious! (seriously, he says this!)

Normal kid: I don't wanna go to bed yet!

Ian: What on earth are you thinking, woman? It's still light outside!

Normal kid: Mama, tell me a bedtime story.

Ian: Mama, let's talk about the brain and how it works.

Good lord, I have to stop myself, but I could go on and on. That kid cracks me up. He's such a freak!! I love him to death. And if you think this was simply for humor, you're wrong. He's totally said these things to me! My little nerd. :)

Serenity now!

Part of my new "therapy" is to read some inspirational thoughts from Christian mother's in a book I bought for myself. It's purpose is to help calm me down and focus on my job as a mother with patience and serenity. (In other words, not blow my top and get my panties in a wad all the time, as I have been doing in the past!) It's been working quite well. I can see a difference in my attitude already. I read a particularly helpful passage a couple of nights ago that said that God helps you eliminate stress in your life, if you just listen to him. When you ask yourself, "is this task bringing me peace?" and the answer in your gut is "no", then walk away from it. I've been applying this method all day long and it works! For example, I was listening to some political debating on the radio and was getting hot under the collar (to say the least) Was it bringing me peace? No, so I turned it off. When I got home, I was tempted to check on the stock market (AGAIN!) but decided that too would not bring me peace at the moment. I highly recommend this method to you. It's working so well that that tonight I'm going to have the locks changed and not let Jeremy and the kids in the house!! Ahhhhhhh, now THAT'S real peace!

Too smart for his stature

My precocious little son never ceases to amaze me. We were up at his school the other day for a party. They have a set of identical twin boys in his class. The teacher was trying to figure out which kid was which and my son chimed in, "Tyler has the oval face and Tanner has the rounder one!" All the mothers were stunned. I was stunned. The twins own mother was stunned! These particular twins are exactly alike! And then I said, "Wow, Ian, how did you come up with that?" And he just replied with, "geez Mom, you aren't very observant are you?!" This of course set the whole room off with laughter and I was as red as a beet. Smartass!

Where are you, dirty mom's?

Oy vey, it really has been a long time since I've blogged, eh? I meant to pump one out yesterday, as promised, but AT&T was doing an upgrade and so our internet and cable were out all day. In other words, it was a very boring day!! Anyway, I've been wondering, all morning, what I should blog about...my anger over the Presidential race, that weird shooting pain I have in my uterine area (hummm, maybe I'll die form it and this nightmare will be over!), my current struggle to find the perfect medication for my bitchy mood swings, my realization that when you aren't allowed to drink alcohol suddenly everyone and their dog offers you a drink (ugh!), my poor sickly son, or the nauseated pit in my stomach created by our diminishing 401k (that's a big one). Ahh, what lovely choices. But I've decided to keep this blog more light-hearted. We could all use a good laugh, as opposed to bad news, right?

So here it goes...



This morning I spent about three hours watching clothes, cleaning the kitchen, mopping enormous amounts of dirt off of my floor, scraping doo-doo off of the wall (yes, I even get to do that...jealous?), plunging and scrubbing stopped up toilets, hosing off the kids after they made "beaver damns" outside in the dirt, and washing two days worth of crusty dishes. While I was doing this I realized that it's REALLY hard for me to imagine most of my friends doing all of this. Not that you don't, but I just can't imagine it. Everyone I know has a really clean house (and I get the feeling a maid does a lot of it), clean kids, and an overall pleasant appearance themselves. I can't envision all of you with your hair tied up in a scarf like a 1950's housewife, elbow-deep in crappy toilets and dirt. And so I can't help but wonder, "where are my people?" Where are the women like myself? Are we a largely diminishing group or have the rest of them figured out how to get all this work done and still find time to make themselves look nice too (unlike me)? If other women were like me, this is how "my peeps" would look:



1. They'd be wearing dirty nursing bras, strained peas or vomit on their shirts, and sensible shoes.

2. There hair would be greasy and their perfume would be too strong because they're sadly and unsuccessfully trying to cover up their foul odor, from lack of a daily shower.

3. No make-up...that requires time.

4. They'd be humming the theme songs to Backyardigans or Dora, and would be absolutely clueless as to who is actually popular right now. Still thinking that the Backstreet Boys are probably on tour.

5. They'd have NO idea what the date is. What does it matter? Everyday is Monday for us, right?

6. Their nail polish would be disgustingly chipped away because it's been weeks since you've given yourself a pedicure. (who pays for one?)

7. You haven't allowed a guest in your home in over 6months because you know they would never eat in your kitchen and would think you were lazy because you obviously never clean (no one would realize that's ALL you do all day!)

8. You NEVER wear shorts because you haven't shaved your legs in weeks...this doesn't effect your husband, of course, because you haven't had sex in weeks either. Why would you let him touch you, in this condition?! Gross!

9. Your dog AND your son have cheerios matted up in their hair. You're gonna have to just chop it all off!

10. The thin line between your pajamas and "workout pants" has been completely blurred, so you're quite likely to walk out the door in your jammies. And not give a damn, really.

11. You have bruises and scratches from head to toe, from your children flinging their toys at you all day. They have no respect for you.

12. And finally, you forget the meaning of simple, everyday words because you haven't used your intellect in years. You're growing dumber and dumber everyday, so that eventually you're too embarrassed to even engage in conversation! This is trew...troo.. true!

Somehow I feel like I'm alone in this, but I'm probably not. But why is it so hard for me to imagine my friends in this same condition? Maybe it's because they won't let me into their houses, eh?

Thong gone Wrong

I was going out with the girls for a bachelorette party this last weekend and I decided to dust off the old thong undies. I don't really know why. My dress didn't require special underwear. And I knew I wasn't getting laid that night. I guess it just seemed necessary to get me into the old "girls gone wild" mood that I feel is essential for a good bachelorette party. Had to do my part, right?! ;) But the only pair I had left were from my pre-baby days. I probably wore them 10 years ago! And back then my butt was much less...(how do I put this?)...squishy. (By the way, that's a picture of me in the blue shirt over there) I slipped the thong on and ate it up like a starving African child. It just disappeared! Muuuuunch, like that. I knew it felt awkward, but I was in a rush and decided to keep them on. The night went well, but my mind kept drifting off to those damn underwear up my ass. It took every bit of self-control that I have to NOT dig those bastards out of my butt! As soon as we returned to the hotel room I took them off and felt instant relief. It was like shedding a hemorrhoid in an instant. Ahhhhhhh. But to my horror, my asshole hurt for the next three days. Three days! Good lord, three days.

Since I knew I had to blog about this, I couldn't help myself, I had to do a little "thong research". And here's what I found: medical doctors agree that "The chafing that occurs can negatively impact the whole genital area and leave the area more susceptible to infections. Bladder infections and urinary tract infections are more common in thong wearers, too. E coli from the anal area has a more direct line of contact with the sensitive vaginal area."

....um, ew.

No worries, because I've definitely come to terms with the fact that I can no longer pull off wearing thong underwear (literally!!). Yes, that ship has sailed. The only question I have left is what do I do with them? I usually donate my old clothes, but will the Salvation Army take thong underwear? And what sick bastard would even buy them?! Ick! I guess it's "out to the old landfill" for my once-sexy panties (along with my youth!). Oy.

Playground from Hell

I'm now convinced that playgrounds are designed by masocists who hate children. They give them fun and attractive colors so that kids anxiously flock to it, but little do the innocent children know that it's really a sick and twisted obstacle course built to mock their lack of coordination. It's sole purpose being to injure them, one kid at a time! It's the "patient but effective" method ...a bit like al-qaeda uses. Maybe they're behind it all!! :)
I took my kids to the local playground and before I could even sit down, William fell through a set of metal bars and busted open his little lip. I managed to stop the bleeding and gave him another chance to play. He climbed up some stairs and promptly fell out of a hole on the other side of a platform, hitting his back on the ground. He bravely picked himself up and mustered up the courage to keep going (what a trooper!). But he climbed up to the exact same platform that he just fell off of (ok, maybe he's a bit slow to catch on...give him a break!) and then he realized his mistake and said, "oh no, Mama, I need help down!" So I walked over to him and held out my arms and said, "ok, let's get you down now" and he decided to not just jump out, but up...right into a metal bar that was about 2 inches above his head. Brilliant design. Only one false move and you inflict instant brain damage on a two-year-old.
So I was done with this particular playground. We had only been there for 5 minutes, but I already needed to rush home to clean up blood and do a complete neurological exam on my 2 year old. Of course, my daughter had to throw a huge fit, in front of all the other mothers, in protest of our leaving. And all of the mothers stopped what they were doing, just to stare at me, to see how I was going to handle the situation. Thanks ladies for the support! But I handled it like a real pro. I picked her up, while she was kicking and screaming like a wild animal, put her in the van, and closed the door behind us. I said nothing, but gave her the evil stare. You know the one: The "how dare you embarass me like that...I'm going to eat you for lunch after we get home" stare. She refused to get into her car seat, so I pretended I didn't care...I'd drive off anyway. Lucky for me she didn't call my bluff (she usually would). She buckled up and told me I was the worst mommy in the world. Ahhhhhhh, another day in paradise! In three words or less, I hate playgrounds!!!

Gotta love him...

I'm just adding this picture to my blog because it makes me smile. Don't you just wanna squeeze the hell outta him?!

House for sale...free to any takers

I'm cursed.
Seriously. My husband and I are quite conservative with christmas bonuses and stimulus checks because if we spent it when we got it, there'd be nothing left to pay for the occasional house fire, or IVF, or car crash, or surgery, or ER visit, or physical therapy, or spinal tap, or theft, etc, etc. Every year it's something bizaar (and expensive!). I've already forewarned my Houston pals that as soon as we decide to move there, Houston will have it's first Category 5 hurricane, in a loooooooong time. Trust me, it'll happen! As soon as we arrive, be sure to cut boards for your windows and buy stock in Home Depot because the cities doomed!!

In addition, everytime I'm ready to move, the economy takes a plunge. When we lived in Chicago and I was ready to return to Texas, the economy was hit hard, especially for who? Software Engineers. Of course!! It took years for my husband to find a new job. It was so frustrating! We eventually moved to Texas and a short time after moving into our new home, the prices shot up. We were thrilled with the value of our home. "Boy, did we get lucky", we thought. I guess we should have sold our home then, but unfortunately, we weren't ready to leave then. And now...well, you all know how it is right now. Oy. I'm a little confused with he info I'm receiving about recently sold homes in our area though. It has to be incorrect. The house next door to me (3500 sf) sold for $152,000!! But the 1500 sf home sold for $230,000? What?! Somebody got screwed! Considering the current condition of my home, thanks to my lovely children, I guess that means my house would sell for about $20,000. Exactly the amount my parents paid for their first home, 30-something years ago! I have to be optimistic though. Maybe the buyers won't notice the numerous holes in the wall that Abby chewed up last year. I tried to patch them up and repaint them, but that became a nightmare. After repainting those few spots, I realized that the rest of the wall is so dirty that the paint color no longer matches the repaired spots! Now I have to repaint the whole damn wall! And then there's the carpet. Good lord, the carpet. It has four solid years of dripping sippee cups, dog vomit, mud, and baby pee in it. I've steam cleaned it, but that has proven to be completely worthless. As soon as it dries, the kids spill spaghetti sauce on it and it rains on the dog and she tracks in mud. Ugh. My constant sorrow. How do other people avoid these catastrophes?!

I could always invest $10,000 in fixing up my home, but I'll never get it back when I sell the house. That would mean I get only $10,000 for my home. Maybe I could donate it and the tax write-off would be better than the value! I could donate it as a half-way house for ex-prostitutes or something. My neighbors would love me for that.
I don't even know why I'm bothering to consider this right now because not only will the kids trash the house again before I can even put the house on the market, but also my husband hasn't even made up his resume! DUH!! Yea, it helps to actually have a job first. I guess I'm just a little too anxious to move. Maybe in a couple of years...sigh.
My mother said we could live with her while we try to sell the house. Quite a generous offer considering the fact that my children would basically be destroying the value of her home! Does this woman really know what she's signing up for?! I'll have to take that $10,000 we get for our home and give it to my mom, for repairs to her home. Which leaves me with $0.00 Maybe we should just pray for another house fire!!

Arrogant fool

The John Edward affair makes me wanna puke! I was telling my mother, a while back, that it seems to me that none of the presidential candidates could possibly be having an affair because you'd have to be completely arrogant to think you could get away with it in this day and age. I guess in this case it was, once again, arrogance taking place. What an asshole. "My wife has cancer, is raising our three kids, while supporting me and my political dreams...hmmmmm...I think I'll have an affair". WTF?!!!!! It's this kind of behavior that makes me want to entirely abandon the Democratic Party. They want to preach to the world about how to take care of the poor, the environment, and the minorities, but they can't even take care of their own damn families! (It starts at home assholes!!) At that point they lose all credibility with me. Why the hell would I want to listen to anything they have to say, after that? I too believe in caring for the environment and the poor, but I'm not so full of myself that I also feel the freedom to screw around on my husband (and consequently my kids too)! I have more credibility than these jerks who think they can run the country "honorably" and tell the rest of us how to live our lives. Go sell your gas-guzzling SUV, your energy-sucking mansions, and take care of your wife and children. That will make a greater impact on the earth!!
I'm dying to hear your thoughts on this issue. Let me know what you think!

The Light at the End of the Tunnel...

I've come to discover that sometimes telling the truth on this blog scares the hell out of people. But I created this blog to have a place to vent. Which sometimes mean telling the truth, even when it's harsh. So I get to my point...as you can probably tell lately, I've been really stressed out. There is a loooooong list of "why"'s but I think the real cause has more to do with my hormones. When those are out of control, then everything else in my life seems so "horrible" and unbearable. After many long conversations with my husband, we have come up with a couple of solutions that have me very excited. #1: I have an appointment with my OB/GYN to discuss proper medication to get my hormones under control. (I had previously rejected the idea of taking medication, but it seems to be my only choice, if I want to be truly happy.) and #2: we are going to move to Houston ASAP. Hooray!! It's a terrible time to sell a house and look for a job, but we're going to take our time doing so and pray that we make good decisions. But the fact is that I really need the help of my loved ones and cannot expect to get it until I move back home. I'm nervous about it, but look forward to it. It could take a while though, so don't get too anxious!
Anyway, the lesson I have learned (over a really dreadfully long time) is this: TALK TO SOMEONE about your problems and don't settle for mediocrity. There is help out there. It just may take a long time to get it worked out, so be patient with yourself.
I'm not totally in the clear yet, so I'll need some prayers. But I'm hopeful that I'll be feeling better soon. And thanks to my friends and family who always stick by my side!!!

Oy vey...

I had a good weekend, but it came REALLY close to turning into a disaster. I was walking a very fine line. I may have even crossed it, but unfortunately, I don't remember! Yes, I got drunk. I don't usually drink much. Stop laughing, I serious. Once a month, maybe. Usually less than that. But anyway, I went to a birthday party on Saturday afternoon. As soon as I arrived, I was offered a mixed drink. I knew it would be a bad idea because it was too early in the game. I'd be passed out by dinner time. So I politely refused. Then the lady said that she would make a "really weak drink". I caved in. It really did taste weak, so I didn't worry about it. One hour later I was passed out in the bedroom. I didn't know what hit me! I pulled myself off of the bed a couple of hours later and went outside to join the others. I was sluggish and tired, but wanted to wake myself up for the rest of the party. So I decided to take a flyin leap onto the slip-and- slide, (after being coaxed by others, of course). It started a trend and soon the rest of the party was slippin and slidin. It was a blast and the rest of the evening went well. But when it was finally time to go to bed for the night, I began to realize that there were gaps in my memory of the night. I think I had MANY conversations that I barely remember. I know I had a discussion with a friend about whether he should marry or not. Wow, I hope I did that one well! And I know I had the obligatory conversation with my brother-in-law, in which I told him how much I love him and my sister-in-law. (It wouldn't be a typical drunken episode without that, right? "I love you, man!") But other than those two conversations, I'm lost. I haven't had lapses in my memory since college. I feel like a complete loser! Granted, I really did try to play it safe and not drink a stiff drink. I tried to be good! But I think that chick slipped a ruffie in my drink or something. She is officially going on my "evil people" list (along with Oprah Winfrey and the girl who stole my boyfriend in high school). I'm 34 years old, with a husband and children, and I was slip-and-sliding and jumping in the kids' moonwalk! Ugh. Although, I probably would have done those things sober too. The point is that everyone else probably thinks I behaved that way because I was shnockered. If only my friend Traci were there, she could have defended my honor by letting everyone know this was normal for me, NOT necessarily alcohol-induced! Well, it worked out in the long run because the other adults followed my lead and we all had a great time playing in the water. Gee, what will I do next year, for an encore? I'd hate to disappoint everyone...

MY View

Oh my lord, I've been trying to find ways to relax and it's impossible! I try to hold off on some of the housecleaning, but it becomes a total hell hole after 30 minutes! I can't live that way. I try "fixing myself up" but then a kid or two will spill a drink on me or wipe syrup on my clean clothes and this stresses me out even more than I would be if I didn't clean myself up to begin with! Today I tried watching a little t.v., other than Dora or Backyardigans. This bombed completely!! My blood pressure rose immediately. I started watching The View and became outraged because they have employed 3 liberals who always gang up on the one conservative. And they all have these smug looks on their faces because they all seem convinced that just because it's 3:1 they have suceeded in making her look like an idiot. Well they're wrong about that. I especially love the confidence that the new idiot (Sherri Shepherd) has, just because she's being backed up by two comedians. She must think we forgot that she once believed the earth might be flat! Good lord.
I'm neither a conservative nor a liberal but the situation on this show annoys the hell out of me!! I'm so tired of Hollywood ramming their liberal views down our throats, every chance they can get. Why the hell would I care what they think?! They live in "LaLa land". They can't possibly know what the average American needs or wants. So when I turn on the television, to relax, I'm hoping that I can either hear unbiased information or at least a balance between the views. Good luck with that, right?
Then I decided to try watching an old Oprah episode that I recorded. I'm getting tired of her crap too. First of all, when Oprah says, "read this or read that or bark like a damn dog", every woman in America does it. Why do women relate to her? She's never been married, has no children, and is severely wealthy? Yup, sounds like she and I have so much in common. And secondly, I am seriously getting tired of her obvious bias toward anything and everything black. [ And no, I'm not prejudiced, I consider myself the exact opposite! I have a very open-minded view of people and the world...It just bothers me when other people can't get over color! Including Oprah Winfrey.] Anyway, the episode I turned on was about a young boy who was killed with a baseball bat, by a young black kid. And who was Oprah sypathizing with? The black kid because she thought he didn't deserve an 8 year sentence for MURDER! I'm not watching Oprah anymore either. She does that crap all the time. It's sickening.
I eventually settled on I Love Lucy...the show about a 1950's housewife who does all of the cooking and cleaning. It was the least offensive!!
P.S. I know, I know...I've been quite a grouchy bitch on my blog lately. Just cut me a little slack. I have issues right now, ok? :)

Ugh!

OK, so here comes the "bitching and moaning" part of my blog... My stress level, since moving away from Chicago, has skyrocketed! (Ironic, isn't it? People usually have the opposite effect when living in a big city like Chicago...not me!) I'm so tightly wound lately, I feel like three-mile island. I'm quite sure I'm gonna blow at any minute! It's been progressively building up over the course of four years. If it weren't for my gals at my monthly Bunco, I would have exploded a long time ago. (Thanks ladies!!) Part of the problem is that I don't have access to the outlets that I expected to have when we moved back. (our expectations were way off course!) And now, all that I can thing about is how much I currently need my friend Traci's companionship because she has a fantastic attitude about dealing with life's little problems. I need a dose of my mom's unconditional love. And I need my sister and brother-in-law to blend me up some margaritas and relax with me. But unfortunately they're all 200 miles away. (Not their fauklt...all mine) I've been on an island for the last 4 years. I may as well be back in Chicago, where my husband and I were happiest! Yes, I can always drive to see my friends and family, but it's also stressful because the kids really misbehave when they aren't sleeping and playing in their own rooms for days at a time. And I do have the luxury of being able to call my friends and family, but I could do that in Chicago, right?! In addition, my husband has always been my very best friend and is always there to help me, but he has to work a lot here in San Antonio. He worked much less in Chicago. But here, he's either gone 12 hours a day or working in his study with the door closed. It's hard on both of us. I'm like a single parent who gets a paycheck, despite being a stay-at-home mom. It's weird.
Don't get me wrong, I do love the Hill Country. I do love my neighbors and friends here. I do love my kids school and doctors, and church. I do love the state of Texas. I absolutely LOVE the fact that I can easily go visit my friends and family in Houston. I just think that my husband and I were more at peace when we were 1000 miles away. I think I'm going to have a heart attack, in my sleep, if my stress level goes up any further! I think I'm having palpatations right now! KABOOM!!

Not so Peep-ish

You're not ever getting into my house if:

1. You refuse to drink tap water.
2. Kool-aid is not good enough for your kids. Hey, a little red dye #40 hasn't killed me yet!
3. You're butt is significantly smaller than mine (side note: unless this means it's as flat as a pancake, in which case, you're in, baby!!)
4. You look perfect from head to toe: house, kids, and all, but you won't admit that your marriage is shit. (Do you want TRUE friends or not, lady? I'm here for ya'.)
5. You don't consider Kraft cheese slices to actually be cheese. (In our house we call it "plastic-wrapped gold"!) Love it!
6. You pay someone else to do your housecleaning, laundry, taxes, lawn, and raise your kids...in this case, I'm sorry, you may be a lovely person, but we probably don't have a damn thing in common...unless you're paying for the maragaritas! :) [ok, I need to revise this a bit...it's ok if you pay someone to do your taxes...if you're utitlizing my sisters services!] :)
7. You don't believe in the 3-second rule...come on, it's not that bad!!
8. Noisy kids bother you. I know, I know...the noise bothers me too, but we're just going to have to put up with it. Besides, overly obedient kids are weird!!
9. You believe I need to be "saved" just because I'm Catholic. I'm treading in deep water here, but I have had to ditch many a friend because they felt that I was "going to hell" unless they immediately intervened. Okie dokie.
10. And finally, you're not going to be a friend of mine if you can't handle a bad word here or there. I've tried to control myself, and it's just impossible. I'm sorry. It's who I am. If you can't handle it, then go *$#* your @$#&*& and %^$#&! :0

My Peeps

You're a shoe-in for being a friend of mine if:

1. You arrive at my house with the margarita mix, because you know that I've already got the Tequila ready.
2. You wear your yoga pants because they're comfortable, NOT because you've been exercising all day.
3. You've got a secret stash of chocolate that you wouldn't even share with your dying grandmother.
4. You've got the pizza place on speed dial. Mmmmmmmm, pizza.
5. You've laughed so hard that you've pissed your pants (it doesn't count if you're over age 50, as this might be a frequent process)
6. You're not afraid to admit you have a scorching case of hemmorroids, a strange rash, or funky discharge...hey, I'm a former nurse. I love these stories!
7. You cry once a week because you hate being a stay-at-home mom, but wouldn't change it for anything in the world...I know what most of you are thinking...WTF?! But don't worry, I getcha, girl!
8. You know what "WTF" means. :)
9. Your butt is bigger than mine. Loving you!
10. You only get to bathe once or twice a week, but you've learned to live with the smell. You're cool with me!
11. And last, but certainly not least, you know you're a shoe-in for my friend if...well, see #1!!

You're Hired!!

So I've decided to come up with some new titles for myself, since "stay-at-home mom" is so stigmatized. Not to mention the fact that it tells you nothing about what I do all day! It'll perk up the old resume too, when I'm ready to go back to the outside world. So here they are...let me know what you think!

1) Dietary Coordinator

2) Creativity Director

3) Public Relations Ambassador

4) Manager of Domestic Operations

5) Gastrointestinal specialist

6) Director of Health Administration

7) Dean of Developmental Progress

8) Sibling relations liason

9) Life Coach

10) CEO of Martin, Inc.

11) President of Custodial Services and Waste Management

and last but not least...

12) Queen of the Martin Estate

Random thought

Don't you just love it when someone else (meaning your kids or maybe even your husband) takes a huge dump in the toilet and it clogs the damn thing up? And you know no one else is going to volunteer to plunge it. Of course not...that's in my job description, right?! So while I'm furiously plunging away at the giant turd, the sickening brown water splashes into my eyes and onto my face. Nice. I frantically wash my face and hands (with steel wool and bleach!!!!) and yet I still am unable to eat with my hands that night at dinner. Gag! Boy, I can't wait to do this all over again tomorrow!

Twilight Zone, part 2

My kids and I just finished watching the Twilight Zone episode where the old lady gets a phone call from her dead husband. Pretty scary one. Later, I called my own husband at work and told him to call the house and pretend to be a ghost, on the phone. I wanted to scare the pants off of my kids. He said "Cat, they're four!" "I know!" I said, "They'll be really scared!" "You're sick, Cat" he replied. "Just do it!" I said, and I hung up. Ten minutes later, the phone rings. Brrrrrring. "Abby, it's for you" I say, handing my daughter the phone. The voice on the phone says "Helllllloooooooooo............thiiiiiiiiiiiis..............iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissss..........a...ghoooooost...."

And Abby says, "Hi Daddy! We played in the swimming pool today." I grabbed the phone away from her and said "Man, you're lame!" Some people just have it and some don't. So I hung up the phone and quickly turned around and screamed "BOO!!!" They ran away screaming.
Mission accomplished.

Cue the eery music!

My twins are only 4 years old, but they're so smart that I sometimes find myself treating them like equals. This, I know, is a big mistake. But it just happens! For example, yesterday I was in the mood to watch some of my old Twilight Zone DVD's. After viewing the creepy episode with "Talky Tina", the murderous doll, Ian and Abby were hooked! They begged for more. Groovy! Now we could all sit around on the couch all day, eating junk food, and watching the Twilight Zone. It's my favorite thing to do in the summer! But ocassionally there was an episode that went over their heads and they would say, "Find a scary one Mama!"

And I'd say, "That one was scary!"

"No it wasn't!! Where's the ghost?!" they'd reply.

"Well, there may not be a ghost, but it's still creepy!" I say.

"No it's not!" they say.

Me: "Yes, it is!"

Abby: "No, it's not!"

Me: "Yes, it is! Look at that girl - she's kinda creepy." "She just popped up in the woods, outta freakin' nowhere!" "That's definitely weird!" "Come on!!"

Abby: "Uh, uh, Mama - she's just pretty."

Me: "She's weird"

Abby: "pretty"

Me: "weird!"

Abby: "pretty!!"

Me: "weird!!"

Abby: "pretty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Then suddenly I snap out of it and realize that I've been arguing, with a 4 year old, about a show she has no business even watching! Oh well, we had fun. But consider yourself warned: if you see my little angel out and about and she starts quoting, "Hi, I'm Talky Tina, and I'm gonna kill you..." don't be afraid. She's just having fun. Our brand of bizarre fun, of course...but trust me, I think she'll be O.K.!

Lookin' Good?

I have so much I'd love to write about lately, but unfortunately, I can't always write about what I want to write about because it involves other, more sensitive people. Some things are best left unsaid, right? As soon as I choose to write about other people, it'll bite me in the ass. I'm too smart for that. But damn, I have so much material to make you laugh! It's killing me! Anyway, I'll stick to what I know best: me.

I recently went swimming at my sister's new pool. We all had a really great time and for the first time in my life I felt safe from criticism. Afterall, I was there with my own family, who never judges me on superficial things. For example, what I look like in a bathing suit! First of all, we all have the same pastey white legs and freckles. And secondly, they've seen my body for 34 years and there's nothing there that would surprise them. So I felt safe. So I bounced out in my new suit, white thighs jiggling and cellulite proudly displayed. My kids and I had a wonderful time swimming. But the very next day, my grandma called my mom's house and proceeded to give her sideline comments on how everyone looked in their bathing suits. Oh lord, I didn't know I was being watched! Did she have a camera, too? I forgot to look. Shit! I probably would have sucked in a little more or perhaps worn a very large bag over my body, if I had known I was being critiqued! Anyway, the official judgement was as follows: my mom apparently looked "best" in her suit, no comments were made about my sister (she managed to stay out of the radar somehow...lucky bitch), my 4-year old daughter's suit was "too small", and I need a "much bigger suit". I still don't know exactly what that means, but it sent my wheels a'turnin'! I know my breasts weren't falling out. That's impossible! I've never felt so self-conscious before in my life! Just when I was feeling content with myself, my own grandma said I look like hell. Crap. So, I went straight home, put on my suit, and stared into the mirror. Suddenly I started to notice even more cellulite and more stretch marks, and more spider veins. I was repulsed! How did I not notice this before? Oh well, it only took me 34 years to gain some self-confidence. What's another 34 years, right? So I was faced with one choice: start exercising like a mad woman or decide to just love what I have. The choice was clear to me. I work hard enough to raise my three children, keep up our household and take care of my husband. I'm gonna go eat a pint of cookies and cream ice cream!!!!

If today were my last day: I'd be glad that I ate the damn ice cream.

Carpe Diem

So my husband recently had a death in the family and it was such a young girl. These types of incidences always cause me to sit back and think about what's truly important in life. We're always encourage by elderly people and those who are dying, to enjoy each day that we have. "Carpe Diem" and all that stuff. But then we find ourselves getting caught up in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and we forget to sit back and enjoy what might possibly be our last day on earth. The truth is, we NEVER really do know when it'll be our last day! Jer's cousin had no idea it would be her last day. How sad. So, in an attempt to "seize the moment", I'm going to end each blog with a "blurb" about my day and how I would feel if it were my last one. My own "last lecture", so to speak. (Althought I don't intend on going anywhere anytime soon!) I can't promise that my sick sense of humor won't taint the whole idea, but it still might help me to think about it for a while. I urge you to do the same...enjoy your day!
And here's todays thoughts:
If today where my last day on earth, I'd be glad that I let the kids trash the house because they seem to be having a really great time. My family would come in to help my husband and think that I was a terrible housewife, but I would know that I spent all afternoon laughing with my kids! I would probably wish that I had shaved my legs today, but that'll just have to wait...I'm busy playing!

Havin' a Ball!

The kids were getting cabin fever and needed to release some energy. So I emptied off the 10x10 concrete slab we have in our backyard, hoping they could ride in tiny little circles, on their tricycles. This way I don't actually have to get off of my ass and chase them down the neighborhood streets, while they ride off into the sunset! So Abby hopped on her hog and gave it a whirl. "Does it work?" I asked. "Yup" she replied, to me. A few seconds later, after I had walked away, I heard her say to Ian, "Hey, let's pretend this is actually fun!" Sassy girl.

Happy Anniversary!

Every year, my hubby and I take an anniversary picture and put it in a special book. It's filled with some great memories. This year we went to the top of Enchanted Rock and took some fantastic pictures. Several days later, I was anxious to download them and print one out for our book. I hooked the camera up to the computer and realized that there were no images on it! My husband came home and I told him our pictures were gone. And then here's how our argument proceeded:
Jer: "What did you do?"
Me: "Nothing!"
Jer: "You had to do something with them...just step away from the computer because you and it don't get along well!" (which is actually true...I'm having a hell of a time just typing up this blog!)
Me: "Well maybe it's just a shitty computer." (effective insult because he built the computer)
Jer: "It's not the computer."
Me: "And the camera's software is ridiculous too!" "It sucks!"
Jer: "Face it, you lost the pictures...what did you do?"
Me: "Nothing!!" (total lie) "Maybe it'd be easier to get things done right if this study weren't a complete shithole!" (it really is a shithole)
Jer: "I'll try to find the pics, just go away." (notice I don't put exclamation points after his comments...he never raises his voice to me...it's so annoying!!)
Me: "I'm going to bed!!!!" (I was so tired at that point. It really is exhausting, trying to defend yourself when you're a total idiot!)

P.S. Yes, the pictures are forever gone. Oh well.

Crazy Mama

My eldest son has been "testing his limits" and pushing all of my buttons lately. So much so that he's got me questioning my own sanity! I'll have a particularly rough day and then end it by sitting on the floor of my closet, reading the Serafim pamphlet that my OB gave me, over and over again, trying to decide if the little pink pills will make me sane again, or if I'll just be an overly medicated mom with the same problems I had before. (Serafim, by the way, is a mild antidepressant, sometimes used for PMDD) And each time I read the pamphlet, I ask myself "why didn't I want to take these pills?" And then I get to the list of side effects. It's not the weightgain, the nausea, vomiting, irrritability, headaches, blurred vision, and potential for suicide that bother me. It's the "loss of sexual desire and/or function" that gets my goat. My libido is already at a pathetic level, but to suppress it even more would definitely be grounds for Jeremy's divorce! If I were the Department of Homeland Security, my libido would be on Code Red...high likelihood for disaster. So I'm hundled in the closet, thinking it over... Sanity or sex, sanity or sex, sanity or sex...hmmmm. Then I remember my wedding vows. Damn it! I think I remember the priest saying something about my hubby being "numero uno". (Although probably not in those exact words.) I draw the conclusion that I have to skip the pills in order to be the "sex-kitten" that God wants me to be, for my husband. Sanity will have to take a back seat, for now. So what will probably happen is I'll have great sex with my husband for the next few years, meanwhile screwing up my kids with my bizarre and insane behavior, thus saving my marriage. And then, just after my screwed-up kids finally leave the house for college, Jer will leave me for a younger woman. But at least that will open the door for me to FINALLY get to take my little pink pills! Viva Fluoxetine!

T.P. fiasco

My four-year-old daughter has a little problem with excessive use of toilet paper. We always know when she's been in the bathroom, taking a dump, because she leaves a clogged up toilet full of paper, and t.p. all over the floor and sink. It's a huge mess. But she does do a thorough job of cleaning her tush. Hey, she has her priorities! Anyway, the other day I went in and saw a miracle....I yelled "Abby, did you just go into the bathroom?" Since she was worried that she was in trouble, she replied "uh, no." I then said "It's ok baby, but can you come here, please?" She came into the bathroom and I pointed to the toilet paper roll and asked "Did you put that new roll of paper on the holder?" And she said (in her sassy little voice) "Well, I ran out of paper, so I put a new one on the holder...duh!" Good girl. Those have been my exact thoughts for quite some time : "Duh!!" Now why can't men figure that one out?!

My Little Ballerina

Sorry I haven't written in a really long time, but a trojan horse snuck up on my ass and my computer has been on the fritz ever since. And even though my hubby has three other computers, I still have to fight him for computer time! Anyway, I have so much to say!! Where do I start? I've been thinking it's time I include some of my sappy stories, so that those of you who are under the impression that I only complain about my kids will realize that I also love them very much. And I just so happen to have a good one to tell: This past week we were getting ready for my daughters first dance recital. Her rehearsal was on Thursday night. The flyer that had all of the info on it said "be there at 6:45 pm" and that's it. It said nothing about whether it was a dress rehearsal or not. I assumed that since the dancers are four years old, they'd schmootz up their costumes if they wore them the day before the recital and therefore it must NOT be a dress rehearsal. I was wrong. We got there and Abby saw everyone else in their costumes and she proceeded to cry. This, of course, broke my heart. It was the first (of what will probably be many to come) time when I embarrassed her. Damn. I apologized profusely and shoved her onto the stage. She was cool about it and did the dance without flinching. Very smooth little girl. That night, when I was tucking her in, she reminded me that I screwed up. "You forgot my costume, Mommy!" And I said, "I'm sooooo sorry, baby." "Maybe this is the best time to teach you a very important lesson...Mommy is not perfect either and I'm going to make lots of mistakes. But I'm very sorry about it." And then my daughter took my face in her hands and said "oh, but Mommy, you are perfect!" Needless to say, I balled my eyes out. It brings tears to my eyes even now. She's such a wonderful little girl and I'm so lucky to have her!

Retro Foods

Dinner time, in our house, is a daily nightmare. I struggle to find a decent variety of foods that my kids will actually eat. I made a committment to myself, a long time ago, that I would NOT be a short-order cook. In other words, they would not get to pick and choose, but they would eat whatever I gave them. Otherwise, they can choose to go hungry that night. But I'm finding that this theory is not fool-proof. Some nights they really would rather starve! Damn. Kids these days are so picky. This got me thinking about some of the things we ate as kids. If I offered them up to my kids, I'm sure they'd run screaming! They are so spoiled! On the other hand, here are a few examples of the fascinating things we "Generation X" kiddos ate:
Bologna: much more appropriately spelled "baloney"; we ate it everyday for lunch, and sometimes for dinner! Yes, dinner! Mom would fry it up in a pan and voila...a true delicacy! Turkey was only offered on Thanksgiving day!
Beanie Weenies: I think parents thought that giving it a cute name would increase it's appeal; sliced hot dogs with canned beans...yum. This was probably Mom's way of getting a week's worth of protein all in one meal! Admittedly, I still like these today.
Homemade pizza: sounds ok, right? Sure. Slices of white bread with ketchup and a slice of Kraft cheese, melted to perfection. Yum! Just like in Italy.
Spam: enough said, right? Gag! A large block of god-knows-what kind of meat, shamelessly poured straight out of the can and sliced; the salt content could bring up the Titanic. We'd be bloated for days! And since my grandfather worked for Hormel, we had our own personal Spam dealer. We were never deprived of Spam.
And for dessert? wonder bread slathered with butter and topped with sugar. Good lord.
Tang: OJ of the Astronauts! Now days this word takes on a whole new meaning, but I won't go into that.
That big block of shredded wheat: do they still sell that thing? Nowadays it's covered in yummy sugar and cut into bite-sized pieces (imagine that!). But the one I used to eat for breakfast was a huge hunk of dry wheat that would soak up all of the milk when placed in the bowl. It was like soggy cardboard. It took an act of God just to swallow it.
Salmon Croquettes: I believe this consisted of salmon from a can, mixed with some flour and egg and cooked until brown. This was probably considered the healthiest meal of the week. Afterall, it was fish, right? (at least I think it was)
And my all-time fav: (drum roll please) ..."shit on a shingle"...yes, you heard me right kids...our parents served us, without reservation, "shit on a shingle". To this day I still have no clue what that actually was; all I know is we ate it and didn't complain about it! They didn't even try to call it by another name. Maybe because that would reveal what was actually in it! Whatever it was, we got a hearty helping of it, usually with a side of beans. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Mmmmmmmmmmmm!
What's wrong with our kids today? We've spoiled them. I say we bring back the goulash, egg salad, liver sausage on a cracker (also known as Braunschweiger...yeah, I ate that too) Mom's knew what they were doing back then. It was fast, easy, cheap (and damn creative if I must say so). Although nothing back then was really fast. A t.v. dinner took 40 minutes in the oven. But the point is this: we survived!

Sugarsnap peas

Here's my second story of the day. And I apologize that it is another crude one. I guess it says a lot about what I find funny. Anyway, last night at dinner, we had sugarsnap peas. Ian finds great pleasure in pulling open the pea pod and pulling out the peas. He said, "Mama, look! It looks like little nuts in a sack!" I giggled a bit and then continued to eat. A while later, Abby was refusing to eat her dinner and I was getting a bit annoyed. I asked her to please eat some of her vegetables, but she refused. Ian was sensing my frustration and decided to help me out. (Mama's boy) He yelled at Abby, "Abby, sit down and eat your nutsacks!!" I've learned some very serious lessons from the past and so I knew better than to laugh at that. It would definitely be followed by questions. So I swallowed my laugh until tears came running down my face. Kids really do say the funniest things!

Lookin' good, lady!

Every morning, when I drop the kids off at preschool, we are met at the door by one of the teachers. She's a very kind lady, but who I have to admit is also quite obese. I've never said anything about it to the kids. I may have a crude sense of humor, but NEVER at the expense of other people. That's not my style. Anyway, the other day one of my kids finally asked me, "Mom, why does that lady have such a big butt?" I responded with, "listen to me...if you can't say something nice about someone, then don't say anything at all. Keep your observations to yourself!" And then I busted out singing the song from "bambi"..."If you can't say something nice, shhhhh, say nothing..." You know the one. Then, today, when I dropped them off at school, my polite child proceeded to say, "Good morning miss. You have a nice butt!" Somewhere in our conversation my point was lost. Oh well, my child knows what he meant. I guess I just need to be proud that he tried to be nice!

Going "red"

This week I spent my time eliminating all of the toxic cleaning products that we have in our home, by making my own out of natural ingredients. I also started my own vegetable garden in the backyard. And I handwashed all of my dishes, in a small washtub. Then, during my online search for natural ingredients to make all-purpose cleaners, I came across an article that had me laughing hysterically. I'm all about continuing to strive toward being more "green", but this was ridiculous!! "How to make your own menstrual pads"!! Good lord. Women in the sixties didn't burn their bras only for us to take ten steps backward! It'll be a cold day in hell before I shove one of those bad boys between my legs. They're huge! They do look like they could double as a hot pad, when you're not menstruating though. There's a plus! I wonder if they have a pattern for tampons?

Law of Probability

It was Sunday afternoon and the sun was shining. Jer was home to help with the kids, so I thought it was the perfect time to mop our filthy kitchen floor. One hour, and a severe back ache later, I made that floor glow! Good job, Cat! I was tired, so I decided to nap. During my nap, it decided to pour down raining and the dog was still outside. After I woke from my nap, I let the dog inside and she destroyed the floor. There's was mud everywhere. This is my life.
I always wonder how other mothers seem to manage to keep a clean house, clean kids, and they themselves still look immaculate. How?! I wake up every morning and clean everyone up but as soon as we walk out the door we all look like total hell. To me, it's just the way it is when you have kids. But how do other mom's get away with it? I'll never know. That being said, I started thinking about all of the things that happen when you're a mom. I like to call it the "Law of Probability" (original, huh?) So here it is. The "laws" of mommyhood:
There's a 99.99% chance that your baby will have a major diaper blowout when the number of diapers in your bag is 1 or fewer.
There's an 80% chance you'll get puked on if you're dressed in your only interview suit that still fits around your fat butt, and you're just heading out the door for your big opportunity.
There's 0.5% probability that one or more of the kids will be sick on the night that you both decide your husband can go "out with the guys". But there's a 90% probability that all of the kids will get sick just before it's your turn to go out with the girls. (and of course your husband can't possibly handle them alone!)
There's a 100% chance that you'll soon get whatever illness the kids just had...ten fold!! (and if you're a stay-at-home mom this really sucks because you then have to care for your sick children while you are at deaths door, and your husband won't ever think of this and take the day off!)
There's a 75% chance that there's a kid sitting on the other side of your closed door while you're having sex. It's their mission to destroy any semblance of a sex-life you still may have. I'm sure of it!
There's a 100% chance that your kids will break something very valuable in someone else's home. Banning you from that house forever. (although I'm also 100% sure that they weren't a true friend if that incident got you thrown out forever)
There's a 70% chance that you'll lock yourself in the bathroom and cry like a baby at least once. The odds (and the frequency) greatly increase with the number of children you have!!
Now I feel compelled to end this with some sappy comment like "there's a 100% chance that you're kids will be grateful for all that you do" or something like that, but I just can't do it. Too cheesy.

The Terror Twins

My boy/girl twins were born hating each other. They have nothing in common and therefore find something to fight about on a daily basis. It's usually something small and stupid, like who has the bigger sandwich (even though they're the exact same size) or who has the cleaner room. It doesn't really matter what they fight about. What matters is that the fights always start off as simple arguing and escalate into a full-out wrestling match. And quickly! This happens at least five or six times a day. One day, I was downstairs making them lunch and I heard them laughing together. This struck me as unusual and so I felt I needed to investigate further. I went upstairs and found them giggling and "high-fiving" each other. This absolutely did not sit right with me. They never get along, so why would they now? Then I realized, I didn't see the baby. Oh lord. "Where's the baby?" I ask. They both just stare at me. "Where's the baby?!!" I start running all over the house looking for the baby until I finally hear a faint voice coming from his room. I don't see him immediately so I start digging around in his pile of dirty laundry and looking under the bed. Finally, I open his toy chest and find him inside, curled up into a ball. The twins had taken off his shirt and put it back on him, without putting his arms through the armholes. He was stuck inside his shirt! And then they ditched him in the toy box. Poor little guy! The twins finally found something they have in common! I wasn't sure if I should celebrate or call a child psycologist. I could tell that this was just the beginning of what will probably turn out to be one sick and twisted friendship. Lord help us all!

Cracking One Off

So, I cut the cheese today. (Yes, I mean I farted. I just didn't want to say it that way.) When I'm alone with the kids I usually forget to silence myself because I figure they were once in there with all of my business, so why should I censor myself now. Right? (A dangerous practice, by the way. You start to forget when you're in public or at home. I DON'T recommend it.) Anyway, I let one rip, out loud, and the baby came up behind me and tapped on my butt and said, "uh,oh, Mama go doo-doo!" And I started to laugh but then I immediately began to question it myself! Afterall, I have had three babies. My internal workings are just not the same anymore. Give me a break! I ran to the bathroom, just to see if he knew something that I didn't know. I was relieved to find that my pants were clean. I did not "shart". Phew! Being very grateful that I haven't turned that corner yet, I said a prayer. "Thank you God for my bowel and bladder control. I know that just as I say these mocking words, you will curse me with something else repulsive. But for now, I am truly grateful." Amen!

A Quiz

Do you think you're an overly-competitive parent? Well I've come up with a sure-fire test to determine whether you are or not. Results will follow.
1) When it comes to accepting an invitation to a playdate, you:
a) accept them all because you love the free lunches
b) only accept the invites from "the right kids" because you're not afraid to admit that you engage in shameless social climbing
c) you never accept them because you hate everyone else's kids. They're ALL beneath your child!!

2) Your child acts up in the grocery store, you:
a) correct him and put him in time-out, not even noticing that you're both blocking the middle of the aisle (nor do you care)
b) say loudly, so that everyone can hear, "oh, you must be tired", making some lame excuse for him until you can finally get him into the car and cuss him out in private
c) start yelling at the checker who obviously upset your precious pooky by looking at him wrong!

3) When it comes to signing your toddler up for extracurricular activities, you:
a) sign up at the local YMCA, where the emphasis is on good, clean fun
b) sign them up for the local competitive league because you know your child is going to wipe the floor with the rest of the kids and he'll finally get the exposure he needs to jumpstart his sports career
c) don't bother signing him up at all because he's not old enough for the minor leagues, where you think he really belongs. And anything less just isn't good enough for him!

4) When it comes to bragging about your children, you:
a) talk about their achievements but also include their recent shenanigans in your conversation
b) try not to brag too much, but secretly love it when your kid is obviously better than someone else's (which, of course, tends to be most of the time!)
c) have considered including them as part of your resume

5) Your child's teacher holds a conference with you to discuss his misbehavior in the class, you:
a) listen to what she has to say, apologize, tell her you will deal with your child at home, and them punish your child; afterall, he really can be a little shit sometimes!
b) tell her you'll fix the problem, just to shut her up, and then take your kid out to lunch and both laugh about what an idiot his teacher is
c) cuss out the teacher because there's no way your little angel could be naughty, and then ask for a transfer into another class with "a competent teacher who isn't out to get your baby!"

Now it's time to tally the results:
If you had mostly A's- you're doing fine, keep up the good work. Afterall, our parents didn't treat us like immaculate conceptions and we turned out just fine!
If you had mostly B's- watch out! You're walking a fine line between loving your child and thinking that his shit doesn't stink. He could turn out to be a total loser or a great guy. It's a coin toss! Do you really want to risk it?
If you had mostly C's- Good lord. Get a grip!! Please seek therapy before your child becomes the unibomber!! Be aware that while you may love your precious angel, the rest of the world hates him. This is in your control!

A play on words?

My eldest son and I were playing a game of cards. The game where you have to grab up the jack when you see it being laid down. I guess I got a little too into the game because I saw the jack and I swiped at it fiercely. Unfortunately, I scratched my sons hand in the process. I said, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart!" And he replied, "Wow, Mama, you have a big snatch!!" I laughed hysterically for about five minutes.

Banned from the Ladies Club

Sorry to hold out on you guys so long! My last blog was so long ago. I received some negative comments via email a couple of weeks ago and it pissed me off so much that I cut you ALL off. But I'm back and in full force! But here's my disclaimer: take me or leave me and keep your negative comments to yourself, or I'll start to give them back! I'm getting tired of being the nice guy. I won't do it anymore.
Anyway, I've realized that not everyone appreciates or understands my sense of humor. It's very blunt and sarcastic. I can't help myself. It's like tourettes. And I don't crack my jokes for the attention. I usually fling the zingers just to break the monotony in life. I'm constantly surrounded by mothers who are trying to project the right image: perfect mom, perfect house, perfect kids, etc. You know the type. My husband laughs at me and thinks I'm just trying to shock them with my sassy comments. There may be a little truth to that, deep down inside, but I think I just can't help myself! I have no self-control! In this "keeping up with the Jones'" world, it keeps me sane. I can't keep up with the Jones' and I refuse to try. (I know, I know...Amen Sister!) So I make fun of it all. But I digress.
I'd like to now give an example of the typical reaction to my sense of humor. I was at a party recently. The highlight of my year. (I have no social life) Yes, once in a while, Jer let's me out of my cage and I get to go drinking with the girls. Well, the other day, at this party, we were all talking about getting into our old clothes. I said that I wish I could get into my old bikini again, but if I did it'd make people sick to their stomaches. Another woman said, "you could TOTALLY pull it off!" (I beg to differ) I said "I'm a huge mess and I would rather die that get into that thing!" She continued, "it's so sad that we are held up to Hollywood standards and therefore someone as small as you would think she's disgusting!" I said, "maybe so, but it's ME who thinks I look disgusting, not anyone else." And she said, "I'm so tired of feeling like I'm too fat. And I'm so tired of men always staring at my breasts, as if there's nothing else to me." (well, I can't personally relate to that comment, but I definitely had something to say about it!) "I know," I said (a little too loudly, because I had a bit of vino in me). "women don't go around staring at men's cocks, wondering how big they are!!!" I say this while also cupping my private area, in proper demonstration. (I thought it helped illustrate my point better) It was at this exact moment when the entire room got completely silent and all eyes turned toward me, holding my stuff. (of course!!) Half of the room had smirks on their faces and the other half lookfed completely repulsed! I knew that this was probably my cue to go home and return to my cage. So I smiled with complete courage, held my head high, finished my wine, and went home. I laughed all the way home.
I may not get invited to that particular house again, but I gave myself a fucking fantastic laugh!!

Lift that Load!!

My eldest son was taking a bath and I heard him grunting and groaning, so I peaked in the doorway. He was standing up very slowing, holding onto his nuts, and groaning. I thought he was hurt! I said, "what are you doing, buddy?" And he replied, (still holding his stuff) "Grrrrrr, I'm lifting my heavy rocks!"

Closet of Shame

Before I had children, death was pretty much a non-issue to me. That was before I wore my heart on my sleeve. And now, I see everything as having the potential to orphan my kids or worse, to harm them. I'm absolutely paranoid! What further accentuates the situation is the fact that I've been watching the history channel a lot lately. I love the history channel, but their topics lately have been quite grim: Doomsday 2012, Oil Apocalypse, Mega Disasters, Global Warming, etc. All of these shows are meant to make us feel completely screwed, of course. That's how they keep us watching. And it's been working! I've since started to wonder what I could do to prepare my family, in the event that we get nuked, a volcano erupts and dust covers the sky for ten years, or that spy sattelite decides to land right in my neighborhood. :) (hey, you never know!) I did some research on these various topics and then decided it was time to go shopping! I bought rubbing alcohol, bandages, masks, medicines, t.p., garbage bags, and much, much more! I put all of these items in our walk-in entryway closet (knowing this would be the best place to hide later), along with a list of things to do after we've been nuked. Jer came home from work and opened the closet to put his jacket away, and found the items, with the list hanging from a nail on the wall. He thought it was hysterical and vowed that he'd NEVER let any of his friends hang their coats in that closet, for fear that they'd see the list and be convinced that I'm a complete nutcase. Then I said, "Oh, I forgot one more thing! I need to put some of my old narcotics in the box too...in case we're all so bad off that I need to do us in!" (I smile) "Yep," Jer says, "You're nuts!" He's since deemed that closet "The Closet of Shame". Maybe so, but I'll never be caught with my pants down. And you know you'll all be knocking on my door when the shit comes down!! :) (lol)

That Bites!

My eldest son and I were playing dinosaurs. I was apatosaurus, a kind, veggie-eater. Ian, as usual, was the large meat-eater, Gigantosaurus. He was snarling and bearing his teeth at me. I let out a big dino-scream as he pretended to sink his large teeth into my "tail". The baby, William, saw what we were doing and thought it looked like a ton of fun. So he too started growling and showing his teeth, as he approached me. Well, I don't trust him not to bite me because he doesn't yet know the difference between pretend and real biting. So I say, "no, no, William. Mommy doesn't trust you - don't bite!" He starts chasing me. "No, William!" "No biting!!" The chase speeds up as I run, screaming. I'm truly scared of this little 30 pound beast sinking his teeth into me! I run into the family room and trip on one of my husbands mammoth shoes. Damn, I'm down!! While I'm still on the floor, face down, William takes a flying leap onto my back and proceeds to take a massive bite into my butt. I yell at the top of my lungs, begging him for mercy. I wriggle and writhe in pain, trying to get him to unclench his teeth from my ass, but he won't let go! I can hear him giggling, because he thinks this is hysterical. I manage to compose myself enough to reach around to my rear and start tickling him under his chin. He finally starts laughing so much that he can't maintain his death grip. Free at last! I get up and survey the damage...it's not going to be pretty! And he says to me, with his innocent little smile, "Woo Woo dinosaur." :) How could I possibly be mad at him?