Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The Loving Aunt

Just to clear up any confusion...and to keep me welcome at future family gatherings:
The Loving Aunt LOVES my kids. I have no doubt how adorable and funny she thinks they are and she showers them with WAAAY to many gifts. The Uncle has the bill to prove it.

But no matter what she says, she does think I am a big, fat softy where my kids are concerned. And she is right.

Kramer Had it Right

If you are a Seinfeld fan you may remember Kramer having a garbage disposal put in his bathtub so he could combine cooking and bathing. Well, I am not planning on salad prepping while soaking my tushy in the tub but I do have a 10 month old who LOVES spaghetti. I attempted in vain last night to wipe her down with baby wipes following her dive into the pasta bowl. Half of a tub of wipes later she was still stuffing spaghetti particles in her bellybutton. I managed to wipe her down enough to safely transport her from kitchen to bathtub will minimal risk to the carpet. Of course as I lifted her from her highchair I remembered I was wearing my new white boyfriend tee from the Gap. Of course. Anyway, we made it to the bathroom where I discovered upon strip down that we were dealing with a poop diaper – you didn’t expect anything else did you? Into the tub; as I am scrubbing Itty Bitty down I realize there are chunks of food floating around in the water. Big chunks. Pasta, beef, carrot…yes, large, identifiable chucks of food. I am not sure what orifice or baby fat roll it fell out of, and I prefer not to. Ugh. So now here I am with a bathtub full of leftovers.

Choices on how to deal with the situation:
1. Bring the damn dog into the house, set him in the tub and let him chow.
2. Go through the rest of the tub of wipes.
3. Leave it and let the hubs deal with it.
4. Run lots of water and smash it into the drain forcing it down. Follow with Drain-O.
5. Install a GARBAGE DISPOSAL in the tub.

Yes. Option five it is. Kramer was really on to something. Come to think of it he had a few ideas that I should perhaps revisit…

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Bootie Grab

Nope. Not mine…although the hubs isn’t home for the day so I should be getting mine shortly. No the recipient of the grab was a very nice, sweet classmate, who we shall call Blondie, of the Rock Star. Blondie made the mistake of asking the Rock Star on the way into the school building this morning to “feel how soft her pants were” oh the allure of the velour. So, as requested the Rock Star gave ‘em a feel. A long, circular motion feel.

Right. On. The. Bootie.

So here I stand in the middle of the parking lot watching my child, my baby, walking into the school with his hand on a girls butt. I laughed…hard. Then I panicked: Who was watching? Did he/she realize what was going on? Am I going to get a call about this? Was her mother seeing this? Am I going to have to fight another parent? Run. Run Now. Run Fast. Oh wait, I have a car, get in the car, don’t forget the baby and get the heck outta dodge.

A slight over-reaction perhaps. But seriously, at the time it seemed like the sort of thing that would end up on the 5:00 local news “Pre-Schooler Receives Suspension for Bootie Feel; Mother Flees Scene.”

I am now over the freak-out. I have told lots of parents the story today, all of whom laughed, Blondie rides the bus so her parents are none the wiser and Mrs. Teacher never mentioned it – WHEW! I of course ask the Rock Star about Blondie’s pants today and he casually shared they were really nice, they matched her jacket and they were really soft and cozy, “just like yours mom!” Halleluiah! He had no clue what he had done. My baby remains innocent for one more day. I however am permanently damaged.

Monday, September 28, 2009

My Big Ugly Confession

I have carried a very dirty little secret for years. I love soap operas. Yes it’s true I love all the drama, stupidity, ridiculous story lines, and completely unreal appearances…all of it. I got hooked when I was just a teen and have watched on and off ever since. I went years without watching while I worked outside the home prior to my kids. But then it happened. I became a stay at home mom and got sucked back in. I am a CBS watcher: Bold and the Beautiful, As the World Turns and Guiding Light.

Now in my defense, I never watch them all in one day or have ever scheduled my day around them or have recorded them. However I did watched one episode online one. Just once. I think this is the appeal of soaps though. I can go days, even weeks without seeing an episode, and jump right back in as if I never missed a beat (the story lines are just so slow and obvious). The hubs teases me for watching the four hour made-for-TV-movies on Lifetime. Of course! When was the last time any mom you knew actually got to sit in front of the TV for an entire show or movie? With soaps and long, slow movies I can come and go to take care of wiping butts, laundry, phone calls, meals and snacks and even a game of freeze tag with the Rock Star and still follow along.

But alas, after a million and two years, Guiding Light has been cancelled and is no longer on the air and I miss it. Yes. I miss it. I really should be more ashamed to say this out loud than I am. It is sort of like admitting to following a celebrity on twitter; which I do not. If I did, it is probably a secret I would take to the grave.

Whew! One of waaay too many embarrassing tid-bits about myself exposed. How Liberating…

Sunday, September 27, 2009

I am so over them...

I am so sick of the Blogger Templates! UGH! I have spent too long today trying in vain to jazz up my site but these damn templates are way too limiting for someone who likes gaudy as much as me.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Happily headed for Target this morning…

 And then I got there:
  •  Returned a skirt bought at the beginning of summer without a receipt and got $4.62 for it. Of course I paid $19.99 for it.
  • Headed to the baby department to look for a baby gate. Of course they do not have the one I want.
  • Rock Star begins pee-pee dance and starts looking for a place to wing it out. I scream, “Do not pull your penis out! Hurry Run!” and of to the bathroom we go.
  • Force the semi truck kid cart into the bathroom, even though it really does not fit.
  • Ask the Rock Star if he has to poop. THREE times. Answer is of course no, but I know there is a turd looming.
  • Attempt to back out of the bathroom with the kid cart gracefully. As if.
  • Realize I need more caffeine.
  • Take my lousy four bucks and go buy a big coffee at the in-store Starbucks.
  • Head to the Health and Beauty department to buy tampons for the period I feel about ready to take over.
  • Find a mismark on Enfamil Lipil formula (reg $24.99) for $11.59 each. SCORE. I bought every can they had.
  • Notice Rock Star doing poop dance. Have a polite conversation with the Rock Start about going poop when I ask him to as we are making another run for the front of the store. Of course he informs he couldn’t because the poop wasn’t at the hole when I ask him to go.
  • Hike to the very back of the store to look at toys, I am feeling happy about the formula steal and the coffee is kicking in.
  • Say “No” 167 times.
  • Itty Bitty wants to be held; now I get to the push the freaking semi truck cart with one arm and 4-year old speed. I think there may be a little old lady wearing a red shirt left as road kill in the Lego isle.
  • Bribe Rock Star out of the toy isle with a clearance “Speed Racer” hand-held game, which was clearly returned after being given as a gift because there were batteries scotch taped to the back. Another score.
  • Head to the check out, where we have a hoo-ha over the formula. I win.
  • Get home; change into sweats and wonder if because it is Friday if it is okay to start drinking at 1:30.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Oh Hell, That Smell…

Sometimes it is obvious. Like the morning after I fail to take the trash out after making salmon for dinner or the poopy diaper left sitting on the changing table. Bet then there are the days when I spend HOURS trying to find where in the hell that smell is coming from. One time I spent a week trying to figure out what smelled so sour in the living room, only to realize the hubs had not rinsed the grass off the riding lawnmower before parking it in the garage. Then there was the time I spent the day changing the baby, myself, and sniffing every piece of furniture in the house only to discover the rotten milk smell was the baby barf in my hair. Yep.

So, today’s smell is a cross between spoiled milk and poop. I am airing out the house, burning candles, scrubbing the kitchen and even cleaning the carpets in the hopes of riding my home of the smell devil. I fear what I will find. The Rock Star has become skilled at getting his own snacks and drinks, and then leaving them in fun places.

But, $20 bucks it’s me. I haven’t showered in two days. Last night I got the boot from the Rock Star while snuggling because I had bad breath and last month I couldn’t figure out why Itty Bittys head smelled like B.O. then I realized it was from me nursing her and having her head near my armpit.

I am Amy. I am disgusting. I need a twelve step program sponsored by DOVE for Real Women. Actually who am I kidding; shampooing and shaving are too many steps at one time for me these days.

Signing off to go buy stock in Arm & Hammer Baking Soda and Fabreez…

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

The Damn Dog

So I alluded to The Dog in my last post. Let’s see, where do I start?

I guess at the beginning. I am a sucker for puppies and for making my kids smile. For the Rock Star’s second Christmas we made The Big mistake. We bought a puppy. An expensive puppy. At first (and by first I mean about 3 hours) we loved him. We played, we snuggled, we made life-long promises of homemade salmon and rice, long walks, dog parks, pet-friendly family vacations and family nights snuggled on the couch watching a Disney movie.

Fast forward two years.

Hubs: Did you feed the dog today?
Mommy: No, I have been busy, you fed him last night and it rained this morning. He is fine.
Hubs: That’s it. We are getting rid of this dog.
Rock Star: Yeah! Lets get a new one that we like.

Hubs opens the gate, lets the dog out for a run; a run that ends up straight in the back door.

Rock Star: Mom! The damn dog is the house!
Mommy: Get out! Get out! Get out! If you pee I am going to sell you for scientific research!
Rock Star: That damn dog.
Mommy: Yeah, that damn dog.

Now before you call PETA on me. I take care of the dog. He is fed, kept in a rather large and expensive outdoor kennel with a nice warm doghouse. He gets to run and play whenever the Rock Star is outside playing. But let me be clear:


There is nothing cuddly, clean, sweet or cute about this dog. He lacks any form of a personality whatsoever, he snorts, jumps, eats and chews everything in site and has made my kids cry one too many times. Yes. I know, if I had some consistency of training, took a class…blah, blah, blah. I have two small kids, manage a home and run a business people. And did I mention I hate this little F*er?

So, serious conversations have begun with the hubs about the big give-away. I want to sell him because he has made me so nuts for so long I feel entitled to a few bucks, but alas, I do not think there is anyone in the world stupid enough to pay for this little shit.

Therefore, the hunt for the nice free-range “puppy-farm” begins. You know the one, the place with rolling hills, sunshine everyday, ponds, birds to chase, shade tress for napping and endless dishes of that homemade salmon and rice.

Monday, September 21, 2009

A Note to My Readers:

(And by Readers I mean my family and a few friends who know how shameless I am and therefore read out of fear of me asking them what they thought of my last blog.)

So I have chosen to abandon blogging on behalf of the V4K so that I may take a few more personal liberties in my content and well, just be more self-indulgent I suppose. Those of you who know me well know I consider myself to be utterly hilarious, even though I am about the only one. Okay, I still can get a chuckle out of the Rock Star and Itty Bitty still finds me funnier than her own farts so I am in good standing there. In addition to finding myself funny I also find my life funnier than ever. I mean the things I deal with in any given day - I don’t know how one cannot laugh out loud. Perhaps only a mother up to her eyeballs in poop, snot, breakfast still on the table at lunch, and lunch at dinner, missing (fill in the blank), endlessly empty milk jugs/toilet paper holders/ detergents of all sorts so on, and so on, find these sorts of ramblings entertaining. I know I find great comfort in reading about other mothers still in their PJ’s at 2pm trying to have a phone conversation with the cable company with children screaming in the background – at which point candy makes it’s appearance.


Yes. I bribe the Rock Star with candy, ice cream, popsicles, TV and chocolate milk to have a phone call. He knows it. I know it. We deal. The phone rings and he comes screaming down the hall from the depths of quite play shrieking for something with sugar. I make one or two feeble attempts to act as though I am in control which is really me just trying to decide which form of bribery will buy me the adequate amount of time needed for the call. Yes, this is the truth, I have put it out there and now my loving Aunt (yeah, you…) who is convinced I am raising out-of-control, ego-centric, manipulative brats has my admission and can begin dealing. So There. I guess while I am at it…I also let my kids sleep with us whenever they want, I laugh at burps and farts, I use TV to babysit, and I allow the Rock Star to pee in the backyard and get up each night somewhere between eight and twenty-seven times asking for water, help peeing, a story, an episode of Seinfeld, to snuggle, to talk some more about our day, to inspect his toenails, a back scratch…pretty much whatever. I find the excuses hilarious. Yes, Yes, I know “But when he is 17…” When he is 17 I will make the hubs deal with it.

I am no longer ashamed to admit the children have taken over. They make the decisions. They rule the roost. They squawk, they get. Yes. It is my truth, right along with my fat ass, it is out there for the world to see. But it works for us. The kids are happy, The parents are happy, The dog is…well that’s another blog.

So here we go my friends. I will share my stories, my bits of wisdom from lessons learned, and ultimately document the immeasurable love I feel for my family.

Off to another day in which I plan to LMAO (if you are unsure as to what that means, ask the nearest teen).
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