Tales of the Red Rocket

Well...I thought it was going to be a bitch. Two bitches, actually. Nope. I was sort of looking forward to having a couple of females to break up the overload of testosterone in this house. Instead, our new addition is of the male variety. An enormous male. An eight month old, eighty five pound, handsome, stud.

Now, let me start by saying I've never had a male dog before, and certainly never one of this size. I can't recall anyone I know having a male dog, or at least I wasn't introduced until after they were neutered. This new horse puppy, was not neutered by his prior owner. I've gotta admit, I'm a little disturbed...by well...his balls. Well technically, I'm not a fan of any balls. Lets face it, they're not the prettiest things to look at. Luckily, the ones I am around on a daily basis are covered up a majority of the time. Until now. This guy walks around here with his sack dangling around, putting it wherever he likes...and he likes my couch. You'll see how much he likes it later on in this post. Plus, the fact that he is not neutered helps me understand the term "horn dog". He really would like to hump anything with a pulse. That's not true...it doesn't need to have a pulse (there are some men I know that have these same standards). The "red rocket" makes numerous daily appearances around here. My sons think it's hilarious. All day long I am treated to the phrase "Eww! His pink pee-pee is out again!" Lovely. Then they reenact his romps. They will grab each other and thrust crazily while laughing until they cry. Yep, I'm living the dream here people. By the way, take another look at the picture above in the area that harbors the "red rocket"...he is getting ready to make a guest appearance.

The first night we got him, my husband ran out to the store and left him with me...alone. I'm not afraid of dogs at all, but this one was definitely a little intimidating. Plus, I wasn't sure if he would be ornery because of the move so I was sort of avoiding him at first. Then I thought, screw this...this is my house. He is just a big baby after all. I sat on the couch and called him to me. He came to me right away, tail wagging. That's a good sign, I thought. He gave me his paw, and when I took it in my hand he started licking me. Aww, he really is cute. Poor thing, he must be wondering what the hell is going on. After what felt like forever, I put his paw down and took my hand away. He sat in front of me just staring. Then he started looking at me in a creepy kind of way. Like that old guy in the bar that is staring at the group of girls celebrating a 21st birthday. He gave me his paw again and I took it for a second and put it down. He gave it right back. I went to put it back down and he put his other paw on the back of my shoulder. What the hell? The next thing I knew he was standing on his hind legs and I was staring down the barrel of the "red rocket". I pushed him away from me with both hands, stood up, and jumped onto the couch. Dammit, this asshole just tried to violate me! Then I took a second to look at myself and started dying laughing.

He was better after a week or so. The "red rocket" made less appearances and he seemed to be settling in nicely. That is until what I will now refer to as the "incident". All of a sudden he seemed to be getting mildly destructive when we would leave the house for prolonged periods of time. He would chew on a shoe a little, but didn't shred it to pieces or anything. He would rearrange my rugs a bit. That is, until this happened....

That is my couch people! The one I told you he liked to rub his balls all over, well he REALLY tried to make it his bitch. Now I don't know what the hell to do with him. I tried to crate him once and he literally destroyed the crate. He is all signed up for obedience training and doggy daycare (that's right, I said doggy daycare) but he can't start either of them until he loses his family jewels.

In the meantime, I figured I would take him to one of those chain pet stores and try to find some gadgets that might help me get him under control. I walked in, well actually he dragged me in, and I was immediately greeted by a friendly employee. She was nauseatingly nice while I told her about some of the troubles I was having with him. She informed me that the trainer was in and if I wanted we could go speak to her. Why the hell not? I had to practically drag him through the store because there were some other dogs there that I'm sure he was dreaming of mounting. Finally, we reached her and the first thing she said was "You know, a harness encourages pulling. You should be using a different type of leash if you want to have any control over him" Well thanks bitch. I'll keep that in mind. She then proceeded to ask me a battery of questions and every time I would answer she would start shaking her head saying "No, No...you shouldn't do that" After a few minutes I'd had enough of this know it all. Apparently so had the dog because he lifted his leg and proceeded to pee all over her shoes. Usually I can contain myself. I've had a lot of practice restraining myself when my kids say or do something inappropriate, but I couldn't this time. I laughed and asked her which aisle the dog treats were in. He was going to get some right in the store after that!

I guess I'm not a fan of being judged as a pet owner any more than I am of being judged as a mother. No matter what grief I have to put up with from this beast, I'm going to love him and he will have a happy, healthy life here with us. Anyone that thinks otherwise better invest in some plastic to protect their shoes!

Moms Don't Fart

That is what I told my kids anyway. I'm not sure why, but I have never felt comfortable farting around anyone. Not even my own kids. They think farts are hilarious. I don't think it's a coincidence that when they first started smiling everyone told me they probably just had gas. I'm not surprised... knowing what I know now. My husband also seems to feel pretty comfortable expelling gas whenever the need arises. After eight years of marriage, I still don't fart in front of him. If I recall correctly he felt comfortable farting around me from day one.

I'm not sure why I'm so uptight about it. My parents farted in front of us, and each other, all the time. I'll never forget the day my sister fell prey to one of my dad's many "fart pranks". She was sitting on the floor with my cousin pretending to have a picnic. My father walked in and asked them what they were doing. "We're having a picnic Daddy". He replied "Oh, how nice...would you like me to give you something for your picnic?" My sister was so excited and she shouted "Sure!" He walked over to their blanket, turned around, and let out the loudest, most disgusting sounding fart. The poor little thing was mortified and as he walked away he laughed "Have that for your picnic!" My Mom would get him back for his pranks though. She was, however, much more subtle in her approach. My father would be laying on the couch, watching television and she would casually walk by. Acting as if she noticed something on the floor in front of him she would bend over, inched from his face, and let one go. It always made me giggle, watching these antics, but I still didn't participate.

For a while I thought maybe it was just a female thing. Maybe we are just a bit more embarrassed about our bodily functions. It was hard to tell though because most of my friends were guys. They had no qualms about farting whatsoever. They would always have some kind of disgusting commentary to go along with it too like "Whoa, I had to pull back on that one...I almost shit my pants" or "Look out for that one, I drank draft beer last night. That will make your eyes water". As more females began hanging with us (no doubt smitten with these gas bags) I noticed that they were more reserved on this subject. But, to my dismay, they would occasionally own up to one. Thankfully there weren't as gross about it. They might say something like "Oopsy, I tooted". Then there was one female in particular (that I am still friends with, so I will not mention her by name) that would get an evil smile on her face when she would fart, while she waited for someone to smell it. She likes to throw out things like "Sorry...I ate cheese...it does that to me".

I remember the day I started my little white lie about my refusal to fart, claiming it to be an inability. The boys were going back and forth, farting and laughing, commenting on whose was louder. My oldest son looked at me and said "You do one Mom". I calmly looked up from my book and replied "Moms don't fart". He was shocked "Really?!" "Yep" I said. Then I added "Have you ever heard Mommy fart?" He pondered it for a moment then said "No. I don't think I have". He must have been thinking about it all day because that night he came to me with a book I used to read to them all the time called The Gas We Pass.

For those of you unfamiliar with the "My Body Science" series from Scholastic, it also includes riveting literary masterpieces such as Everyone Poops and All About Scabs. My boys are huge fans. Anyway, he said "Doesn't this book say that everyone farts?" "Yep" I said "but it must have been written by a Dad, because it's wrong".

He let it go for the time being, but he was very suspicious of me. I almost got caught once. He asked me to get him a drink and while I was standing in front of the refrigerator, with him right behind me, I let one slip. It didn't make any noise, so I thought I was OK, but after a few seconds he looked up at me and said "Did YOU just fart?!" "No, of course not" I said nonchalantly. He wasn't buying it though..."Then what is that smell?" I told him that obviously something had gone bad in the refrigerator and I would take care of it. It wasn't me because I don't fart. Man, I'm good.

After years of putting up this facade, I finally broke down and told him the truth. Well, actually, I didn't tell him...it went down like this:

The boys were at it again. Having a farting contest, only this time they were running right up to me and sticking their butts out in my direction as they farted.  They would then run away, laughing and telling each other how they were farting at me. Finally, I'd had enough. I grabbed them both, held them down on the couch, sat on them and let one rip. They both jumped up horrified and screamed "I though Moms don't fart!!" As I walked away, feeling quite liberated I might add, I said "Yeah...about that...I lied. Now that you guys know IT IS ON!" They were staring at me with wide eyes in disbelief. I added "That's right...it is on like Donkey Kong, so remember that the next time you want to fart on me" as I walked from the room, with my head held high, I decided to go and find my husband. May as well break the news to him while I was at it...

Feel Free To Judge Me

Mother of the year? Nope, not me. In fact, throughout my mothering career I have been the Susan Lucci among those in the running for this impossible to obtain award. But, I'm cool with it, and so are my kids. As a matter of fact, I rock as a mom...and I am quoting my children when I say this. It may have to do with the fact that the judgement which is passed upon me (obviously by those who have won this award in the past) is wasted on someone who doesn't give a rat's ass what they think. What am I doing with a rat's ass you ask? I'm not sure, but I do know that I am not giving it up.

Don't get me wrong, I admire what so many moms are able to accomplish with their kids...especially when it comes to nutrition. My kids suck to feed. Oh sure, it was all fine and dandy when they couldn't speak yet, or throw offensive foods off their highchairs. I could feed them whatever I wanted. Plenty of fruits, veggies, and protein. Now, forget it. They are small versions of their father whose main staples consist of pasta and pizza. He's about as plain an eater as they come. Mr. "I don't want any 'chunky things' in my pasta sauce" and god forbid there be a vegetable on his plate. Me, on the other hand, I will try anything... and I mean anything. My husband probably wishes I was as experimental in the bedroom. I even prefer to try things before I know what they are, just in case knowing what it is may ruin the experience. I'm back to talking about food here people, not my sex life...dirty, dirty minds.

Here is where the judgemental part comes in for a lot of people. I feed my kids whatever they ask for. Period. Of course I don't allow cake and cookies and such for dinner, but a majority of their dinners consist of chicken nuggets and french fries. I've even gone so far as to by a deep fryer which cooks those things up in a matter of 2 minutes. I'm going to lose my mind if one more person tells me that I am making more work for myself and that they should be eating whatever I make for my husband and I to eat. Right. If I tried to enforce that rule my days would be spent listening to hours of moaning and complaining that they don't want to eat what I made. They are stubborn little shits (they get that from me) and they would sit there until the cows came home. Yes, I also have cows that come home when things take forever to happen. Then before they went to bed they would look at me with sad little eyes and say "I'm hungry". I wouldn't be able to stand sending them to bed that way so I would cook something for them to eat, two hours after I made dinner. So you see...judges...this would actually make more work for me. Feel free to leave comments and motherly advice as to how I can change this, which I will promptly delete and mentally file under "Who Does This Bitch Think She Is?"

I read about all these mother's who are able to feed their kids tofu, whole wheat pasta, and sugar free everything. No doubt these are the same mothers that gained 15 pounds during their pregnancy while they did yoga up until the day they gave birth. I was sabotaging my award chances right from the get go, as I slept for most of my pregnancies or sat on the couch with a gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon.

Here are some other moments that tainted my relationship with the judges:

- I've been know to pull over to the side of the road to have them exit the car, leave their door open as a type of shield, and pee

- I've taken them to see a band and brought them home well past what would be known as a "respectable" bed time

- Occasionally I skip an evening bath or bedtime story

- I once forgot that my sons tooth fell out and the tooth fairy did not arrive. In my defense, he lost it in the middle of the night. Therefore my story that the tooth fairy had already planned her trip by the time it came out was sufficient.

- I reward them with time to play video games

- I've taught them the rules of a few "drinking" games and allowed them to play with water rather than alcohol

Overall, I've come to terms with the fact that I will never even be considered for mother of the year. I don't really care either. The bottom line is that I love my children more than anything in this world and I would do anything for them. I am here-by bowing out of contention. Please continue to feel free to keep judging me though...I don't give a flying fuck. And what is that? Don't know, but I store them right next to the rat's asses.

Bring On The Bitches!

I'm ready...I think. Honestly I think one bitch in this house is enough right now but I know in the near future I will be taking a back seat to some new bitches that will take over my life. NO...I'm not pregnant! Jeez, if I were do you think I would be referring to my offspring as bitches? Yeah, you're right, I probably would. These are actual bitches, and I feel that they will be here very soon:

Ever since our dog died a couple of years ago the pitter patter of little paws has been on my husband's mind. At the time my youngest was only a few months old and my oldest had just turned two. I was quite content with the pitter patter mind blowing racket that my kids created for me on a daily basis. Of course I missed her, she was in many ways like my first baby. She may have also served as a type of birth control because she proved that I was definitely not ready to take care of a baby. We got her when she was 6 weeks old. I've often said that God makes kids cute for a reason and I believe the same goes for puppies. She was a royal pain in the ass. She whined all night, chewed everything she could get her paws on, and crapped all over the house (usually minutes after I had just taken her outside). But who could resist this face?

We discussed getting another dog but I was reluctant. I mean, can you blame me? I was already dealing with a little "critter" that was destroying everything I owned, whining all night, and occasionally crapping on the floor. That's right, I said on the floor. There is nothing worse than a two year that figures out how to remove his diaper and is not potty trained yet. I really didn't need anything additional to care for. Plus how was I going to train a dog when I couldn't be sure whether it was the one who was using my home as a toilet or if it was my child.

Finally I agreed that we could get a dog when my youngest turned five. Not sure why I chose that milestone but in hindsight I probably should have said ten because he turned five in June. I'm also convinced that I was severely sleep deprived, or possibly drugged, when I agreed that we could get two dogs...at the same time. What the hell was I thinking? Sure! I know one puppy is a lot of work, but why don't we throw in another one and double the work load... I don't do anything all day anyway. Ugh. Plus, no matter what anyone in this house has to say about how much they are going to help take care of the puppies, I know it's a bunch of bull. It may start off that way, but ultimately these two fur balls will be my responsibility. I wondered if my husband may have forgotten my drug induced agreement but it turns out that he didn't. Since June he has been all over the Internet looking for two chocolate lab puppies.

I have to admit that deep down I may want this just as much as he does. As the kids have gotten older their constant pleas for help have been replaced with "It's OK mom, I can do it myself". I find myself missing being needed. I never would have believed that it was possible, but it's true. I miss holding my little babies while they sleep in my arms and kissing there chubby cheeks. I miss tiny little hands reaching for mine while we take a walk. Now my attempts for affection are embarrassing for them. When I try to kiss and hug them they squirm and whine "Maaaa! Stop it!"

We haven't told the kids about our pending new additions to the family yet. It's almost as if they know though because my youngest has now turned into a "pet" for my oldest. He spends most of his days pretending that he is a cat. By the way, I hate cats. I'm surprised that female cats are not called bitches because they can be pretty moody. Anyhoo, he crawls around on all fours meowing and purring. The other day I found him lapping up a bowl of milk off the floor that my oldest had prepared for him. Thankfully, they haven't decided to set up a litter box or anything for him because I'm convinced that he would would use it.

So bring on the puppy breath, the wet little puppy noses, and the pee stained carpets. I'm in need of being needed...I think.

Please Don't Drop Your "Kids" At The Pool

We got a pool this year. It was money well spent, but it does make my OCD act up from time to time. I've been stressing over how to keep the water clean. When we first set it up I think I went out and spent more money on chemicals to put in it than I did on the pool itself. Once it was full I started adding all these things to the water as if I was making some sort of elaborate soup. A little of this, a dash of that, mixing it like a witches brew with the skimmer. The end result...cloudy water. WTF? It was now my life's mission to clean it up. I spent weeks trying to figure out what the hell I was doing wrong...and buying more chemicals to put in it. My numerous failed attempts were really starting to piss me off. Sure, we could still use it, but all the cool little games we had for the kids weren't much fun. Dive sticks would disappear just inches from the surface and then it became a sort of Marco Polo type game (minus the audio clues) blindly searching for them at the bottom with our feet. My youngest can't touch the bottom so he couldn't even "play". Goggles were also useless. Finally, I drained the stupid thing and filled it again. It was such a relief to see the bottom again. It was also good to know where my son's missing shoe had been.

Now on to the real issue I have with the pool...sanitation. I obsess over what may be in the water. Kids are terribly unclean little people. Especially boys. My days are spent wiping various things from every orifice. They get more food on their face and clothes than in their stomach and I've discussed numerous times their lack of ability to wipe their butts. This leads to a lot of anxiety when it comes to my now pristine water. I've replaced the little bucket at the bottom of the ladder, with a bucket the size of a small kiddie pool. Before they are allowed to go in the pool I require them to sit in it and wash everything. I then proceed to do a butt check to ensure they do not have skid marks in their suits that could compromise my water. Once all the proper precautions have been taken, they are allowed entry. My issue now is other children. I would love to enforce all my checks on other kids...however the law prohibits it. I have to believe that my kids are not the only ones that lack the ability to thoroughly clean their asses. Heck, I know there are adults who probably don't do a bang up job of it. I love to have other kids over to swim but it makes me a little anxious. I have visions of finding a "floater" in the pool like in the movie Caddyshack (hopefully it too will be a Baby Ruth). Then I throw out constant reminders to them that they cannot pee in the pool. I've also tried to scare them into thinking that I have that chemical in there that will create a giant blue cloud around the kid that pees. I find it ironic that after all these years of talking about it there still isn't one...yet there are fifty other chemicals I am made to believe I should add to the water. Aside from chlorine that is something I would definitely add on a daily basis. I am certain they have already tested this mystery chemical and know that I am a bullshit artist. Then there are all the times they dive under and emerge with a giant snot hanging from their nose. I'm gagging just thinking about what ends up in there.

Regardless of what is in the water I'm pretty sure I've got down to a science how to kill it. Skim, shock, chlorine, repeat. I'd like to think that my water is clean enough to drink, in the way that people say their floors are clean enough to eat off of. Now, let me also discuss another saying...the term "dropping the kids off at the pool". Those of you who are unfamiliar with this term, it's another way of saying you are going to take a shit. That being said, let me invite anyone in need of a refreshing escape from the hot summer sun to the pool for a dip. Come on in...the water is fine, but please don't "drop your kids off"...

Pluck Off

I'm having grooming issues. Not hygiene issues, grooming issues. I do shower. Although, what was once an everyday occurrence of showering is now an every other day event...at night...when the kids are asleep. I try occasionally to shower during the day but unless the kids are tied up engrossed in something on television they tend to get themselves in trouble. Case in point, my last "day shower" afforded my children some time to create a hockey rink by spraying my hardwood floor with sunscreen and sliding around on it in their socks. Creative, I know, but I still can't walk over that spot without almost breaking my neck...all due to my five minute shower faux pas.

Back to the topic at hand...grooming. I have eyebrows that are out of control. I say "eyebrows" as if I have two, however this is not the case. If I could give you a visual it's as if a furry caterpillar has crawled above my eyes and made itself at home. Sexy, I know. Waxing is out at the moment since the kids are home for the summer and I would rather shave my eyebrows off than take them with me to the salon. I can't pluck them for the same reason I can't shower during the day. I realize this is something I could do when they go to bed, but I prefer to use that time to try and relax. Ripping hair that is millimeters from my eyeballs is not something I would consider relaxing. Just the thought of it makes me tear up a little. Who decided that the grooming of eyebrows was to be our cultural norm anyway? Surely it was a man. Why don't they have to do it? I mean, besides for Metro Sexuals? I'm glad my husband doesn't bother with his because I would be pissed if his looked better than mine. I will eventually succumb to the pressures of society and tidy them up...just before the next girl's night out. Gotta look good for the ladies.

The other area where grooming has gone by the wayside, is in maintaining these fricken gray hairs that seem to multiply on an hourly basis. Those of you with blond hair can firmly plant a wet, juicy kiss on my right ass cheek. I'm not jealous of blonds in general...although I would love to have "blond moments" to blame for some of the stupid shit that I do. I just find it a little unfair that gray hairs on a blond are not as noticeable as on someone with black hair, like myself. When I get a gray it stands out like a white guy in a rap contest. My solution? Pluck them. That's right people, I pluck the shit out of those little wiry suckers. The idea that five more will grow in it's place is total bullshit. I mean, it's not like a bunch grow in where I pluck...wait a minute...son of a bitch! I'm going to be either bald or completely gray if I don't stop!!

I guess I will have to settle for the alternative...dyeing it myself. Again, the salon is out. I'll go out and buy one of those dye kits for a couple of bucks. I'm not sure why I feel like I will save money using these things. I have ruined every t-shirt I own...in addition to shower curtains, bath rugs, towels and, on one occasion, a light fixture. Who knew black dye would take on frosted glass. This chick does now. You would think by now I would know enough to designate a shirt to use when I dye my hair...or to throw a tarp down in the bathroom. I'll just chalk it up to a "blond moment". That's right all you blond bitches, I'm stealing it anyway. Oops! Sorry about that outburst...I must be wearing my "bitter pants" today.

So again my hubby makes out like a bandit. No eyebrow grooming or gray concealing, on top of not having to push giant baby heads from his privates (bitter pants talking again). In fact, he looks pretty sexy with his sprinkling of gray hair. Funny, a man grays and looks "distinguished". A woman grays and may not look it but certainly feels "old baggish". I guess I'll have to distract my husband from my unibrow and graying hair with some mind-blowing sex. Then again, that would lead to additional grooming that I would rather not discuss here...

Operation: Vacation

Ahh yes, family vacation time. Time to relax...well, for everyone but mommy. Of course there were times during vacation when I could sit back and relax (like when the kids were sleeping), but for the most part it wasn't much different from being at home for me. I find it funny that it takes me forever to pack for a trip that is within my state (the smallest state in the US mind you). Every year we spend a week with my father-in-law at his house on the beach. I usually take my time over a couple of days to pack things but lately we've been leaving the day after our 4th of July block party. I spent so much time preparing for said party, that I couldn't pack. Then the day we were to leave I had to clean and pack at the same time. I am usually an excellent multi-tasker, however I may have had a little too much fun at the party because it felt like a drummer was performing a solo in my head all day. Plus it was 90 degrees and humid. In hind sight that was probably a good thing since it helped me sweat out some of the alcohol. Anywho...we left a lot later than I had planned and ended up arriving at the beach house at 8pm.

The first thing I did was stop to get food for the kids to eat on the ride down since I was going to have to unpack all the stuff I just packed and I didn't want to add cooking to my "to do" list. Once we were all settled in I decided I should probably eat something. I grabbed some leftovers from the party that were in a tupperware and threw it in the microwave. Just as I sat down to eat it my oldest son looked at me and said "I think I am going to be sick". I jumped up, grabbed him, and ran with him to the bathroom. We made it just in time. I stood there with one arm wrapped around his chest, squaring him with the toilet, tupperware in the other hand, while he threw up. Now, before I had kids the sight of someone vomiting would make me sick too. But now, it's just another day as a mom. When he finished, I brought him to a recliner, covered him and he fell asleep. Had this happened earlier in my journey through mommy hood, it may have warranted a trip to the ER. I once called 911 for a high fever only to be rushed, by ambulance, to the hospital where they administered Tylenol and sent us home. Live and learn, I guess.

With one son settled in for the night, I sat down and tried to finish (or actually start) eating my food. Again, in the past I would never have been able to eat after watching a projectile vomiting episode. Now that's just for amateurs. As soon as I raised the fork to my mouth my youngest yelled from the bathroom "Mom! I need help! Oh shit, he's throwing up too. I set my food down this time and headed for the bathroom. When I opened the door I found him bent over, ass in the air. "Wipe my butt, I pooped". Super. By the way, this wasn't going to stop me from eating either.

The rest of the week was quite enjoyable. We spent hours on the beach swimming, and playing in the sand. There weren't anymore vomiting episodes, although I did occasionally assume the role of "ass wiper". I'm sure my hubby enjoyed himself too. There was no shortage of scantly clad, hot bodied ladies bouncing around in the waves. The surf was pretty rough and I'm sure he witnessed the occasional "nip slip". Oh well...it kind of reminded me of that commercial for Corona, when the girl squirts lime juice in her man's eyes for ogling the women. The only difference is if I had a lime I may have squirted it in my own eyes. They were making me ill. Weird...this was something that could cause me to vomit. I missed by pre-baby body and the ability to wear a bikini.

For every bikini body on the beach, there were five that should not have been wearing bikinis...but they were anyway. By mid week I thought...Screw it, I have a bikini and I'm going to wear it. Well technically it's a bikini top, and a skirted bottom...or what I like to refer to as the "Momkini". I probably should have thought that through a bit more. My stomach hadn't seen the light of day in quite some time. Even with sunscreen my mid section got torched. Let me add that I NEVER burn. I have very dark skin (everywhere that gets exposed to the sun on a regular basis). I don't know how people with fair skin do it. I can't remember the last time I was in so much pain (aside from the day after the party). It was still bright red three days later. Needless to say, it will be years before I expose it again, if ever. It also was not a good idea to wear that top in the heavy surf. I was guilty of numerous "nip slips" myself. Another reason to retire the "Momkini" on the family vacation.

While we were there we were able to have a date night. We hit a little bar near the beach and it was packed. There was a large group celebrating someones 21st birthday. I felt really old. I just wanted to have a few beers and play some pool and these "kids" were hogging all the tables. They were also obnoxiously drunk and screaming the lyrics to every song. I thought...Wow, did we look like that when we were their age? Then I realised that we look like them now when we go out with our friends. The bartender informed us that the beer we were drinking was only $5 for a pitcher. Why not...we could handle a couple of pitchers. Finally, a table opened up and we went over to start playing. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that a group of youngins kept looking at me and talking amongst themselves. At first I thought maybe I was just being paranoid, but after a few more drinks I started to get pissed off. What the hell are they looking at? Just let one of those little bitches say something to me (Obviously, beer balls were in full effect). When my husband went to get us another pitcher, one of them started walking toward me while the others looked on. Oh, here we go...I'm too old for this shit. She walked up and said " I love your shirt, it's such a pretty color and it makes you look so tan!" Whew... "Oh, thank you honey" I replied. "I got it at Target for $10". They were young but I'm sure they were well aware of the unspoken rule of revealing the location of purchase as well as the price whenever complimented. Now at ease, I could drink and play a few more games. We had a great time. On the way back to the beach house we talked about taking a walk down to the beach. However, when I walked in I settled into a recliner and passed out. I have now added draft beer to my date night nemesis...Taco Bell.

Overall, we had a great time. The kids also learned some very valuable lessons. For example, beer goes in the blue cooler (B in B). Also, there is no distracting mommy and daddy while we are mini golfing. Little do they know we have naughty "wages" set in place for the winner. One day they may read this and realize why it was such serious business...then they will probably vomit.

Welcome To My Life

Whenever I talk to another parent I find myself saying this phrase all the time; "Welcome to my life". The common theme in these conversations tends to be how simple life used to be before children, yet we didn't realize at the time how good we had it. Now that my kids are home for the summer I really get to see how difficult the simplest tasks have become. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with them. But it is amusing to me that my days are filled with trying to answer questions like: "Mommy, how do chicks get in the egg shells without cracking them?" or "How come it makes a bubble when I fart in the tub?" They are funny little guys filled with curiosity and I love them to death, but I can't help but reminisce about the days when the little things in life weren't such a chore. Here are some examples:

Using the telephone

Then: Pick up the phone, dial, talk, hang up. Simple.

Now: Pick up the phone, dial and start fielding an on slot of questions that can't possible wait until I am off the phone. "Mommy, mommy...ANSWER ME MOMMY" It's like they have some sort of sixth sense when it comes to my needing to make a phone call. No matter where they are or what they are doing they come running as soon as I dial and are not satisfied until I have asked the person I am speaking with to hold on for a second so I can beat them tell them to shut it through painfully clenched teeth. Wow, using the phone used to be so easy...

Using the bathroom

Then: Well this was never at any point in my life considered a luxury before now. Whenever I needed to go I went. Simple.

Now: Whenever I have to go to the bathroom I try to sneak away without getting caught. It never works. As soon as I close the door and sit down (if I make it that far) the knocking starts...."Mommy, what are you doing?"..."I'm using the bathroom"..."No, I mean are you pooping or peeing?"... "Never mind buddy, just let mommy have some private time". Apparently that translates to open the door and join me. I know what you're thinking, just lock the door, right? Well I would but unfortunately they both know how to pop the lock from the outside so it doesn't matter. Now here I am, sitting on the toilet with an audience. "So are you pooping or peeing?"... "Peeing, OK"..."Oh, how come you have to sit down to pee?"..."Well mommy can't stand up like you"..."Oh, did your pee-pee fall off?"..."No, just please leave so mommy can finish". Wow, using the bathroom used to be so easy...

Going to the store

Then: Walk in, leisurely browse, find what I need, pay, leave. Simple.

Now: Just knowing that I have to take them both in a store gives me heartburn. Every store has so many distractions for them that I feel like I am herding cattle all the way through. It seems like everything I need to get is at the back of the store and we have to walk thorough aisles filled with things they feel we need to have. "Hey mom, look at these light bulbs...we need light bulbs right?"..."No, now put that down and keep walking please."..."But look, there are some paint brushes over here...we need some right?"..."No, I just need one thing and I know where it is, please keep moving"..."But look, they have trash bags...do we need.." "NO...KEEP WALKING SO I CAN GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" Then of course I get all the shocked looks from people passing by. I'm sure they are thinking that I need to have more patience. That's fine because I am thinking they should mind their own fucking business. Let me add that the person that decided to put all the snacks and little toys at the check out counter should be shot. Sure I can use them as a bribe to get them to behave. "If your good, you pick something at the check out". But lets face it, even if they haven't been good, I'll probably end up buying something for them anyway just to avoid the full blown tantrum that will ensue if I refuse. Wow, going to the store used to be so easy...

Going to the beach

Then: Roll out of bed around 10:00am, decide I should go the the beach, grab a towel, stop for an iced coffee, get on the beach, read Cosmo from cover to cover, flip, pass out for a few hours, go home. Simple.

Now: Packing must start the night before. This will include enough snacks to feed a small village, 20 juice boxes, a thousand toys, pails, shovels, and trucks, 4 types of sunscreen, an umbrella, and a chair for me that I probably won't get to sit in. An alarm has to be set to get up early and pack the cooler, car, and to slather them from head to toe in sunscreen. I also need to set aside some time to make them sit on the toilet and try to poop because if they have to go when we get there it will be a nightmare (I have never needed to worry about another person's bodily functions before now, I might add). We are on the road by 7:30am (I can't possibly sit in beach traffic with 2 kids and no AC). The day is spent stressing over them going too deep in the water, or getting knocked down by a wave. I have to reapply sunscreen every hour on the hour to avoid any burns. They eat constantly and fight with any child that attempts to touch their toys.  After all this "fun" I have to hose them off before putting them in my car because they have sand in every crevice of their body. Wow, going to the beach used to be so easy...

Even blogging has changed since my kids are out of school. I used to be able to write a little here and there while they were at school. Now, as soon as I get on the computer they are crawling all over me; "Whatcha doin?"..."Can you go to Nick Jr.?"..."Where is the letter S". I guess it's better than trying to blog while they are "busy". This usually means they are writing on something they shouldn't be, filling water balloons and dumping water all over my bathroom floor, or peeing in the tub instead of using the toilet. Ugh...my blogs may have to be shortened versions throughout the summer just to avoid disaster. Wait a minute...Shit! I have to go...they are somewhere being quiet!!

We've Come a Long Way Baby

This month my husband and I celebrated our eight year anniversary. What?...Wait a minute...eight years?!? I can't believe it's been that long. It feels like I was just stressing out over all the details of the wedding. Where will the reception be? What color will the bridesmaids wear? What will the menu consist of? Ha! I thought these were things to stress about! Little did I know that getting married was the easy part. It's staying married that's tough.

I won't say that I know any secrets to sustaining a marriage. Sure there are things that help make it work, but I guarantee if you were to ask men and women what they think are the keys to a great marriage they would differ greatly. Women would say things like; you need to have trust, honesty, and patience. Men would say you need to have sex, sex, and more sex. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I have to disagree and say that the route is more likely through his penis. Sure, sex is a huge part of sustaining a relationship with your partner but pre marriage sex and post marriage sex are quite different. Especially when kids enter the picture.

When my husband and I first started dating we could have sex whenever and wherever we felt like it. We were carefree. Now...not so much. It has almost become like a planned "event". "How does a week from Thursday work for you?" Naughty bedroom talk has been replaced with things like: "Are you sure they are sleeping?", "Is their door closed?", "Did you lock our door?", "OK, let's get this show on the road...I have to get up early and pack lunches...and I have a ton of laundry to do". Pretty hot, I know. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't enjoy it. It's just that it's not as easy to focus on it when I'm constantly worried that we are going to get caught...again.

It frustrates men that women don't need sex as often as they do. I asked my husband once how he would feel if our relationship would stay strong if we regularly ate ice cream together. He likes to have ice cream occasionally but he wouldn't really notice if he went without it for a while. I, on the other hand, LOVE ice cream. I could eat it everyday. It probably won't seem fair to him if I thought we needed to have ice cream together a few times a week in order for our marriage to work. It's not that we have completely different priorities, I feel that being intimate with your partner can make the relationship stronger, but I tend to not really notice if it's been a while since we've done the "deed". I guarantee at any given time if I ask my husband when the last tine we have sex was he could tell me the date, and could probably give me the literal answer including the actually time. Sometimes I'll notice he's a bit moody and think...Hmm, when was the last time we had sex? It has been a while, maybe I should throw him a bone. Well technically I guess he would be throwing me a bone, but I digress.

I've been trying to spice things up a bit. Once in a while we will exchange some naughty texts, or perhaps even a picture here and there. This scares the hell out me though. I am still technologically challenged and panic as soon as I hit the send button. I sent that to the right person right? Oh crap...what if I didn't? I'm going to end up on the Internet. I am well known for making these types of blunders amongst my work friends. Once I sent the following picture to a lawyer that I was working with by mistake:



I added: "Wow, this guys pretty excited about the weather!". Luckily he had a good sense of humor and laughed about it. Now you see why I am leery about sending things to my hubby.

I feel lucky to be married to a man that I trust. Infidelity has never been issue for us. Sure, it may have something to do with the scare tactic I've used on him...telling him if I ever found out he cheated I would end up being compared to Lorena Bobbitt. Honestly, I don't worry about him as much as I worry about the women out there who enjoy the thrill of being with a married man. It pisses me off to hear stories about women who want a married man because they have a wife that will cook and clean and take care of the kids and they don't have to do these things for them. They just have sex with them and then send them back home to their wives. Really? To me, that would be like going to work everyday and then someone else gets your paycheck. I'll be damned if some bitch is going to make me do all the work and then she gets the reward. Mama wants her reward. If that means I need to move sex up my priority list, so be it. What's important to him should be important to me.

Maybe I can accommodate both of our favorite things into one...Sex immediately followed by ice cream. Then everyone wins. Plus we all know what would happen if I were to eat before...

Drama From the Mamas

I have always said that I couldn't wait for my kids to play sports. Now that the time has arrived, I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's sort of like when I said I couldn't wait for them to start walking...once they could, I wanted to put a helmet on them at all times. It's not just their injuries I worry about with sports...it's the injuries that I may inflict on the other parents who can't seem to keep their comments to them themselves.

I can be a very opinionated person (those who know me are completely shocked by that statement I assure you). However, I am not a confrontational person. This mixture can cause mayhem in my mind. I often "argue" with people non verbally. When they say something that I don't agree with, I have a silent snide response in my head while appearing to be unfazed by their statement (unless, of course, I've had a cocktail or two...then all bets are off). I can guarantee you that this drives my husband crazy. There are times when we are involved in a full blown argument and he doesn't even know it.

It's amusing to me that parents who have children in sports feel that the child's ability to play is a direct reflection of themselves. They assume that because they were good at a sport, their child will be also. It may be true to a point, but it's pretty difficult to tell at a very young age. Most of the kids that play, and are the same age as my kids, seem to be more interested in the flowers that are growing in the field, or how many times they can spin around without falling down while "playing" their sport. This drives the parents insane! They scream at them and try to explain to the other parents watching that their child must be having an off day because they are really good when they practice with them at home. Whatever...it's not the majors people (that's the kind of thing I say to them in my head).

If it is true that the child will excel at a sport because their parents did, my kids will probably be mediocre at best. My husband is a natural athlete. It's almost sickening how good he is at every sport he plays. Me on the other hand...I'm more of a spectator than a player. I am very passionate about sports though. I watch as many professional games as I can and understand the games enough to answer any questions my kids my have about the rules. The only organized sport I ever played was softball. In high school my career consisted of desperately trying to figure out how to get out of practice..."I have cramps" was my go to line. After that, I did play a little...I'm not really sure though if you can actually consider a "beer league" as organized play. My kids do share my love for sports. Our family outings usually consist of going to a baseball game or heading to the batting cages so they can practice. This is their choice though. I will admit that I suggest the batting cages often. It may be selfish of me, but I love to go and watch my husband get in the cage with the fastest pitches, completely crushing the ball. It's definitely hot, and I tend to "reward" him for his efforts later on.

As my kids get older and start playing on a more competitive level, I've been finding it increasingly difficult to bite my tongue when I hear remarks from other parents during the game...especially if they are about my child. Last year, my oldest played his first session of competitive soccer. He insisted on being a goalie too. His coach was gracious enough to let him try it and he did pretty well. There were times though that the other kids were just too big or too strong for the team to defend and they would score on him repeatedly. Here are some of the "exchanges" I had with other parents:

Parent: "Jeez, they really need to get that kid out of net, they are getting killed"
In my head: YOU, need to shut the hell up...he's only a baby and he's trying his best.

Parent: "Someone needs to tell that kid in net to pick up the ball more"
In my head: I guarantee it will not be you because, if it is, I swear I will kick you in the balls!

Then there was the time I actually said something out loud:

Me: "Buddy, you need to watch out for number 12...cover number 12!
Number 12's mom: "People better stop talking about my kid or it's going to get ugly in here"
In my head: Oh, it already did get ugly in here...when YOU walked in. I'm only talking about your kid because he's good...jackass.

Or...my exchange with my husband:

Hubby: "What the hell is he doing out there? He's just standing there watching the game.
In my head: Yeah, he gets that from me...we all can't be superstar athletes like YOU!

For kids to play sports at this age it can get rather expensive. When my son joined baseball I couldn't believe the fee for such a short schedule. It also didn't include the cleats, baseball pants, batting gloves and bat. When I got home from picking up all these things my husband asked me if I bought him a cup. "A what now?"..."A cup...he needs a cup". Good grief. Do they even make them that small? It turns out they do. He is really amused by it, and as soon as he puts it on he feels the need to knock on it or have his brother punch him in the junk just to prove that it works. My four year old insists that it's a "hat". Whenever he finds it he puts it on his head. Of course the older one tries to explain to him what it is, but the name really confuses him.

My six your old:"It's a cup not a hat"
My four year old: "Ohhh...you drink out of it?"
My six your old:"NOO...my pee-pee goes in there"
My four year old: "Eww...you drink pee-pee?!?"

Hopefully as they get older I can keep my heated "exchanges" with other parents in my head (and the venues that the kids play at won't serve alcohol). Otherwise, I may end up on You Tube in a viral video...kicking the crap out of another parent for talking shit about my kids.  If there are any parents out there reading this and there is a chance your kids will play with mine...keep a mental note...you have been warned.

You Just Got Served

People in the service industry are probably on the fast track to sainthood. Especially waiters and waitresses. These people put up with unbelievable amounts of crap and ignorance from the general public without the ability to tell them off. It should be mandatory that people who frequent restaurants have to wait on a table at least once, just to see how not to treat their servers. Since the birth of the phrase "the customer is always right" people with jerk-like tendencies have had the ability to bloom into full blown assholes.

We don't go out to eat much. When we do it's to places that have crayons for the elaborate mazes and puzzles on the place mats, and that include ice cream with the kid's meals so I can bribe them reward them for eating. If I do go out with just my husband, I find myself fighting the urge to order for him, cut his steak into tiny pieces, and applauding when he finishes all his food. Whenever we are out I always hear people being so rude to their waiter or waitress. I heard one woman tell her waitress "Every time we come here the food is terrible". Really? I wanted her to reply with something like "Oh, so you didn't feel like cooking tonight and decided to come to a place that has food you don't like? Don't let the door hit you on your lazy ass on the way out". Instead she had to apologize to this miserable bitch for no reason. Then there are those people who don't like the way the food is cooked and flip out on their servers for it. They don't cook the food jerk off, they just bring it to you.

I think it should be a requirement that these people watch the movie "Waiting". I guarantee that they will change their tune when they see why one line in that movie is good to take note of; "Don't fuck with the people that handle your food". Maybe the visual of their steak being repeatedly dropped on the floor, or someone having inappropriate relations with their garlic bread, will aide them in not being a total tool to their server.

I actually caused a waiter to inadvertently suffer the whining and moaning of a patron due to the behavior of my four year old son. I brought him out for lunch, and the hostess sat us right near an elderly couple. He was actually pretty well behaved. Sure, he was a little antsy while we were waiting for our food. He bounced around in his seat a little. He talked rather loudly. He went under the table a couple of times (once he emerged chewing gum; guess where he got it and insert dry heave here). Occasionally he would peek behind him over at the couple in the next both. Apparently this was completely inappropriate for an establishment that has menus that resemble PlayStation controllers. I'm not ageist or anything but this old bird was clearly of the grumpier variety. The woman started snickering and staring at me. She was saying things like "People don't know how to control their kids" and "Our kids never acted that way". Yeah, maybe because you were allowed to beat them with belts and wooden paddles. She's lucky I respect my elders because I was seconds away from getting up...hand and head waving yelling "You got somethin to say to me?"
When her waiter came she started demanding that he move them, and their food, to another table. She didn't want to say why, and the manager got involved thinking it had to do with their server. Luckily for me, they didn't move very far...and... my son has no filter. He must have sensed that I was having some ill feeling toward the couple because almost as if on cue he said (well practically yelled) "Wow mom, that lady is REALLY FAT!", while pointing at the woman. It took everything I had not to laugh. I usually reprimand him for such an act, but instead I whipped out the ice cream menu and let him have his pick; he deserved it.

I need a place to dine that caters to families, but it isn't just about the kids. It would be a cross between Chuck E Cheese and Hooters (minus only hot female severs; the mommies like a little eye candy too). The menu would cover everything from shrimp, and filet to a hot dog shaped like an octopus. Each table would have a waiter and a waitress; the waitresses will "cater" to the daddies, acting as if, had they been single, they would have a chance; and the waiters would come to collect the dishes and say things like "let me take those for you...I love to wash dishes. I also enjoy doing the laundry and vacuuming". A girl can dream, right? If he asked me if I needed anything else I would say "Yeah, why don't you come home with us, get the kids ready for bed, and read them a book. Oh, and don't let them near our room...I'm going to play a game with their daddy" What?...That's not out of line...the customer is always right!

The MOTHER of Invention

"Necessity is the mother of invention". I hear that all the time. But I can't help but think that the word "mother" in this is no coincidence.  As a mom I find many inventions to be definite necessities. If they hadn't been invented I'm sure I would have thought of them myself, and would now be a millionaire (Well, I would have thought of them, and then watched someone else with the mental capacity make them). I have no doubt that a mom invented many of the things I take for granted today. Had they not been around, I would have numerous contributions to the website Shit My Kids Ruined.com. The Facebook group has 16,000 members, all of which have most likely had submissions. When the kids are quiet, they are probably doing something you would rather have them not doing. It really sucks because it's nice to have some quiet time. The down side is your "break" doesn't last long before you are snapping out of it like you were having a dream that you're falling and immediately start shouting "Freeze! Whatever you are doing... stop right now!" as you run to find the disaster.

I received a phone call from my husband once that went a little like this:

Hubby: "Guess what your son did?" (quick note: I also refer to them as your sons when they misbehave)
Me: "Oh, no...."
Hubby: "He found a permanent marker"
Me: "Oh, no...."
Hubby: "He drew a line around the whole perimeter of his brother's room"
Me: "Oh, no...."
Hubby: "AND he drew on his crib, and the hardwood floor"
Me: "OH, NO!...."
Hubby: "and on his brother"
Me: "Son of a bitch!"

(Imagine how the conversation sounded to my co-workers that only heard my side of this conversation)

I headed to the store on my home from work. I'm not sure what I was looking for to clean "permanent" marker, but I was sure that a mom out there had this happen, and created something that would do the job. Perhaps it was called "Cleaner For Shit Your Kid Ruined". While looking, I found something called the "Magic Eraser". Why not? I'll try this little magical gadget. Let me add; whoever came up with this, I would love to find them, and kiss them. I'm aware that I think it's another mother, but...go ahead guys, have a visual.

When I got home I gave my new find to my husband and told him to get to work. Besides, it happened on his watch. To our surprise it worked! I wondered how I had gotten along to this point without owning stock in this thing. I'll admit I briefly entertained the idea of using it to clean the son that had been "decorated" with the marker. I was a little leery so I "googled it" (I figured a mom out there had tried it, and wrote about). Turns out, it's a bad idea. It will take off the marker, but it also takes a layer of skin with it. A bath did the trick. As I scrubbed him in the tub and washed his hair using "tear free" shampoo (also undoubtedly invented by a mother) I thought Thank goodness for the internet! I wonder if a mom invented that too...

I found myself in awe of all the "mothers" of invention. They must have come up with so many of the concepts for things I needed everyday...stain resistant carpet, non-toxic crayons, dishwashers, coffee, alcohol (wine, in particular)...I could go on and on.

Cloning may have been the idea of a mom, I mean who wouldn't want a replica of themselves? I was thinking the other day that if you add the amount of weight I gained while pregnant and subtract the weight I am now, I've lost a whole person while dieting (Dieting was NOT invented by a mom). That's really unfortunate in a way because I could really use that bitch around here from time to time to help me keep an eye on these kids!

You May Have a Degree, But I Have Blog Awards!

I'll admit, I'm new to this whole blogging thing. However, I am so excited that in the last two weeks I have been given two awards by some kick-ass fellow bloggers! I've decided to accept and pass them on in this one post, killing two birds with one stone if you will. Jeez, isn't that such a violent way to say I can do two things at once? Anywho...here goes:

The first award was given to me by Mom of The Perpetually Grounded. Her blog is funny, touching, and most of all, completely honest. I am honored to accept the award for Honest Scrap!

To accept this award you must list 10 honest things about yourself:

1. I love my two boys beyond description and never feel as if I'm "missing out" by not having girls. Besides, no one would guarantee I would have a girl so I stopped trying.

2. I am a lot like my mother...I tend to say things to my kids then think "Mom? Is that you?"

3. I live in New England and I seriously believe that I ended up here by mistake...I'm sure my ancestors are from a tropical place and somehow things went horribly wrong.

4. I wear sweatpants in public...not cute matchy track suits; elastic bottom sweatpants. My favorite pair has a huge hole in the upper inner thigh. Feel free to judge me, but I won't stop doing it!

5. I am deathly afraid of flying, and the fact that people on the "no fly list" are still able to board a plane isn't helping.

6. I've never had a nickname (that anyone has called me to my face anyway).

7. I've been on a diet for the past seven years...My youngest son is almost five and I still say the extra weight is because "I just had a baby".

8. I worry about my children to the point that it makes me physically ill sometimes (you would think that would help with #7, but not so much).

9. I love to watch sports and drink a nice cold beer (this may be why I'm OK with #1).

10. If I had the chance to live my life all over again I wouldn't change a thing!

Now, enough about me. Here are the two fellow bloggers I would like to nominate for this award:

Jen over at The Accidental Housewife. Warning: Don't try to drink your coffee while reading; it may come out your nose!

AND

Dalia at Generation X Mom. She always has great topics and really gets her readers involved!

The next award was given to me by Katie at Desperate For Coffee. Again, this is a great honor because I love her posts. They are fun to read and she's very honest! Thank you for the Sunshine Award!

For this award I must pass it on to 12 bloggers I enjoy. And the nominees are:

Donna @ The Obnoxious S.A.H.M.
Jeff @ Men Are Dumb, and I Should Know
Gina @ The Ish Blog
Mombshell @ The Mombshelter
Nikki @ The Lunatic Cafe
Camryn @ Mean Mommy University
Dumb Mom @ Parenting BY Dummies
Crystal @ We Aren't Perfect
Motherbumper @ Motherbumper
Truthful Mommy @ The TRUTH About Motherhood
Katherine @ This Or The Housework
Natalee @ Raising Normal Kids

Some of you may already have these awards. No strings attached, do with them what you will and just think of this as free advertising for your awesome blogs. Also, feel free to spend the day telling everyone that you won a major award...I give you my permission!

These Wagons Should Have Seat Belts

I hear people say all the time that they "fell off the wagon". Apparently, these wagons exist for a variety of reasons from quitting smoking, to dieting, or to stop drinking. My favorite wagon to mount, and then be thrown from, is of the dieting variety. I strap on my helmet, elbow, and knee pads, pick a date that I will board, and ride it as if it were a mechanical bull; desperately trying to buck me off. It starts out well enough, the road is smooth and I have a positive outlook on the whole thing..."I think I can, I think I can". Then the path begins to twist and turn and the ride becomes turbulent. My wagon starts taking me to places like birthday parties, or my kids beg for McDonald’s. It becomes time to grab hold of the "oh shit" handles. My outlook starts to change as I have to now repeat things like "cake is a sometimes food, cake is a sometimes food"...

I’ve struggled with weight issues my whole life. The size of my "skinny jeans" is probably double that of most women. I try not to obsess over it, but it’s tough when it’s thrown in your face every day on television. I find it amusing that commercials for Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers are sandwiched (pun intended) between those for Burger King and Pizza Hut. It’s also no fun to come across women in the supermarket that have 3 kids (all of which are probably younger than mine) as they strut along in their size 2 jeans. If this is a perfect description of yourself, and you swore you heard someone mutter "whore" as they were walking by in the store; you’re not crazy, I definitely said it.

I was probably at my thinnest when I got married. I find this unfair for my husband because technically it could be viewed as false advertising. Six months later I found out I was pregnant. In a way, I used this fact as a way to excuse my participation in a free for all with food. "This damn baby is always hungry". I ate whatever I could get my hands on while blatantly blaming my fetus that needed only a third of it to grow. The end result was my gaining a whopping 70 pounds! To be honest, I didn’t really give a crap at the time. I bore a beautiful, healthy, baby boy. Nothing else was all that important.

The constant distraction of motherhood helped me keep the binge eating in check. I remember days when I would put the baby to bed for the night and think "Did I eat anything today?" It took a year for me to lose most of the weight. I can clearly recall the day I went to my drawer and pulled out all of my clothes until I finally reached my "skinny jeans" which hadn’t seen the light of day in quite some time. Hello old friend. I put them on without much of a struggle and could actually button them. YES! Look out, mama’s back in business! One week to the day of this exhilarating moment, I was sitting in my bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test..."Are you fricken kidding me?!?"

My husband plays a huge role when it comes to my weight issues. He’s never once, even at my biggest, ever made me feel anything other than beautiful. Unfortunately, most of the time I didn’t pay much attention because I was so wrapped up in the kids and trying to grasp what had just happened to my life. I found myself thinking about all the times I complained about my pre-pregnancy body. I would walk through flaming embers to get that body back. I give him a lot of credit for hanging in there during all my pity parties (catered by Taco Bell of course).

For all I know, when I ask my husband how I look he isn’t even seeing me. He replaces my image with that of Carmen Electra or something. Frankly, I don’t care. As long as he’s believable he can visualize whoever he wants. This, of course, is the only time lying in a relationship is OK. The end result will be that I feel great and that will most likely translate to him feeling great later (wink, wink). Take note fellas, it leads to a win/win situation.

I’ve decided to trick out my new "diet wagon". It will be equipped with seat belts, a GPS and air bags to help me navigate through the bumpy roads. When temptation seems like it will take over maybe I’ll try having a glass of wine to help me relax. Besides, I have no use for a wagon that will help me stop drinking...that’s crazy talk.

The Perils of Date Night

My husband and I will be married for eight years this summer. Those of you with children know that they make it difficult to have quality time with your spouse. I’m very fortunate that my mom takes my kids overnight, affording us the ability to have "date night". However, it seems the opportunity sometimes brings disaster. For example; two of my last date nights started with my four year old falling into a frozen pond (it was only three inches deep where he went through...but still) and my having to perform the Heimlich maneuver on my six year old. These are not the ideal conditions for me to try and focus on my husband. I spent the evenings re- living the events the whole time and thinking of the worst case scenario for each. All I could see was my six year gasping for air while I practically broke his ribs desperately trying to remove the lodged food item. What if I hadn’t been in the room when it happened? Then there was the vision of my other son falling in a pond that was over his head and being carried away under the ice by the current..."I'm sorry, what honey?...Were you saying something?"...

In order to establish why date night has become so important to us, I have to start with a really embarrassing story...

A few months back my husband and I were caught "in the act" by our six year son. Let me apologize in advance because this may trigger a painful memory for most of you. I will never forget the time that I walked in on my parents doing "the deed". Granted, at the time I wasn’t sure what I had just witnessed. I believe the same applies to my son. He has never asked about the birds and the bees, and I have adopted my own version of the policy "Don’t ask, Don’t tell". I feel really horrible about this though because I know there will come a time when he does learn the facts and this image will enter his mind again- and haunt him for the rest of his life. I can picture him coming home from school the first day of Sex Ed; wide eyed and despondent. Oh crap...he knows. "What’s up Buddy?"..."How was school today?" Unable to even look at me he’ll say "Umm, I think I’m going to go to my room". There he will stay, curled in the fetal position, trying like hell to make the image go away. Sorry pal, speaking from experience I know it will never go away. Poor kid.

Well, needless to say this "event" has made me very uncomfortable. It’s difficult to be intimate when I carry around the constant fear that I will be busted by my own kid. I’m also trying to save my youngest from a lifelong crippling image of his own.

Date nights that begin without potentially life threatening drama tend to have a common sequence of events. As with girl’s night out, I tend to go through hours of preparation. I’ll ask my husband his opinion on outfit and shoe selection usually to get an answer like "I don’t care, whatever you think". Alrighty then. "How should I wear my hair...up or down?" "Umm, whichever one takes less time to do" Super, thanks babe. At least we will be meeting other couples when we go out and the women there will tell me how great I look.

We usually meet our friends that have also had the good fortune of obtaining a babysitter out for some drinks and to see a band. After drinking and dancing all night we get in the car, I turn to my husband and say "I’m hungry". Let me add that the act of eating after a night of drinking always has the same result for me- instant coma. He doesn’t have to ask what I want because the answer is always the same; Taco Bell, of course!

My husband has a love/hate relationship with Taco Bell. Loves the food...hates my taco induced coma. Nevertheless, we find ourselves at the drive thru at 1am ordering "the usual". This consists of three items for me and sixteen for him. As we approach the window I notice the totals for the cars in front of us; $2.35, $4.65...then we get up there and the total is $34.50. WTF? How is that possible at an establishment where the average cost of a menu item is 89 cents? Oh well, I’d pay $50 for that beefy, crunchy deliciousness.

As soon as we get home we start digging in. My eyes grow heavier with each bite I take. As the darkness starts to take hold of me I hear my husband say something like "You look beautiful tonight", but it’s too late...I’m out.

I usually wake up around 4am, a half eaten taco on my lap, still sitting up on the couch. I brush the cheese that has spilled out of my taco off my lap and do the walk of shame up to my bedroom where my husband is asleep..."Curse you Taco Bell!!"

I have promised to make a conscience effort not to fall into the hands of my nemesis (Taco Bell) on our next date night. I will heed the words of my friends as they grab my face and look in my eyes on the way out of the bar saying "NO Taco Bell!...Taco Bell BAD!". I will go straight home with my hubby and show him how much I love him without any fear of being caught by our kids. When we are done I will jump up, get dressed and run for the Border!!

Do AS I say, Don't say WHAT I Say

The new hot button issue in my house has been the use of vulgar language. I’ll be the first to admit that I do not help much in the promoting of "clean" language. It’s not like every other word that comes out of my mouth is a swear, but sometimes I will let one slip. My favorite tends to be "Son of a bitch!" I don’t say this at my kids, but I do find it funny that if I did then I would be said "bitch". I often think of the scene from the movie "Old School" when the guy says "ear muffs" to his son. The boy covers his ears and the father spews out some choice words. My problem is I tend to swear and then scream "ear muffs!" I’m having trouble figuring out what to do now that the damage is done. Most advice I get on the subject suggests that I should simply ignore it if my child swears. Oh, OK. So when my child is in a group of other children (some of which have parents that have given me this advice) and he says “shit”, you want me to ignore him, right? No problem...but don’t call me complaining when your kid starts saying it. Then there is the problem of addressing it and now the word has some power. Anyone with kids knows that the more you tell a child to stop something, the more determined they are to keep doing it...

Parent: "Stop touching that!"
Child: "What...this? (as they are touching the object) You don’t want me to touch this?"

Well, it's the same thing with swearing...

Parent: "I don’t want you to use that word"
Child: "What word? Ass? You don’t want me to say ass? Why can’t I say ass?"

An incident that happened the other day really got my attention. My son had my IPod and was wearing the headphones so I didn’t know what he was listening to. I was laughing to myself because he didn’t notice me watching and starting dancing all around and screaming the lyrics to the song. Then it happened...he dropped the F bomb. The sound effect that would be most appropriate for this scene would be that of tires on a car as it comes to a screeching halt. WHOA!! What did he just say?!? OK, the first thing I actually thought of was how he was probably doing a perfect imitation of me when I hear that song in a bar. But then I snapped out of it and wondered how I was going to handle this. I calmly gestured to him to give me the IPod. When he took off the headphones he asked why he couldn’t listen anymore. I told him there were words in that song that children shouldn’t say. "What words" he asked. Oh no, I’m not going to play that game! "There are just some words that are for adults only" I explained. Since he wouldn’t understand what "vulgar" is, I’ve decided to refer to swears as "adult words". Besides, he seems to understand the concept of "adult beverages". I know some people call them "bad words", but I was afraid to call them that since a lot of adults that he is around use these words on a regular basis. I don’t want him to assume that bad words are said by bad people.

Let me point out that I am not the only guilty party here either. They repeat all kinds of words that I wish they wouldn’t. They hear them on television, the radio, and from other children. I’ve always appreciated Disney movies because they always seem to add content that may go over a child’s head, but makes adults laugh. But the Disney Channel has a lot of cartoons now that have my kids saying things like "idiot", "stupid", or my favorite; "dill weed". Granted it’s not the F bomb but I’m still not fond of my kids calling other people these things. Especially me. Regardless of whether or not I let them watch these shows, there will be other kids that watch them and say what they hear. I guess I could just have them watch the old cartoons that I grew up watching like Tom & Jerry. They don’t even talk; they do however chase each other around all day and kick the crap out of each other. I just can’t win.

Last week my doorbell rang and it was my neighbor’s daughter. I opened the door and she said "What is a dick?" Hold up, what?!? (There was the sound effect of a that car trying desperately to stop again) "Umm, honey, huh? Who said that?" Thankfully it was not one of my children. My mind was spinning while I tried to figure out what to tell her. Let’s see; a Dick is what people sometimes call a private investigator. Or...Dick is often used as a nickname for someone named Richard. Think...think. Finally she must have sensed my duress and broke the silence with "Is it a slang word?" I said "Well, yes, I guess so". "Does it mean I Love You?" Umm, well I guess technically it could be used to show love...good grief. "Go ask your mom what that is dear". I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall over there. I was just praying she didn’t go home and say "Mom, Mrs. Farrell wants me to ask you what a dick is".

Honestly, I think some people may be a little too uptight about the whole thing. One woman was telling me that her son brought home a letter from his teacher saying he had to be disciplined because he used the word “penis” at school. Mind you, he didn’t call someone that. He was actually talking about...get this...HIS PENIS! Really, would she prefer that he call it his "junk", or his "package" or his "twig and giggle berries"? I suggested to the mother that she have him ask if he could call it his dick. Let her try to explain that word to him. Actually, I really want to hear what she would say...you know, just in case someone rings my doorbell and asks ME...

Girls Night Out

Girls night out hardly happens for me and my friends anymore. There was a time when we would go out for any reason; a birthday, a new job; because someone found out they weren’t pregnant or maybe just because it was Saturday. Now we never can go out because of; birthdays (our own children’s), a new job, or because someone is pregnant. We all seem to have reproduced at an alarming rate. It’s not like we don’t want to go out anymore. We usually try, and by that I mean we go back and forth trying to pin down a date that will work for all of us to no avail. I’m tempted to try and befriend someone that is getting married, just so I can attend a Bachelorette party.

When the girls get together I tend to plan for it as if I am attending a wedding. I feel the need to buy a new outfit, sometimes with matching jewelry. I make my yearly appointment with my hairdresser to have everything cut and waxed. My husband gets suspicious about my intentions when I prep for hours on the big night. Don’t worry honey...I’m not going out to impress other men. It’s a well known fact that women dress up for other women. It may have something to do with all the compliments that women get from each other after all their hard work. The great thing about complimenting women is that you can find out not only where they got the item you are complimenting them on, but also how much they paid for it. "I love your shoes" is followed by "Thanks, I got them on sale at Macy’s for $15".

I used to be able to go out for girls night with not much more than lipstick, my license, and a few bucks that I would just stick in my pocket. Now when I go out I practically need a suitcase. I have to travel with all of my makeup. Basically it’s because if I dance, even to one song, I sweat like a whore in church (my apologies if I’ve offended any religious prostitutes that may have stumbled upon this post). I frequently have to reapply all of my makeup and fix the eyeliner that has melted down my face. Also, for that reason I now have to travel with deodorant. I still bring my license, but not out of necessity. It’s just in case a sweet bartender may be looking for additional tips by carding me. I definitely have to bring more money now. Gone are the days of drinking for free just by wearing a low cut shirt. Occasionally someone will ask me now if they can buy me a drink, but they usually come on with a line that sounds like Joey from Friends…"How you doin?". My immediate thought is..."I would love for you to buy me a drink, but what are the odds that once you do you will just walk away as if you hadn’t?" Probably not likely, so no thanks. In addition to all these new items I also have to bring; gum, perfume, hair spray, a brush, lotion, Pepto Bismal, aspirin, and Band-Aids. Being a mom makes me prepared for any situation.

Going out with my friends is like going to see a therapist. We talk about everything from current events, to our kids and husbands. We laugh until we cry, and there is usually one of us that just ends up crying. The one that cries is usually to one that begins the night by saying "Wow, I think I have a buzz already...I haven’t drank in a while", after their first drink. You know the crying is coming when they say..."You know, I love you guys". My friends are pretty entertaining too. One in particular tends to find any type of pole in the establishment we go to and use it as her dance partner for the evening. It really never gets old, and it tends to be the highlight of the night.

Throughout the years, girls night out has definitely changed. Although we can still party like rock stars, the recovery time needed after such an event isn’t really worth it. Sleeping away the entire next day isn’t an option anymore. It sucks to have a hangover, but even more so when you open your eyes with that hangover and the first thing you hear is "Mommy, I’m hungry...I need a drink...Why do you have all that black stuff under your eyes?".

Oh well, so when are we going out ladies?!?

Will Work For Sanity

Being unemployed has really begun to take its toll on me. I’ve been without a job before, but it was always with the constant distraction of a newborn. After months of searching, interviewing, and semi-stalking employers the result is always the same. I am either "overqualified" or "under educated". My kids are in school most of the day and the time I spend alone seems to be causing the re-emergence of a condition I had prior to having children. Most people’s exposure to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is through television shows which highlight extreme cases. Even at its peak my OCD was mild at best. I never viewed it as a problem because it didn’t affect anyone but me. My isolation has made me go back to my old ways...

For me OCD manifests itself in strange ways. I have an obsession for counting things, i.e the steps I take, the number of times I chew while eating, and the result must always be an even number. I’m not sure if it’s because I like even numbers or I hate odd ones. I think it may be the later since I actually hoped at one point during labor that it would last longer so that my first child would have at least one even number in his birth date. This is probably when I decided I may have a problem. I also have heightened anxiety when things are not where they "belong", and by that I mean where I want them to be. I’m sure many people feel that way but it was a little extreme for me. Things didn’t belong in a certain "area", they had a very specific location as in; 4 inches from the wall, or the exact center of the mantle. I spent my days walking around my house slightly moving things to their "correct" positions. Someone watching might think I didn’t move it at all because it was so slight, but for me it was where it "belonged".

Once my kids became mobile, I really needed to work on my "problem". It would make me insane that this little person would go around and move my stuff all day long. Not only that, they now had their own stuff that I had to find a specific place to keep and they refused to leave it where it "belonged". I followed them around all day putting things back in their place. It was consuming me that they had a blatant disregard for my condition. I always felt on the verge of screaming "stop touching my shit!" Finally (with the help of prescription meds) I waived the white flag. I was able to discipline myself and allow them free reign during the day, and once they were in bed for the night, I could go around and fix everything. Besides, this was my problem, right? Why make everyone else suffer?

Up until now, it was working. Now I find myself going around the house while they are at school, putting everything (including all their stuff) in the place I have designated as its home. Then it happens...they come home. All of the obsessing I did during the day is completely undone in minutes. As I watch everything being ripped from its "home" I start to shake and sweat. The urge is back... "stop touching my shit!". I've also noticed the development of a facial tick whenever I write my son's date of birth. I fear that the longer I am out of work, the worse it will become.

I’ve been plotting a new strategy for my next interview to ensure that I will get a job. I picture the interview to go something like this:

Interviewer: Tell us about your accomplishments, any awards or certificates achieved, and the skills you have acquired at your current job…

Me: Well, my first accomplishment at my current job was that I made a person. I did actually receive a certificate for this feat. It’s called a Birth Certificate. I then proceeded to figure out everything this person would need in order to survive. The skills I acquired resemble those of a nurse, teacher, police officer, lawyer, psychiatrist, and on one occasion, a firefighter. In addition I was able to retain a client throughout the duration of my employment...he’s known as my husband. I would like to add that I performed all of these tasks without any formal training, or prior education in the field, and for the first few years with minimal sleep. I have never used a sick day or taken a vacation...any questions??

As I walk out of the room and close the door behind me I envision the interviewers turning to each other. One will say to the other..."Clearly she is overqualified"

You Can't Get There From Here

Whenever I am going to travel to a place that I haven’t been to before, I get very anxious. As much as I try not to fall into the typical stereotypes of women, when it comes to lacking a sense of direction, I could be the poster child. I have no problem asking for directions, however, when the person giving them to me starts with something like “You’re going to go south on Route 117…” their words quickly transform into that of Charlie Brown’s teacher “Wah, wah, wah…” I would find it difficult to tell you which way is south even if I had a compass in my hand. Whenever someone asks me for directions (which I don’t recommend to anyone) I tend to point while trying to act as if I have any idea which direction I plan to send them. I say things like “Hmm, I’m trying to think of the quickest way to get you there” in order to buy myself some additional time to think of what the hell I’m going to tell them. It’s especially embarrassing when my husband is around. He tends to cough to get my attention, and when I look at him he is pointing in the complete opposite direction from which I am pointing with a smug little smirk on his face. Oh, whatever, you tell them then…

I would guess that a GPS unit would be a great solution for me, however being out of work at the moment I can’t justify making that purchase. Plus, given the fact that all I read about in the paper is that these devices are constantly being stolen out of cars, it would be just my luck that this would happen as soon as I bought it. So, my major source for directions has been MapQuest. I’m grateful that these directions are pretty straight forward as far as take a left here, or a right there, but telling me to travel .4 miles really tends to throw me for a loop. I end up traveling at a top speed of 5 mph while trying to read every street sign that I pass and occasionally glancing up at my rear view mirror to chuckle at the person flipping out behind me. In addition, I tend to need to double the “estimated arrival time” to account for the number of times I will drive past the street I need and have to back track.

What I lack in sense of direction, I make up for in ideas for products that I do not have the mental capacity to create. The solution I have come up with here is something I would like to call “Landmark Directions”. This application would have the ability to give directionally challenged people, like myself, directions that contain landmark clues embedded in them. Examples would be… “take a left on Main Street (there will be a blue house on the corner with white shutters)” or “take a right on River Street (it is two streets after the Plaza that has Stop and Shop in it)” Whenever I receive these types of clues in the directions (usually from another woman) I have the greatest success rate of arriving at my destination. It may also be helpful for this application to contain clues for when you have passed the street you need. It could be called the "you've gone too far" function as in “If you come to an intersection with a light, you’ve gone too far”. This would stop me from traveling 6 miles down the road after my street (.4 miles/6 miles- it’s all the same to me).

I bet if the above is possible, than you could also create “Landmark Directions” based exclusively on using Dunkin Donuts as your landmark. “You will pass 2 Dunkin Donuts… take a left 4 streets after the second one…if you come to a third Dunkin Donuts you have gone too far…”