Worst Mother of the Year


     So, have you heard the big news?  My kids nominated me for the “Worst Mother of the Year” award the other night.  Yeah, they think I’ve got a really good shot at winning it this year.  According to them, I’m really smoking the competition cause I suck WAY more than the other moms could even possibly suck.  (Get your mind out of the gutter, people, cause that was in no way meant to be sexual, you little pervs.)  I mean, sheesh, you take away some Halloween candy from a couple of kids, and they throw you right under the damn bus.

     It all started the other night when my husband was on yet another out of town business trip, and I was going through the whole song and dance pain in the ass routine of bedtime around here.  I put them to bed, and, as usual, they got right back out of bed.  They had to pee, they had to poop, they wanted socks, they wanted a drink of water, they wanted the hall light on, they wanted the hall light off, they basically wanted to drive me out of my mother frickin’ mind. After tromping up and down the stairs three different times, I announced that the next time I heard so much as a single peep out of them, I would take away the remainder of their Halloween candy — every single last piece of it.  I even had them repeat it to be sure that they heard me and understood just what the consequences would be if they continued to play around. They reiterated my threat, and it seemed that we were definitely on the same page.  I wasn’t messing around — I’d pulled out the big guns and went right for the most important bargaining tool I had.

     I went back downstairs to finally eat my dinner and had just settled down to take my first bite when I heard a loud CRASH from overhead.  I practically spit out my food because I could not believe one of them had the audacity to test me.  I marched right back up the stairs to find that my daughter had decided to have a damn after hours tea party and had accidentally dropped one of the saucers.  Big mistake, sister. She was soooooo busted!  I announced in a very matter-of-fact manner that her candy was gone, and she immediately burst into hysterics.  I calmly shut her door and made my way back downstairs.  I refused to crumble and give in to her drama, so I took a bunch of deep breaths.  The wails were growing louder and louder by the minute, so I turned the t.v. on to try to drown out the noise.  And, wouldn’t ya know, not too much longer after the first shakedown did I hear another loud thump from up above.  

     I again climbed back up the flippin’ staircase to find my son standing in the hall with a slimy grin on his face and a pair of socks in his hand.  He wanted to tell me that he was getting some socks out of his drawer, AKA trying to see how far he could push me to the edge.  When I told him that his candy would also be hittin’ the high road, he thrust himself onto the floor and joined his sister in throwing a balls-to-the-wall tantrum like no other.  

     I again walked away from the madness and plopped on the couch downstairs with my now cold microwaved dinner and turned the t.v. up even louder.  The exasperated cries of “NO!!!” were only mildly camouflaged by the blare of the boob tube.  Had I missed something here?  I was pretty sure I had made myself perfectly clear when I very thoroughly explained just exactly what would happen if the goofing around continued, and I was pretty sure that they had each said that they thoroughly understood those consequences.  So, how horribly awful of me then to do EXACTLY WHAT I SAID I WAS GOING TO DO.  

     Truth be told, I was secretly looking for an excuse to get rid of all the jackass candy anyway, and their little nighttime high jinks were just the ticket I needed.  To them though, I might as well have taken away the air they breathe because that sugar high was what they’ve lived for ever since October 31.  So, when I make my acceptance speech at the “Worst Mother of the Year” Awards ceremony in a few weeks, I’ll actually mean it when I say that I want to thank all the little people who helped make it happen.


Halloween Party Pics

I had some requests for photographic evidence of the good times had at our big Halloween bash over the weekend, so here ya go….

P1010316Competing prom queens


DSC03013Dumb & Dumber (my hubby’s the dumber one in the orange)


DSC03151Reno 911 cop


DSC03023Hippy chick, Paul Stanley (KISS), & moi


DSC03039Hippy dude busy earning his grand prize doll


P1010405Big Bertha comes to life


I’d post more pictures, but then I’d have to kill you.  Sometimes, what happens at the party, stays at the party.  But what a fun night it was….  






Halloween Recap


     Phew!  What a whirlwind of a weekend.  Between our adults-only Halloween party on Friday night and trick-or-treating on Saturday night, I am absolutely zapped.  There was dancing, there was drinking, there was tricking, and there was treating.  So, I thought I’d give you a recap of all the fun-filled festivities.

     The Halloween party was a total blast with a lively group of people who were ready to let loose.  Throw a DJ into a room full of stressed out parents, and you’ve got yourself one hell of a dance party!  And their costumes were A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!  The prize winners of the “Best Couple” costume had literally turned themselves into Fed Ex packages from head to toe.  I’m sure they’ve been celebrating their victory in their edible underwear all weekend long.  The “Best Male” costume prize went to a guy who was dressed as the cop from Reno 911.  He had the super tight short shorts, the mustache and everything.  The “Best Female” prize went to a girl who was dressed as Princess Leia (every guy’s secret fantasy).  The “Most Inappropriate Couple” were hilarious — the wife was dressed as a margarita and the husband was a breathalizer with a “Blow Here” tube placed ever so conveniently in his crotch area.  And the grand prize of the night (the blow-up doll named Big Bertha) went to a guy dressed like a hippy who must’ve dirty danced with every wife there.  He worked that room like it was his job, even busting out into the splits in the middle of the dance floor. And when he was awarded the top prize of the night, he most certainly didn’t disappoint.  He blew Bertha up right there on the spot and posed for all the cameras that were flashing. His wife just stood back and rolled her eyes and laughed at his “acceptance speech”, but I’m sure she will be thrilled to have a stand-in for those nights when she’s “got a headache.”

     We ended up staying at the bar so late that we were hanging out with the bartenders by the end of the night.  We finally decided to walk home with me wearing my husband’s stupid neon orange tuxedo jacket (he and another husband dressed as Dumb and Dumber).  I’m sure we looked ridiculous as hell to anyone who happened to be out at that hour.  I’d lost my corsage, my crown and the flowers in my hair and had somehow acquired someone’s mustache in my purse.   We didn’t care though cause we’d had an unbelievable amount of fun dancing our asses off with all our friends.  And it seemed that the other party-goers shared that same sentiment when I saw them out and about trick-or-treating the next night. Let’s just say that there were a LOT of hungover parents tagging behind their little ones in the neighborhood on Saturday.

     Regardless of how bad we felt on the inside, we had to just put on a happy face and try to forget about that jackhammer pounding away in our heads cause our kids were on a mission for candy.  It was hard to dwell on a hangover too, since our neighborhood is so much fun on Halloween. Spooky music was blaring on nearly every block, and kids were running everywhere.  Many houses were passing out wine and beer (including ours) to the adults, although I chose to stay away from all things alcohol that night.  My kids got so much candy that they had to stop by home and pick up another empty bucket.  When my husband took them out to their last block, they ran into some rather strange give-aways.  One lady was handing out scarves, neck ties and bracelets, which totally blew my kids’ minds. Then another lady was apparently handing out 2-liter bottles of pop.  What the hell?!  I don’t know if they ran out of candy or what, but if you ask me, they were totally asking to get egged. When it was all said and done, we had four buckets full of sugar and two very happy trick-or-treaters.  

     I ate so many KitKats and Twix bars over the next two days that I now feel sick.  And the kids have already started in with asking me for candy before breakfast. I’ll allow this madness to continue for a couple more days, and then I’m shipping it all off with my husband to work.  The Halloween frenzy has come to an end, and I’m already counting down the days till next year when I can justifiably dress up like an idiot once again.

Costume Party


     I absolutely L-O-V-E Halloween.  Sure it’s great to take the kids out trick-or-treating and all that jazz, but it’s not just all about the kids. It’s the one night a year when even adults can dress up like idiots and make complete fools out of themselves. So, I was beyond excited last year when we were invited to the costume party of all costume parties in the city.

     These people have a reputation for being unbelievable costume creators.  They work for weeks and weeks to come up with some seriously killer getups. Since I knew we were running with the big dogs, I spent hours looking online for unique ideas for my husband and me.  I wanted something different than the typical boring old couples costumes.  We finally decided on a devil and an angel, with a twist, of course.  My husband wore a red velvet smoking jacket with a devil’s tail attached to the back of it. I got him some sparkly gold sunglasses, a big gold chain, and a fat cigar that said “Big Daddy.”  A drawn-on black mustache that screamed 80’s porn king completed the ensemble.  I wore a teensy tiny white dress and stuffed a pillow underneath to form my baby bump.  I had feathery wings and a tattoo on my chest that said, “Love Stinks.” The final touch was a sash that I wore across one shoulder that read, “The Devil Made Me Do It.” Surprisingly, we were a big hit at the party, but we definitely had some stiff competition.

     One girl turned herself into a Jesus candle.  Another transformed herself into Humpty Dumpty, complete with brick wall and everything. Then there was the guy who made himself half Max and half Wild Thing from “Where the Wild Things Are.”  And another group of people posed as polygamists with each wife wearing a sign on their backs that said, “Wife #1“, “Wife #2” and so on. One of my favorites, though, was a guy who had on blue scrubs with white clumps of cotton attached all over them.  I stared and stared at him all night trying to figure out just what in the hell he was supposed to be. Finally, I decided to walk over and ask him.  He said, “Here, hold this,” and reached into his pocket to grab a tiny little purple drink umbrella.  He then pulled out a water bottle, spritzed my face with water, and said he was “Partly Cloudy With a Chance of Showers.” Freaking genius!

     This year we are helping to host a big Halloween party in the ‘burbs, so the pressure is on once again to get all decked out.  After much pondering, another one of the wives and I have decided to go as competing prom queens.  We dug out our shitastic old prom dresses from high school and are going to attempt to squeeze our more mature, very post high school asses into them once again. We’re gonna use some magic makeup tricks to give ourselves black eyes and bloody lips, tease our hair all out to hell and back with some good ol’ Aquanet hair spray, rip a crown in half for us each to wear, and tear our dresses as if we’ve really been throwing down. We’re even going so far as to get baby’s breath for our hair and gaudy corsages for our wrists — yeah, baby, we’re going all out!  My husband and her husband are going as Dumb and Dumber with the tacky orange and blue tuxedos and top hats.  Should definitely make for some funny pictures.

     I can’t wait to see what other creations people come up with.  I’m hoping they bring their A-game cause there are fantastic prizes to be awarded for superior awesomeness.  It’s Halloween, people, and it’s time to let your hair down and have some fun!  You may be hesitant at first, but that won’t last long, for no mere mortal can resist the evil of the thriller.  Ah ha ha ha ha, ah ha ha ha ha!

***** HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!*****

The “Toy” Store


     This year my husband and I were asked to help co-host a big adults-only Halloween bash with four other couples.  Somehow or another, one of the other wives and I got roped into picking out the prizes to be awarded for best costumes. They were supposed to be funny gag gifts, and after much Googling for stores such as Spencer’s and the like, we realized that our retail options were very limited in our area.  The only place we came up with is a store called “Lover’s Lane.”  You can probably use your imagination to guess what type of merchandise they carry, but let’s just say it’s a lingerie/”toy” store.

     When my friend and I pulled up to the place, we questioned whether it was even open because there were maybe only two other cars in the parking lot.  They were most certainly open, though, and the hours were painted right there on the door along with the words, “You must be 18 years of age to enter.”  When we opened the door, we were surprised at the large selection of Halloween costumes they carried. (Granted, they were all things like slutty referee, slutty maid, slutty Girl Scout, etc.) We mosied on along to the wall that had all the bachelorette party goods on display.

     We were like the blind leading the blind in there.  The vast assortment of penis paraphenalia sort of stopped us in our tracks.  We just stood there in amazement at how many penis products there were from which to choose. There were penis lollipops, penis leis, penis chocolates, penis straws, penis cups, penis pens, a “Pin the Penis on the Stud” game, and so on and so on.  We obviously looked out of place there or something (I can’t imagine why), because the sales clerk, who was modeling one of the slutty Halloween costumes sold in the store, came over to try to help us.  We told her that we needed to buy gag gifts for a Halloween party, but she clearly didn’t understand the concept of “gag.” She proceeded to show us massage oils and feathered ticklers and vibrators and all sorts of things that were WAY more personal than what we had in mind.  We told her we’d just browse.

     We ended up deciding on a penis soda can sipper to go with a boob beer can sipper and a penis inspector badge to go with a boob inspector badge.  But then we were stumped.  The selection of merchandise was clearly more in the penis realm. We needed more boobs.  I called the girl over and said, “Excuse me, but do you have a boob section anywhere?” She looked at me like I was crazy and said that no, they didn’t really have a “boob section.”  Instead, she led us around the corner to a selection of edible underwear and some blow-up dolls.  After a whole lot of should we or shouldn’t we, we finally chose some his & hers edible drawers and even ended up getting a blow-up doll, which will be awarded late night in the party to whoever makes the biggest ass out of themselves (we’re counting on it to be a guy since it’s an inflatable female).  I thought about buying one of the dolls for my husband when I’m just too tired for all that but decided against it in the end.

     All in all, we were pretty happy with what we found.  I hope and pray that we don’t offend any of the prize winners, but if we do, then those people shouldn’t be at the party in the first place.  Halloween is all about having fun and letting your hair down.  And if you happen to come home with a blow-up doll at the end of the night, she’ll last a helluva lot longer than any old piece of candy.


Sandy3-Halloween Ghost Vellum     

     Every Halloween our neighborhood has a tradition of “BOO”ing people.  This is basically the same thing as “Ding Dong Ditch,” only with candy.  If you get “BOO”d, you’re supposed to tape a little paper ghost to your front door, so that people will know that your house has already been hit.  It’s then your responsibility to “BOO” two other houses on the block without getting caught.  Seems like an easy enough concept, but when you’re six, being inconspicuous is like sneaking an elephant into the movies. 

     My kids were so excited when we got “BOO”d the other night, and they couldn’t wait to “BOO” someone else.  So, last night, I promised them we’d go hit up some houses after dark.  We stuffed two bags with candy and set out with our flashlights. Most of the houses already had ghosts on their doors, so the pickins were pretty slim.  When we finally found a house that hadn’t been hit, we had fight off another little neighborhood girl for it.  She was armed with candy and ready to “BOO.”  However, I wanted to get the whole thing over with, so I whispered to my daughter to run.  I knew she could totally beat that chick up their front steps, and she proved me right once again.  When she got up to their porch, she lingered just a little too long after she rang the doorbell, and the dad came bounding through the door and caught her red-handed.  She was so bummed that she almost broke down in tears, but I quickly moved the process along by locating the only other house on our street that hadn’t been hit.

     I stood back and watched my two little prankster-wannabes creep up to the front porch and carefully place the bag of candy on the doorstep.  They rang the bell and ran like hell down the steps.  I thought for sure one of them was gonna bust their head open trying to remain unseen, but luckily no blood was shed.  My kids watched with excitement as the woman opened her door and took the bag of candy inside. Mission accomplished.  One down and one to go!  My kids were totally pumped up and ready to strike again.

     Since we’d run out of houses on our street, we decided to try their little friend who lives around the corner.  Apparently, they don’t “BOO” people on his street because none of the houses had ghosts on their doors, which turned out to be a real problem. My daughter decided to have a go at his house first.  She crept up the steps and immediately ducked down and called for me.  I guess the entire family was hanging out in the family room and could see the front porch as plain as day.  I told her just to go for it.  She rang the bell and ran like the wind down to meet my son and me in the bushes.  We could see the dad looking out the window, but then he disappeared.  My son then decided to take a stab at it.  The dad came to the window once again but still didn’t open the door.  I figured the third time would surely be a charm, so my daughter tried one more time.  

     We were nervously waiting in the bushes to see if they were ever going to answer the damn door, when we saw the whole family peering out the window to see who was out there in the darkness.  Then, suddenly the dad came around from the back of the house shouting over and over in a very angry voice, “Who’s there?!”  Oh shit!  I realized that if I didn’t say something, they were gonna call the cops on us.  I could just imagine the headline in the paper, “Nucking Futs Suburban Mom Arrested in Bushes for Voyeurism.”  I quickly stepped out of the bushes and identified myself to the dad, who ended up laughing hysterically at the whole turn of events.  He said he actually did contemplate calling the police.  Like I said, they don’t “BOO” on his street.

     I was so relieved to have the “BOO”ing behind us when we finally got home.  It’s a cute idea that the kids love, but it’s also a pain in the ass when you have two kids who don’t have a clue how to be sneaky.  The excitement factor’s definitely taken down a notch if you happen to get caught.  And it’s all fun and games till someone goes to jail.

Pumpkin Patch


     My kids have been bugging the hell out of me to get a pumpkin since they first saw them on display at the grocery store back in early September (because apparently, we have to wheel out all the decorative crap at least one to three months BEFORE an actual holiday anymore).  So, this past weekend, I promised them that we’d make a trip over to the pumpkin patch to get their long-awaited pumpkins. And, like most things these days, it didn’t end up to be the fun-filled adventure that I’d envisioned.    

     The “pumpkin patch” is actually just the front lawn of a local church here in town.  All of the profits go towards different charities. In fact, the sign in front of it says, “Our pumpkins help people.”  This idea totally appealed to me because I wouldn’t actually feel like I was throwing money away  when I look out the front door in a few days and see a possy of squirrels going to town on our jack-o-lanterns. My pumpkins may be mutilated, but I helped people, dammit!  

     So, the search was on for the perfect pumpkins.  My daughter wanted a tall, skinny one, and my son wanted a big, round one.  They must have inspected every friggin’ pumpkin there trying to find exactly what they were looking for.  Pumpkins were rolling here, pumpkins were rolling there, and I thought for sure that I was gonna end up having to pay for a bunch of damaged goods.  Eventually, the kiddos found two that met their standards, as well as two other smaller ones that they somehow talked me into buying.  (Yes, I am a sucker.)  I tracked down a wagon, and we loaded it with our findings.

     It was at this time that I realized that our car was parked clear around the corner, and I was gonna have to juggle four pumpkins and two kids across oncoming traffic. Now, I may be one of the world’s greatest multi-taskers, but ain’t no way that scenario was gonna play out successfully.  So, I asked the man at the checkout table if I could leave my pumpkins there while I moved the car around.  He agreed, and I dragged the kids back to the car.  In the short amount of time it took to move the car, the kids must’ve asked me damn near seventy-five times if they could hold their little pumpkins on the way home.   

     I pulled up to the curb, and the very nice checkout man helped me load the car.  As I was thanking him, I decided to ask about the charities that benefit from their sales, and he gave me a handout with about ten different organizations that they serve.  He was right in the middle of telling me all about his favorite charity when my extremely impatient children decided to roll down the car windows and yell my name OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER again.  I didn’t want to interrupt the guy when he was so passionately describing this beneficiary, so I nonchalantly tried to wave my hand behind my back to shush them. This only seemed to add fuel to their fire, and the cries grew even louder.  I was so embarrassed that I actually had to stop him and tell my kids to pipe down.  I was absolutely furious on the inside, but I tried like hell not to let it show on the outside. I slapped a fake smile on my face and pretended to listen as he continued.  When the kids turned their volume up to full-blast, he finally took this as his cue to thank me and walk away.  I held my breath and counted to fifty before I got back in the car to let my kids have it.  

     They started in with their demands to hold their pumpkins, but I quickly squashed that idea altogether.  I explained how incredibly rude they were being and gave a whole glorious speech about the importance of giving to others in need.  Although I’m quite sure it all went in one ear and out the other, I at least said my peace, and we drove home with the pumpkins in the very back of the car all by their lonesomes. And just like that, my idea for a warm and fuzzy fall adventure was smashed like a pumpkin.