A Shitty Day At The Beach

Yesterday was a day when I needed much more than just an IV of caffeine.  Hell, what I needed was more like a damn IV of margaritas!  Cause yesterday?  Well, yesterday was pretty freaking sucky.  Any time that sandy poo is part of a trip to the beach is a day that I’d rather just forget altogether.

When you see your child running toward you through the sand with brown water running down her leg, you can pretty much bet your ass that you’re about to have yourself a wreck of a mess on your hands.  Do you know how well sand and poo go together?  Yeah, they don’t.  Like, at all.  I won’t go into all the nitty gritty details, since I care deeply about the welfare of my readers, but trust me, it was nothing short of a gag-inducing experience, without a doubt.  By the time I finished cleaning up the crime scene, I wanted to either go home and call it a day or hit the nearest bar stool and go to mother effin’ town.  I played the “Good Mama” card, though, put aside my feelings of nausea and bitterness, and let my daughter enjoy some more fun in the sun with her friends.  Cause that’s how I roll, people.  That did not, however, stop my eyes from shooting extra pointy daggers toward those few lucky bitches who were peacefully reading their magazines in their beach chairs as their offspring played off in the distance.  I mean really, bitches, take your perfect little parenting techniques and shove ’em up straight up your tranquil little asses, ok?

So, given the state of my afternoon, you can probably imagine, then, how well a tweeted picture of my husband’s view of the Eiffel Tower went over at the end of the day.  He’s in one of the most awesome cities on earth (for business, but STILL!), while I’m stuck here scraping shit out from underneath my fingernails.  A little off-balance, wouldn’t ya say?  I forewarned him that further awesome photography shots would most likely result in the loss of someone’s balls.  I think he got the picture.  So, here’s hopin’ that today is a little less “shitty” than yesterday….


The Furniture Salesman

Have u met my family room sofa?  You know, that one whose piping is poking out the edges, whose cushions are covered with water stains and whose edges are all frayed along the skirt?  Yes, I’m talking about the one that’s too shitty to even be considered for a fraternity house.  Let me refresh your memory:

Pretty freaking attractive, eh?  And I’m sure you noticed that goatdog has oh-so-strategically placed himself right in the middle of the hunk o’ junk.  So, what’s a person to do?  The way I saw it, I had but two choices.  I could either:  a.) roll in a dozen kegs and throw a big-ass toga party or b.) bite the bullet and go furniture shopping.  And as tempting as option a.) sounded, I decided to go with option b.)

Now I don’t know about you, but I liken furniture stores to car dealerships.  The salesmen are all strategically placed at the entrance ready to pounce on the next unsuspecting customer who strolls through the front door.  It’s truly a total and complete crapshoot as to what type of salesman you’re gonna get, too.  And wouldn’t you know that nine times out of ten, we end up with the biggest doofus of the bunch.  So, naturally, when we began our search for a new sofa over this past weekend, we sure enough ended up with the douche of all douches.

This clueless wonder looked eerily similar to Penn from Penn & Teller.  And I’m sorry, but cracking my ass up at a comedy club is WAY different than trying to redesign my family room.  Call me crazy, but it’s a little hard to take you and your knowledge of “style” seriously when you look like this:

No matter how many times I told this yahoo that I have a French Country-themed home, he continued to pull out everything from Asian-inspired prints to shit I would’ve seen in my eighty-eight year old grandma’s house.  The dude was so unbelievably moronic when it came to listening to his customer’s needs, that he talked more about his damn cat than he did about the right sofa for my family.  I had to grit my teeth so much just to get through the whole process that I was sure I’d need dentures when we finally left the place.

So I ask you — what DO you do in this situation?  Do you ask for another sales associate?  Do you tell the guy that he sucks and wouldn’t even be able to sell a cup of lemonade at a frickin’ lemonade stand?  Or do you do what I do and simply go to another store altogether?

** What IS the protocol for obnoxiously annoying salesman???? **

Did I Say That?

There are many phrases that instantaneously fly out of my mouth at this point in my life that I never ever thought I’d hear.  And yeah, I blame it ALL on parenting.  Cause kids?  They just constantly do weird shit.  Here are just a few of the ridiculous words that I’ve uttered over the past several years:

“Get that pea out of your nose!”

“Mommy’s boobs are not horns.”

“Don’t shoot your sister.”

“Please keep your hands out of your pants when you’re in the outfield.”

“Don’t pick your nose.”

“You won’t have any friends if you eat your boogers.”

“Do not ride the dog.”

” Shoes go on your feet, not the kitchen table.”

“Go to sleep or you’ll be short forever.”

“Plastic bags don’t go on your head.”

“Please don’t put your socks in the flower pots.”

“We do not eat bananas when we’re taking a poo.”

“Do not wear Mommy’s bra on your head.”

“No, rocks do NOT belong in the bathtub.”

“It’s not polite to spit at the neighbors.”

“Yes, you have to wear pants to the birthday party.”

“Mommy will go to jail if you don’t go to school.”

“Do not eat your toothpaste.”

“M&M’s are not a breakfast food.”

“We color on the paper, not on the wall.”

“Dead cicadas do not go in Mommy’s purse.”

“Do not suck on nickels.”


Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Ya know, I’ve had to put up with a LOT of shit as a mom — catching puke with my bare hands, getting my dress flipped up in the middle of a crowded bank, and even having to scrub a red crayon-decorated window frame just in time for Mother’s Day.  Sure, my top might very well be about to blow, but nevertheless, I take it since that’s what parents do.  However, the one thing that absolutely burns my butt more than anything else is when my kids try to lie to me.

Now granted, I realize that sometimes, kids are just guilty by association, so I try my best to give them the benefit of the doubt.  Hell, I had my own fair share of misplaced finger pointing as a youngin’.  I remember one time that I totally took the heat for something that I didn’t even do.  My best friend was over at my house on our freshly stained deck in the backyard, when she spilled an entire bottle of tanning oil smack dab in the middle of the damn thing.  I knew that my dad was gonna flip his freaking lid, since he had put blood, sweat and tears into refinishing that deck.  And would you believe that my parents didn’t even give me a chance to explain MY side of the story?!  I was immediately blamed for effing up the wood and sentenced to one week of grounding.  I watched from the confines of my bedroom window as my friend happily played with the rest of the neighborhood in her false sense of freedom.  It was totally and completely unfair that she lied, and I was the one who had to pay the price.

There are times, however, when kids flat out lie straight to their parents’ faces.  And THIS is what makes me want to drop-kick a Webkinz or two.  Take, for instance, yesterday when my nose was immediately blasted with the overwhelming smell of fingernail polish when I stepped into my daughter’s room.  I must have asked her ten different times if she had painted her nails or anything else in the room, to which she innocently replied, “NO“, with a cute little bat of her big puppy dog eyes.  Every fiber of my being told me that the little shit was lying right through her toothless grin.  Plus, I have a wicked sense of smell so I knew that my nose, at least, was NOT deceiving me.

And wouldn’t ya know that after just a few minutes alone with Daddy, the little Pinocchio confessed her dishonesty and presented a freshly painted sock, complete with “pink” streaks and blobs??!!  WTF?!  Why the hell wouldn’t she tell ME, the woman who brought her into this world?!  I know I may be pissy at times, but I’m certainly no Wicked Witch of the Midwest.  She made him promise not to tell me the details of the story, so I’m not really sure where she was hiding the thing in her room.  I was so incredibly irked that she refused to tell me the truth.

Now I realize that this is probably just one of many lies that my daughter will tell me in her lifetime, but I really want my kids to feel like they can come to me with anything, whether it be something small like fingernail polish or something big like not getting in the car with a friend who’s been drinking.  Keeping the lines of communication open is such a vital part of parenting and something for which I will continue to strive.  And if all else fails, well then I’ll just send Daddy in to get the low-down….

Things I’ve Learned This Week

** I need to start turning tricks on the corner to pay for all this end of the school year crap.

** If it looks like pink eye, it probably is.

** Injecting crazy amounts of shit into your lips makes you look like Curious George.

** Spongebob, Dora & Calillou run a very tight race as to who has THE most annoying voice ever.

** I should never send the dog flowers, unless it’s for a snack.

** The bathroom at the grocery store is all kinds of nasty.  (Just trust me on this one.)

** Whenever my daughter is skateboarding, I need to wear steal-toed shoes.

** Silly Bands are taking over the world, one rubber band at a time.

** Pop Tarts do NOT belong in your bra.

** If you have a penis, it works best to open the toilet seat lid before peeing.

** There’s a big pile of poo in the backyard.  (The poor babysitter learned this too late.)

** When you’re really really tired, you can fall asleep just about anywhere, including the waiting room of the pediatrician’s office.

** Wine corks only break off in the bottle when my husband’s out of town.

** Every clock in our house says a different time, so technically, I am always on time.

** The Blackhawks know how to kick some ass!

** Homemade Mother’s Day presents are still great, even if you don’t receive them until two months after the fact.

** I’ve got the zombie look down to a freakin’ T.

** I should’ve talked the kids into a pet rock instead of a damn dog.

** It’s gonna be a LONG-ass summer.

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


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’!!!!

Crap! School’s Out

Well, it’s that time once again — time to wrap up yet another year of school.  I swear I don’t know where the hell the time has gone, but I feel like I was just bawling my eyes out at kindergarten graduation.  And now?  My babies are about to officially become big ol’ second graders.  And if I start to get too sappy about this little milestone, well then all I need to do is spend more than five minutes with the little hellions to be snapped right out of my sentimental haze.  Cause good God almighty, these kids have summer fever coming right outta their miniature a-holes.

Just what do I mean by “summer fever” you ask?  Well, say you poured ten cups of sugar into a giant bowl, topped it off with some sprinkles of crack-cocaine, fed it to two seven-year-olds, and then had them chase it with a case of Red Bull.  Yeah, that is what I’m talkin’ about!  They are literally bouncing off the walls with excitement 24/7.  Honestly, I had no idea that human beings were capable of talking this freaking much.  And would it have killed God to equip these flippin’ kids with a damn volume button?  Sheesh, a person can pop only so much Advil before it becomes treacherous to her health, ya know.

And as if the hyper activity weren’t enough in and of itself, I’m also being bombarded with every paper and notebook under the damn sun that’s being sent home each and every day.  I really wish I could talk the teachers into using my round filing cabinet system more often.  Call me a bad mom, but I don’t need to save every frickin’ handwriting paper their pencils came into contact with.  To be fair to the teachers, though, I totally get that they’re just trying to get the crap out of their classrooms so that they, too, can get the hell out of dodge for the summer.  I just wish it wouldn’t end up scattered all over the floor of my living and dining rooms.

There WAS something positive, however, about the clearing out of the desks that occurred.  My son finally came across the Mother’s Day present that he made for me in art class and apparently forgot to bring home.  Nothin’ like a little appreciation for mama, even if it IS a month AFTER the fact.  But hey, I’ve learned through experience to just take what I can get.

So when that final bell rings today, I’m left with just one question:  How in the name of my last shred of sanity am I gonna survive the next two months??!!  We’re either gonna have an amazing summer together, or they’re gonna eat me alive on a silver platter.  Regardless of what happens, though, I’m gonna be sure to wear clean underwear and stock up on wine so I’m prepared for either scenario.