Let’s Get It On!

It’s been a long time coming, but @whyisdaddycryin and I finally teamed up again and wrote another crazy tale together.  This time, he plays the part of the hubby, and I play the part of the wifey.  We are both describing the different perspectives of a couple finally overcoming all their daily obstacles to have a date between the old sheets.  The lovely and talented @toywithme was kind enough to allow us to post our ramblings on her site.  And so, in an effort to remind you of the awesomeness in which this venture is made, here’s a little background on my cohorts:

  @whyisdaddycryin:  This guy is one of few who is ready to deal a laugh like a drug lord deals crack — he knows just how to keep ya coming back for more and more.  He is an amazingly talented writer and father of two whose blog www.whyisdaddycrying.com details everything     from his goal to never allow his daughter to have sex to his desire to rid the world of Snuggies once and for all.  

  Be sure you also take some time to browse around @toywithme‘s blog at www.toywithme.com.  While most of the fascinating topics tend to center around sex-related issues, she also isn’t afraid to tackle such subjects as the upcoming controversial Tebow Superbowl commercial.  I highly recommend that you give her a whirl.

And, now, without further ado, here’s the story you’ve all been waiting for:  ”Let’s Get It On!”  http://toywithme.com/stories/having-sex/

 

Stress Reliever

     This week has not necessarily been my favorite.  Between the hubby being out of town, the dog shitting his brains out, and the kids fighting like they’re on “Jersey Shore”, I am a little on edge.  My mood has teetered between wanting to cry at one moment and wanting to scream at the next.  When I see happy people on the street, I can’t help but want to spit at them.  And that is why I found the video below to be so relatable.  I wish I would’ve thought to relieve my stress like this genius of a guy.  Check it out:

Yin And Yang

     

     As the mama of twins, I often wonder how two little beings who shared the same tiny space in my tummy for nearly nine whole months can be so completely opposite.  They are THE very definition of being night and day different.  If one of them wants to go left, the other one wants to go right.  If one of them is freezing cold, the other one is sweating bullets.  They seem to NEVER EVER be on the same page, making every day a challenge to keep my head from exploding all over my mom taxi.

     One case in point of this yin and yang struggle?  The daily commute to school.  I swear, if anything is gonna drive me to the nearest bar stool, it is the every day battle of how we’re getting from our home to the kids’ school.  I’ve probably mentioned that we live a measly three to four blocks from school, so it only makes sense that we’d buck up and walk our asses on over there, right?  If only it were that easy.  On the days when I put my foot down and insist that we’re walking, my son does everything but chain himself to the tree in our front yard to protest the very idea of this.  As my daughter speed walks way up ahead of us, her brother moans and groans about leg cramps before we even get a block away from our damn house.  It’s so excruciatingly frustrating, that I often find it easier to just give in to him and throw his ass in the car.  A mama’s gotta pick her battles sometimes.

     Another big difference between the two kids is in their athletic prowess.  Of the two of them, my daughter just seems to be more of the jock.  They had their first basketball games over the weekend, and while my daughter was not at all afraid to go after the ball, my son had many other things on his mind like dancing and sticking his hands down his pants.  He must’ve flashed his underwear at least five hundred times over the course of forty minutes time. I’m not even sure if he was aware that there was a game going on.  God love him, though, cause the kid still continues to want to try out different sports. 

     Yet another area where my twins seem to be at different ends of the spectrum is with their friendships.  My daughter is the little social butterfly, constantly wanting a playdate with this kid or that kid.  If her favorite friend is absent from school, she has no problem finding another kid to hang out with at recess.  My son, though, is more of a one-friend kind of a kid, though.  And if said friend is missing from school, he chills by himself.  And while it breaks my heart to hear him say that he played all by his lonesome at recess, he doesn’t seem to mind it a bit.  He is perfectly happy doing his own thing.  

     I suppose life would be pretty boring if both twins always did the same thing all the time.  They are certainly full of surprises, some of them good, and some of them bad enough to make me want to stick my head in the oven at the end of the day.  I’m still holding out hope for the day that they decide to be on the same wavelength just for once, and I can feel like I haven’t completed an Ironman by the time my body collapses into bed at night.

Kids Say The Darndest Things

   

      There’s a reason why Bill Cosby had such a successful show — kids really do say the darndest things.  You just never know what’s gonna come out of their mouths at any given moment.  While I haven’t always been the best at keeping baby books or recording special moments on paper, I have tried to make mental notes of some of the crazy things my own kids have said along the way.  Here are just a few of some of my favorites:

** Daughter:  “When am I gonna get big boobs like Daddy?”

** Son:  “Why is my peeper so big in the morning?”

** Daughter:  “God gave me my highlights, but Mommy has to pay for hers.”

 ** Son:  “A kiss is water, but a hug is love.”

 ** Daughter:  “Why do you like to have a wedgie all the time, Mommy?”

** Son:  “I can run faster than anybody in the whole entire universe.”

** Daughter:  “When are you & Daddy gonna live in different houses?”

** Son:  “God must be super duper old.”

** Daughter:  “There wasn’t any sound on t.v. in the olden days when Mommy grew up.”

** Son:  “Will I have fur like Daddy some day?” 

** Daughter:  “I don’t think they’re gonna have wine at the school picnic, Mommy.”

** Son:  “Mommy, I love you even more than Wii.”

** Daugher:  “We keep Pappaw’s bones on our mantel.”

** Son:  “My peeper looks like a bobble head.”

** Daughter:  “Do boogers have Vitamin C?”

** Son:  “I pooped out a letter J!”

** Daughter:  “When is my skin gonna grow old like yours?”

 ** Son:  “My boyfriend and I are gonna adopt a baby together some day.”

** Daughter:  “Maybe you’ve had too much caffeine today, Mommy.”

** Son:  “My tummy’s telling me it wants M&M’s.”

** Daughter:  “Don’t tell me anything exciting at bedtime or else I won’t go to sleep.” 

WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR FAVORITES FROM YOUR OWN KIDS?

My Big Fat Russian Wedding Experience

     

     Have you ever driven by a particular building in your town fifty bazillion times and wondered what on earth goes on in there?  Well, there’s a Russian restaurant/banquet hall not more than two or three miles from my house that has baffled me for years.  I’ve never seen a single soul going in or out of there, yet the parking lot is always jam-packed with cars.  So about a month ago, some friends of ours decided that we should get a big group together and plan a January outing to go and check it out.  And holy vodka shots, was it ever an experience!

     When we checked into the reception desk on Saturday night, we were escorted through the deceptively large restaurant all the way to the back of the building, where we found yet another massively-sized room.  The woman lifted back the red velvet curtain covering the door to unveil one of the most elegantly gaudy dining halls I think I’ve ever seen in my life.  There were chandeliers and disco balls and flaming candles and murals and floral arrangements everywhere.  A whole fleet of waiters shuffled here and there with silver trays and crystal glassware.  A large dance floor stood smack dab in the middle of the large room with a curtained platform as its backdrop.  I found myself wondering if the wizard was hiding behind that curtain because I truly felt like I’d just entered a secret underground society.  Every table was filled with people who were dressed in their very finest duds — we’re talking high heels and sequins and prom dresses galore.  And they all seemed to know each other too!  They were hugging and cheek kissing and laughing up a storm.  It was definitely a party-like atmosphere, and I knew we were in for a good time.    

     We started off our meal with a vodka shot cause when in Rome… (or in this case, Russia).  We had just started to dig into our hors devours when the curtained backdrop behind the dance floor opened up to reveal a live band that spoke nothing but Russian.  Now, granted, not a single one of us speaks a lick of Russian, but from what we could gather, there were numerous birthday celebrations in the house.  Several huge parties of people were called to the dance floor, while multiple bouquets of roses were rushed out to pose with them for a group photo.  Then everyone cheered wildly as a ginormous teddy bear was placed front and center of the group.  (Cue the Twilight Zone music.)

 I honestly had no flipping clue what the hell was going on, but I clapped right along with the rest of them since it seemed to be the thing to do.  Everyone was then invited to cut a rug, and the dance floor was suddenly packed with shaking booties.  Song after song was played by the band, and the only one I even remotely recognized was “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga.  Nevertheless, we danced our Grey Gooses off the rest of the night.  My husband found himself a sixty year old honey who was decked out in turquoise sequins to twirl all over the floor, and I made my way into some kind of alternative-looking conga line.  It was like a Russian version of The Wedding Singer, and we had an absolute ball.  

     By the end of the night, I had red lipstick marks on my cheeks from my new Russian dance partner, my husband was so drenched with sweat that he’d stuffed his undershirt in his coat pocket, and our whole group was three sheets to the wind from one too many tilts of the old bottle.  It was definitely unlike most of my normal Saturday night activities.  Who knew that this whole other world existed just a mere distance from my house?

My Blogiversary

     

     Today is my blogiversary.  I can hardly believe it, but it was exactly one year ago today that I first started publishing all the tales from the Nucking Futs Family, 283 of them in all.  I’ve been pretty much an open book for the past twelve months, laying it all out there for the cyber world to read.  It has been an amazing journey thus far, one that I almost didn’t even take.  

     I’ve always had a passion for writing, but kids and all of life’s craziness have generally gotten in my way of forming a coherent thought to spew from my brain.  I resisted for quite a while, but my husband finally persuaded me to take the plunge and start a blog in January of 2009.  When it first began, I felt like an idiot putting something out there on the internet that surely nobody in their right mind would ever want to read.  I was certain that nobody gave two shits that my son likes to make his peeper dance or that my daughter calls my bras “boob covers” or that my thong flossed my lady bits at the gym.  But little by little, my followers grew over time, and people surprisingly WANTED to hear about all the jack-asinine things that tend to always happen to me. And now that I’m a year into this thing, I can happily say that I have built some really unique and special relationships with many of my readers.  It’s been both fun and incredibly therapeutic to share my life with all of you. 

     The blogosphere is FULL of incredibly talented writers who make me want to step up my game and improve my own site.  So, over the next year, I hope to do even bigger and better things with my blog.  I’m planning to switch over to my own URL, and a Nucking Futs Mama t-shirt is already in the works.  Who knows — maybe you’ll get a wild hair up your ass and decide to show the world that you’re a little nucking futty by wearing one of these bad boys in the carpool line at school or even to pick up a lil sum’n sum’n for yourself at the adult toy store.  Whatever the case, I hope I can continue to keep you laughing, continue to keep you thinking and continue to keep you coming back for more.  I promise to dish it all out if you promise to eat it all up.  :-)

Bathroom Trespassers

     

     For most people, taking a shower all by themselves is standard procedure.  They jump in, they jump out, and the only person who’s watching them is their own reflection in the bathroom mirror.  For me, though, it’s a full-on freaking peep show from the moment I turn on that faucet.  It’s like I’m the damn Pied Piper attracting all the little mice in my house to come join me in all my nakedness.  

     Yesterday was a day like most others when I had no time to shower until the end of the day.  (I’ve grown accustomed to wearing sweaty workout clothes all day, thank you very much!)  So when my husband, bless his little heart, agreed to supervise bathtime for the kids last night, I thought I might just have five precious minutes to finally rinse the stink off me.  FIVE MINUTES!  That’s not too much to ask for — is it??!!  I had just washed my hair when in came my daughter like a flipping tidal wave.  The child was so hyped up that you would’ve thought she’d had a speed sundae for dessert.  

     She immediately burst into a medley of songs ranging anywhere from Taylor Swift to Lady Gaga, all at volumes that nearly shattered the glass on the shower door.  The fun then transitioned into a creepy version of peek-a-boo, whereby she’d poke her head all the way into the shower, and then she’d disappear, shouting, “Can you see me?  Can you see me now?”  When this became boring for her, she then switched over into an anatomy lesson, loudly identifying all of my body parts that she could see.  The ones she found particularly interesting?  My butt and my boobs, which sent her into fits of snorts and giggles.  (Personally, I didn’t see what was so funny about them, but maybe that’s just me.)  I sent God a personal thank you note when she finally exited the room to take her own bath.  Maybe I’d still have one or two minutes of peace….

     I hadn’t even completed that thought before my son then bounced into the room to point out the already obvious.  ”Mommy, you’re naked!” he squealed with laughter.  I was just about to scream for my husband to get his ass in there and remove this latest peeping Tom, when my son did something to totally redeem himself.  He cracked the shower door so that he could blow me a kiss and said, “This kiss is waterproof, Mommy, so it will never wash off.” My heart melted right there on the spot, despite the fact that I was dripping wet in my birthday suit.  

     Five minutes — that was all I asked for, remember?  I should really start charging admission.  Either my kids really really love being with me and can’t stand even a minute without me, or they totally get their shits and giggles by bugging the absolute hell out of me any chance they get.  My guess?  It’s a combination of both of these, because that’s what parenting is all about.  You take the good with the bad and try to hang onto your sanity for dear life every step of the way.

Score One For Me!

     Every once in a while, my kids surprise the hell out of me and actually listen to what I tell them.  It is on those rare occasions when I pat myself on the back and use my right hand to fist bump my left.  There aren’t too many of these moments in parenthood, so you gotta soak ‘em up while you can.  I even keep a tally mark on my bathroom wall so I don’t forget them.

     One of these “aha” moments came out of my constant preaching about the cleanliness (or lack thereof) of public bathrooms.  Call me a germ freak or call me plain paranoid, but I have a “thing” about the toilets.  I just can’t bear the thought of placing my shiny clean hiney on a shit-covered seat.  Therefore, I am a tried and true squatter.  My kids, on the other hand, have not quite mastered the art of squatting, so I’ve gotten in the habit of lining every last millimeter of the toilet seat with as much toilet paper as is humanly possible before they plop down on it.  They know that no matter how bad they have to go, Mama’s still gotta get the seat ready first.  

     As important as this has always been to me, I wasn’t so sure how prudent it would be to my kids once they finally started school.  God only knew what they would do before climbing on board the school shitter.  Much to my pleasant surprise, though, my public bathroom phobia actually wore off on my little minions, as well!  I remember one of my first parent/teacher conferences with my son’s preschool teacher where she had to hold back her giggles as she told me her favorite story about my little guy.  He’d asked to go to the bathroom, so the teacher’s assistant accompanied him down the hall and waited outside the door while he did his business.  After several L-O-N-G minutes, she began to worry that maybe he had a problem or something.  When she poked her head in to see if he needed help, she found him carefully covering the toilet seat one square of TP at a time.  She said that in all her years of teaching, she’d never had a kid do that before.  Yep, that’s my boy — I had never been so proud!  

     And it seems that my daughter’s little spongebrain was also soaking up this message over time, as well.  Just last week at her ice skating lesson, she went into the bathroom with her friend before class.  I followed her in there to help with her snow pants, etc.. When she was ready to do the deed, she shooed me out of the stall so she could have some “privacy.”  Before she did, though, she reassuringly told me, “Don’t worry Mommy.  I’ll put toilet paper down first.”  And there it was again — proof that my children do not, in fact, have a hearing problem.

     So, even though I often feel like a broken record as I repeat myself over and over again, sometimes, my babbling actually sinks into my kids’ heads.  I may have to wait years upon years for further proof of this, but it’s nice to know that it IS actually possible.  At least in the meantime, I’ve got peace of mind in knowing that their junk in the trunk will be spared from the nastiness that lies on the rim of public pissers!

Caution: Idiot Behind The Wheel

     I am by no means a perfect driver.  In fact, many would argue that I have a tendency to have a lead foot when I’m behind the wheel.  Can I help it if I just wanna hurry up and get from Point A to Point B?  However, there are many other people out there on the road who are WAY worse than me when it comes to annoying driving behaviors.

     First off, there’s the driver who won’t even go the damn speed limit.  If the posted sign says 40 mph, that does not mean that you should leisurely putter along at 30 mph, taking in all the scenery along the way.  Nothing burns my booty more than getting behind some old fart who refuses to go anywhere near an acceptable speed.  Put the pedal to the metal and move along little doggies — mama’s got places to go and people to see!  (And for the record, I beg each and every one of you to promise me that you will confiscate my keys if and when I become one of these little old ladies who’s reminiscent of a turtle on wheels.)

     Then, we have the driver who doesn’t use turn signals.  I really don’t get this concept.  Are we supposed to just guess which way your car’s gonna go or what?  Unfortunately, most of us don’t have ESP, so we’re not going to be able to accurately predict that you’re turning into the Walgreen’s parking lot at any given minute.  I mean, come on, seriously, how hard is it to flip a little switch to the left or to the right?  Are you really THAT lazy of a person?

     Then, there’s the driver who’s pimping a lookalike cop car.  You know what I’m talking about — the ones that make you slam on your brakes when you’re cruising along a little too fast down the highway, only to find out that it’s just some old dude in a cowboy hat smoking a pipe.  Why exactly would you want people to mistake you for the fuzz?  Is it cause you just enjoy effing with people?  

     And what about the people who straddle the middle line of the road?  Talk about giving someone a freaking heart attack!  It’s not a very pleasant feeling to wonder if you’re about to have a head-on collision with one of these yahoos barreling towards you. And if you’re behind one of these drivers, you can’t help but wonder if they’ve been tipping the old Jack Daniels bottle as they’re swerving and curving and practically making figure eights on the pavement ahead of you. Those yellow lines were painted there for a reason, people!  You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.  Such a reasonable concept, if you ask me.  

     And then we have the people who display those “Baby On Board” stickers on their back windows.  What exactly is the purpose of these little decals? Am I supposed to hit you softer if we have an accident?  Am I only supposed to drive safely when I’m around YOUR car?  Shouldn’t I be driving safely for everyone, regardless of whether they’re an infant or not?  Maybe I should put a sticker on my car that says, “Nucking Futs Mama On Board” so that people will know not to piss me off by driving like an idiot around me.  

     As hard as I may try to avoid all these nit-witted drivers, I tend to come in contact with them countless times a day.  Sadly, it seems that they’re everywhere, they’re everywhere!  The road is a scary enough place to be as it is, and then you throw in people like this, and you’ve got yourself a giant headache in the making.  Pop some Advil in your purse and get your horns ready, folks, cause it’s pretty damn ugly out there.

My Kids Have A Dream

     Today is a day in which we remember the late, great Martin Luther King, Jr..  Dr. King’s message was simple — we should all have equal rights, regardless of the color of our skin.  What a tragedy that such a simple message could cost so many good people their lives.  In an effort to remember all the hard-fought work of Dr. King, my twins and I have been talking about the civil rights movement (on a very, very basic level of knowledge, no less), and I am reminded once again of the very unique and extraordinary quality of innocence that little children possess.  

     One day on the way to school last week, my daughter started telling me about the discussion she’d had with her first grade class about Martin Luther King, Jr..  I asked her what she knew about him, and she told me he was, “that guy that made everything fair.”  She also told me that she’d learned about Rosa Parks and the bus incident. When I asked her what she thought about that, she said, “That’s so weird that just cause her skin was darker, she was supposed to sit at the back of the bus!  How silly is that, Mommy?”  My son, who just so happens to be absolutely fascinated with drinking fountains, told me that he couldn’t believe that they used to have separate fountains based on skin color.  He thought it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard of.  It seemed so ludicrous to their little six-year-old brains that there were different rules for different people.  

     And this is my very point.  If a six year old child can see the inequality of something, why can’t an adult?  Hatred is something that is taught.  Kids are not born prejudiced. They look to their parents and the adults around them to form their own opinions about the world.  It is our responsibility to teach them to appreciate what’s on the inside of people, not the outside.  I, for one, want my own kids to grow up in the kind of world that Dr. King had envisioned, so I plan to do my damnedest to keep on trying for that kind of future for them.