Keepin’ The Romance Alive

When you’re married with children, it’s damn freaking hard to find alone time to spend together.  The kids and their continuous needs inevitably take top priority.  And trying to keep that spark alive isn’t the easiest task in the world when your spawn are always lurking over your shoulder, trying like hell to blow out the fire.  Take, for instance, our anniversary.  Now in a perfect soap opera world, my husband would’ve whisked me away for a romantic weekend on some remote tropical island to celebrate our 14 years of wedded bliss together, right?  Unfortunately, though, we don’t live in the fictional town of Port Charles, so there was certainly no whisking and absolutely nothing tropical about our monumental moment.

The night of our actual anniversary was unfortunately spent in a hot, crowded room with a boatload of other over-stressed parents, registering my daughter for the travel soccer team.  Real idyllic, huh?  I’d seen my husband for a total of thirty seconds throughout the entire day, and it was only prior to the meeting as we raced by each other on my way out the door.  The timing of the whole thing didn’t even allow us to eat dinner together.  I’d had to shove down some food with the kids and left him a plate of pasta on the counter.  We were holding out hope that maybe, JUST MAYBE, we’d steal some time together after finally getting the kids to bed.

Regrettably, though, our children have decided to boycott sleep these days.  Just when we think we have the all-clear, a little body pops up on the stairs, which is exactly what kind of scenario played out on the night of June 8.  Somebody was hungry; somebody was thirsty; somebody had a sore throat; somebody was scared; somebody had to poop — on and freaking on until I literally started threatening alien abductions to anyone who dared get out of bed again.  And wouldn’t you know that by the time we FINALLY heard the last peep outta the twinkies, I glanced over to find my hubby sawing some serious logs on the couch.  So much for romance.

Luckily, we were eventually able to escape for a quick sushi dinner together last night after my son’s baseball game.  We sat outside and even had < gasp! > an uninterrupted conversation!  Naturally, though, this blissful state of mind was poo-pooed the very moment we stepped through the front door of our house and heard the babysitter negotiating with the little vampires upstairs who were supposed to have been asleep by then.  I seriously think we may have to start hooking up in the car like a couple of teenagers in high school to avoid the inevitable interference from the shorties.  So if the wheels are a rockin’, please, for the love of God, don’t come a knockin’!!!!

The Sexting Experiment

     A while back, my husband and I got into a discussion about this whole “sexting” phenomenon.  With all the talk about it in the media, we were both saying we felt like we should really see what all the hype was about.  (Perhaps we felt a little left out?) Anyway, we don’t want our kids to think they can EVER EVER get away with this when they’re teenagers, so decided we should give it a go ourselves so as to be better educated <ahem> on the latest trends.  We thought we’d be one step ahead of the game and all.  And let’s just say that my first couple of experiences with it were not quite as “sexy” as I’d had in mind.

     I guess I completely forgot about my whole suck-ass ability to take a decent freaking picture with my iPhone to save my damn life.  I’m always chopping off heads or accidentally moving my hand, creating the world’s most unidentifiable, blurry photo ever known to man-kind.  And to try to take a picture of myself?  Well, that’s a whole other story in and of itself.  I can never figure out how just to angle my arm so that I can actually get myself in the picture.  Even if I stand in front of a mirror, I still somehow manage to eff it up.  So, you can imagine just how jacked up a self-took naughty photo might potentially be.  And that’s just what happened on my first attempt at this sexting thing.

     We were coming back from a weekend road trip when I thought I’d sneak a quick pic of myself on one of our bathroom breaks.  I planned to surprise my husband and give him a little sum’n sum’n to think about on the long, long drive back home.  (What a nice wife I am, right?)  So I was in a stall trying like hell to position my iPhone just so, which turned out to be a damn near impossible task, and I was getting more and more frustrated by the second. Wouldn’t ya know that I picked the skinniest stall in all the friggin’ land?  No matter how I tried to position myself, I could not get the “angle” I wanted. When I finally had it focused, I lost my grip on the phone and gasped in horror as I watched it tumbling toward the toilet.  Like a game of Hot Potato, it bounced from hand to hand before I was eventually able to get a firm hold on it.  Needless to say, my first attempt at sexting was a big, fat failure.

     Never one to give up without a fight, though, I decided to give it another try one day when my hubby was at work.  I figured an impromptu pic from me would surely brighten up a boring old day at the office for him.  It took me about 10,000 tries before I got just the right shot I was going for, but I eventually was able to get what I thought was a pretty damn good image.  I typed a quick text message and hit “Send‘, feeling quite proud of my technology skills for a brief moment.  I was sure that I’d instantly get a return text saying something to the nature of, “Holy shit!  You’re the best wife ever, and I want to shower you with diamonds.”  However, one hour later, I still hadn’t heard a single flipping thing from my husband.  I started to wig out that maybe I’d sent it to the wrong person. Dear God, what if I’d accidentally tweeted it?  Or what if his phone was lying on his desk and someone picked it up and saw more of me than they were ever hoping to?  I frantically searched my phone and sent my hubby four different texts to see if he’d ever received it. Thirty AGONIZING minutes later, I finally heard back from him saying he’d been stuck in a meeting but was pleasantly surprised to find my message.  I told him to enjoy it cause the near heart attack he’d given me had pretty much sucked all the fun out of that sexting experience for me.

     So, for now, I think I’d better just stick with my crooked little action shots of the kids and the dog on the old cell phone.  It’d be just my luck that a very incriminating picture of me would somehow end up in the hands of someone like the coach of my son’s baseball team.  Talk about throwing a guy a curve ball….

A Dad’s Perspective

So recently I began following this guy on Twitter who not only has his hands full with a toddler going through his terrible twos, but he and his wife also gave birth to boy/girl twins in January of this year.  (Yeah, I know, sucks to be him, right?)  Because the infant stage of my own little twinkies’ upbringing is pretty much a blur of a memory, I have been finding his sleep-deprived humor more than just a little funny.  His Twitter name is @havingtwinsnow and you can follow his hilarious blog by clicking on this picture:

I asked @havingtwinsnow if he would write a guest post for my blog, so he could shed some light on the insanity that’s an inevitable part of being thrown into the world of twin parenting.  I thought it would be a cool switch to see a male’s perspective on trying like hell to juggle everything.  And good God almighty, did he ever deliver.  Here’s what his brilliantly crazy brain came up with:

HOW TO SHUT ‘EM UP

Pretty much the first thing you notice as a new parent of multiples is that you are now the center of attention wherever you are in public.  And if you weren’t aware of your awesome powers, wipe the sleep out of your eyes, the puke from your shoulder and the dried puke from your cheeks that was put there from the wet puke on your shoulder which you’ve learned to ignore unless you can feel it actually ooze down your arm. With great medical, food and diaper bills comes great fucking responsibility!

How? You ask. I have no clue. But here is at least one situation that while completely ridiculous, will state the ignorance of some upright humans while allowing for a few laughs from everyone else.

When you are out at a family function or birthday party, you can pretty much say anything and those family members/friends will believe everyfuckingthing you say. Just this past weekend I was sitting next to my wife, feeding a twin alongside her, or “tweeding” if you’re a kitchy prick. We were operating in our normal manner, communicating with grunts, clicks and whistles, and spastic head movements, when a mother of one since grown and moved out son (who has now apparently moved back in) asked us flatly:

“How do you do it?”

I glanced at my wife and gave her the sign that I would take this one, which is a handless gesture for oral sex involving my tongue striking the side of my cheek which to a fellow immature friend would possibly look like a penis! In my mouth!

So I answered as flatly as I could.

“Three things actually:

1.) A schedule that we dare not impinge upon or suffer its wrath upon our very souls.

2.) Coffee, which is the nectar of the gods and we are actually researching to discern if it is, in fact, Jesus’s semen.

And 3.) Anal sex. Lots and lots of ass fucking. It is really quite remarkable the amount of butt humping I’ve managed to squeeze in in just a few weeks.”

I then playfully tilted my head to the right, removed the bottle from my kid’s gullet and proceeded to burp her over my shoulder gently.

Blank stares from all around the room greeted my rapidly blinking eyes.

It appears that using the term “anal sex” is a show stopper. The entire room stopped what it was doing and looked my way. So rather than curl up into a ball, I got technical.

“See, the amount of strain on Julie’s vagina and uterus was so severe during her twin pregnancy that anal intercourse was really the only way to experience any semblance of sexual pleasure. To go even longer without coitus would probably generate so much marital strain that we would grow to hate each other, and right now, and particularly at 3:16 am every morning, we’re all we have. We need each other. And if that means I put it straight up her pooper, by golly, that’s what I’ll do.”

Still more silence.

As I went to open my mouth for more bullshit, my lovely wife elbowed me in the kidney. Monologue over.

The conversation around us gradually kicked back up, but it was odd, we were never made to feel as if we were disgusting or smelled of the shit of the bull that I was allowing to spew from my mouth. No, these people BOUGHT IT! I wasn’t being disgusting to them, no; they perceived what I was saying as me allowing a brief, truthful snapshot, although pornographic, into our interesting lives!

The pity you receive as a seemingly exhausted parent of multiples allows you to say the most disgusting things without the fear of reprisal, judgment or backlash!  You should really try it!

Identical Vs. Fraternal

     

     As a parent of twins, I’ve had to deal with my fair share of oddball questions throughout the years.  Some of them are legitimate, and some of them are really quite obnoxious (for example, “Are they from fertility drugs?”  Like it’s anyone’s freaking business how many needles I had to stick in my ass for three friggin’ years!)  By far, though, the most frequently asked question has always been, “Are they identical or fraternal?”  And let me just tell ya how many people there are out there who are completely and totally mixed up about this very concept.  So, rather than singling out those of you who fall into that dazed and confused category (it’s ok, believe me, you’re not alone), let’s have a little review:

     Identical twins form when a fertilized egg splits.  Fraternal twins occur when two different eggs are fertilized by two different sperm.  Same sex twins can be either identical or fraternal; however, different sex twins can ONLY be fraternal.  This tends to be what totally throws people off.  Just because a set of twins looks alike does not mean that they are IDENTICAL.  Just stop and think about what identical means for a second.  According to dictionary.com, the definition of “identical” is:  ”being the very same.”  So, if you have a set of boy/girl twins, why would it be IMPOSSIBLE for them to be identical?  Still not getting it?  Ok, then, what does a boy have that a girl most definitely does not have?  Ding ding ding!  We have a weiner, I mean,a winner!  So, now that we’ve cleared that all up, let me tell you about a certain confrontation I found myself in at Target one time way back when.

     I had my son and daughter in their massive limousine-sized double stroller in the checkout lane, just trying to do my thing and get the hell out of there without a major meltdown from the babies or from me.  Unfortunately, though, I got stuck with Loose-Lipped Linda the cashier who wanted to ooh and ah over the double dose of fun coming through her lane.  She asked a bazillion different questions, ending with the all-too-popular, “So, are they identical or fraternal?”  I tried to keep my cool by smiling and politely telling her that since they were boy/girl twins, they could only be fraternal. However, she felt it her duty to go into a whole long story about how she had a friend who most certainly had identical boy/girl twins.  Again, I calmly smiled and told her that they could not be identical.  Dipshit was just not having it though and continued to argue with me that these kids were by all means identically alike.  The sleep-deprived bitch in me took over that point, so I looked her straight in the eye and said, “If one child has a penis and one child has a vagina, there’s NO WAY they can be exactly the same now can they?”  That finally shut her ass up and I could see the squeaky wheels in her underworked brain trying very hard to process this new information.  

     So, in the future, if you run into someone who has boy/girl twins, you can go ahead and save yourself from asking a question that doesn’t even need to be asked.  Nobody would dare question the difference between a taco and a hot dog, right?  All it takes is just a little bit of brain power to determine that the two are, in fact, very very different.  (And might I add, thank God for that!)

Things I’ve Learned This Week

** Nobody picked up their dog’s shit this winter.  (And please don’t ask my shoe how it knows this — it’s still bitter about it.)

** My son knows WAY too much information about his friend’s balls.

** Leprechauns are impossible to catch (and thank God for that!)

** Tired is apparently my middle name.

** Starbucks makes me think about sex.  (Just try to tell me that “Sumatra” blend doesn’t make YOU want to crank up the Barry White tunes?)

** Somebody in my hot yoga class needs to stock up on Beano.

** I’m not the only one who’s damaged my hoo-ha while trying to take personal grooming into my own hands.

** Octomom could lose her house for failing to pay her mortgage — what a shocker since SHE HAS NO FREAKING JOB!!!!

**  It is entirely possible to wear your thong backwards all day long and not realize it.

** I run way faster when I’m pissed off.

** My kids REALLY pay attention to song lyrics.  (Yeah, thanks Katy Perry for inspiring the “Mommy, have you ever kissed a girl?” conversation.)

** Sandra Bullock’s husband likes tattooed armpits, while I just prefer deodorant on mine.

** OPI’s “You Don’t Know Jacques” is now my new favorite nail polish.  Google it and you’ll see why.

** You can cut off a dog’s balls, but you can’t cut off his mojo (horny little bastard).

**  It’s way more fun to play Wii in nothing but your underwear.

** We have a bionic pet fish who is never ever going to die (dammit!)

** The members of my household listen to about 1.5% of what I say.

** NyQuil makes me look like a bug-eyed crack whore the next day.

** The rocking chair on our front porch has become a shitter for squirrels.

** There are only a few things better than a REALLY good scalp massage.

** I should really buy my last shred of sanity a drink.

** Despite what I may think, God does not give me more than I can handle.

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/