I Don't Need A Nickname

I've come to the realization that I actually cause Lazy to happen. It could almost be considered a "condition" around here sometimes. The worst part is that it took me until recently to step back and see what was happening. I made a conscience effort to take a look at what I actually do to cause it. Most of the time the things I do are so irrelevant, that the people I do them for would never consider themselves Lazy for not doing them. Frankly, I don't blame them. I am an Enabler. I've never had a nickname in my life, but if there is one out there that applies at this point, that would be it.

I would first like to blame my own Lazy on most of this. It is possible that this affliction spread from me to them. It just so happens that most days start off bad, simply because I procrastinate when it comes to starting it. Hopefully this isn't contagious also. Lazy, I believe spreads through the fact that I am a Snooze Button Whore. Please, do not decide that this is a more applicable nickname for me...After all, I have impressionable young children and I would prefer to avoid having them call me a Whore.

If you were to follow my day you would realize that I have very limited options for a nickname. Here's how one might go:

I start my day after pushing the snooze button on numerous devices. You read that right, I like the snooze button so much that I set 3 alarms at slightly different intervals on 3 separate devices. I hit snooze on each one at least once, and possibly twice on a couple of them. This is where the Whore aspect creeps in. I like the snooze button so much that I took on multiple partners.

Back to my day...

Today my day started as I ran into the bathroom. I knew things were going to need to move swiftly this morning to get the kids ready in time for the bus. Curse you snooze button!...Call Me. My dog was hot on my heels. I turned on the water for a shower, got undressed, and sat on the toilet. As soon as my ass hit the seat my youngest son walked in, rubbing his eyes and mumbling something about a school day. "Yes, it's a school day" I said as I quickly grabbed some toilet paper to cover my chest. What?...I'm surprised he didn't tell me he liked my shirt...Instead, he started screaming that he didn't want to go to school, stormed out of the room, and slammed the door. Awesome...he's in a good mood. No doubt he will be a lover of the snooze button when he gets older.

I guess this is as good a time as any to point out that a decision to be Lazy and stay in my bed for "just a few more minutes"...causes the constant need the rest of the day for me to multi-task. I've always been proud of being able to do so many things at once, but lately I've come to the conclusion that I complete a majority of these tasks in a way that would be described by many as "mediocre". I am a half-ass, multi-tasker (An additional nickname option I suppose).

I was about to step in the shower when I noticed my dog looking a little fidgety, circling about looking to see where he would go to pee if it came down to it. Shit...OK... I'll be quick, I promise puppy. I grabbed my razor off the counter, and saw my toothbrush. Yep, I can cram that in too. I put toothpaste on it and jumped into the shower. I was going to perform multi tasks, not only at the same time, but in a window of time that was quickly closing.

The short version of this is that I exited the shower having only shaved one leg...and with a new found liking of brushing my teeth while in the shower. I know...I didn't understand it before either, but...it turns out that if you aren't a priss when it comes to brushing your teeth, constantly wiping spittle off your chin...and yes, I would picture you using the word "spittle"...shower tooth brushing can be OK. I personally like to scrub them frantically while using my other hand to shave a leg. Well, it turns out that when the water rinses the froth off your chin, it travels down the front of your body, leaving you feeling minty fresh on your front half for a good part of the day. Who knew??

Oh right...back to my day...

I didn't take much time to decide whether or not I was going to abandon the shaving mission. By now my poor puppy was practically crossing his legs to go out. I ran down the stairs, still not dressed, since that skirt was out of the question with this one shaved leg. I ran back up the stairs, threw on a bathrobe, and went to the kids room. I now realize that I dressed them like they were still 6 months old. I mean...I didn't lay them down on the floor like I was changing a baby, but I physically stood them up, undressed them, and put their clothes on. I'm not sure why I was so alert to all this but I even noticed that I would tap each leg and they would lift it up, in and out of their clothes. Unreal. In my defense, they would need to wake up 5 hours before school started in order to be dressed on time if I didn't help. Even if I was not a Whore...for the snooze button that is.

Now we are on to Breakfast, and I am finally dressed, because I dressed while walking down the stairs. Turns out this multi-task was successful on both fronts. I got their breakfast ready and as soon as I put it down in front them, I say "Eat". I repeat the work "Eat" every five minutes or so until they are finished. I do this because...and I have tested it....if I don't they will drift off and think of something to ask or talk about and actually "forget" to eat. I need to verbally guide them to keep the pace right for catching the bus. I then have them brush their teeth, which surprisingly, they do without guidance...however, at some point intervention is required. Water can be distracting. Then I tell them to put on their shoes. I am a bit embarrassed to admit this, but my kids wear Velcro shoes, simply because tying of shoes in the morning would completely come between me and my snooze button. Go ahead...say it...Whore. I'm not proud. I'm also a little confused why I was embarrassed to reveal that, but not to discuss the whole shower tooth brushing thing.

In the end, my Lazy, causes them to appear Lazy, as they walk out the door just as the bus is rounding the corner down the street. The theme to Chariots of Fire plays through my head as they run in slow motion to make it to the bus stop. I stand in the door and lift my arms in victory. It is then that I realize my stairs/dressing multi task was, in fact, an epic fail.  I somehow, half assed it, and neglected to put on a shirt. The neighbors look on while trying to shield the eyes of their children. I'm sure that my nickname will come from an event like this....

Or, it will just come right from my blog. Given the number of times the words Lazy and Whore were mentioned here, I have come to the conclusion that I would like to remain without a nickname for the remainder of my days...

An Evening With The Ladies

I was going to use Girls Night Out 2, but that seemed a little lame. Besides, it's really not a sequel. The word "girl" to me indicates a child, or at the very minimum a much younger me. An Evening With The Ladies makes it sound a bit more refined...like we are classy broads, ya know? I should really just call it what it is...Moms Night Out . The rare occurrence of spending time with people who will not require cleaning, feeding, or refereeing. Although... that isn't necessarily a true statement, as I am pretty sure I have done all of these at some point when out with ladies.

Let me start with a little upfront information for the men out there. When a woman wants to spend a night out with her friends, please don't take it personally. It's not because she doesn't want to spend time with you, or that she's going out on the prowl looking for another man. It's just that there is something about being around girlfriends that revitalizes us. We need that time to just be ourselves and talk about whatever is on our minds. Believe me, you should be happy that we do not want to discuss most of these topics with you. For example, I know just as much about my friends "lady parts" as their gynecologists. Frequently used terms in our discussions include; uterus, discharge, menstrual cycle, and spotting. I could be wrong, but I'm guessing these are not things you would like to talk about, so that said...you're welcome.

Aside from all the gyno talk, we also discuss our kids at great lengths. We talk about our kids a lot anyway, but lately the discussion seems to be almost exclusively about them. We talk about sickness, including types of cough, such as dry, hacking, or productive. We discuss rashes as if we are pediatricians asking each other questions like "Did it start on the trunk and then move to his extremities?", and "Did it look like spots under the skin, or raised, fluid filled, bumps on the skin?" Then there is the riveting talk about mucus and which colors are good and which ones require medical attention. I promise guys, you're not missing out on much.

The most recent night I had out with the girls had a few elements that stuck out to me. First, we actually carpooled. That's right. We all fit in a vehicle together. Not because it was a small group, but because one of us had a vehicle that was big enough to accommodate us all.

Also, in anticipation of this event, I actually put myself through a training of sorts. In order to prepare for the hours of dancing I rode a stationary bike everyday the week leading up to our big night out. I had to build up some stamina. I didn't want to be embarrassed from becoming winded after dancing to two songs, or from clutching the back of my thigh screaming "I'm cramping!"

Next, was the fact that I did not bring a purse. I believe this is due to the fact that my kids are getting older and I don't feel the need to be overly prepared for everything. Plus, some of my friends still do have very small children. This translates to them having enormous purses which are more than capable of handling the few items I would like to take with me.

Also noticeably absent was the one lady that may have overindulged a bit too much. Either that or we have just become professionals at getting our drink on. No more holding someones hair while they puke, or dragging them off the dance floor because they are making a spectacle of themselves. If you were to look up the term "cock block" in the urban dictionary you would see that it gives a perfect description of the role of an inebriated woman's girlfriends. Gone are the days of having to form a virtual "shield" around a drunk friend on the dance floor to prevent her from falling victim to the guy that combs the bar looking for easy prey. Friends don't let friends get dry humped.

We've also become quite skilled at the art of avoiding a hangover. The key ingredients include a hearty helping of greasy food on the way home, a full glass of water, and two aspirin. Sunday morning we are up, dressed, the kids are fed, and we are on our way to church. We are practically professionals at this.

So ladies, if it's been a while since you've gotten together with your lady pals, what are you waiting for? It's a necessity. Plan something soon, it's good for the soul. Plus, don't forget to invite me...Of course my only motive is to gather material for my blog. Yeah, that's it. I like to think of myself as an investigative journalist...

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...