Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

My husband says I’m a marketer’s dream.  (Guess it’s a good thing I married someone in advertising then, huh?)  I’m a total impulse buyer and can be so easily swayed by the so-called “promises” of a product.  Perhaps that’s why I was swept right up into the whole hoopla of the Keratin hair straightening craze.  (And by the way, to my guy readers?  Please don’t necessarily feel like you have to do an about-face on this very “girly” blog post — I may or may not include talk of beer and strippers later on, so hang tight.)

Since I have naturally wavy hair that takes FOR-FREAKING-EVER to blowdry straight, my hairdresser thought I’d be the perfect candidate for this “amazing” Keratin treatment that takes the major wave and frizz out of the hair, thereby making it much easier to style.  After several months of hemming and hawing about it, she finally talked me into doing it.  So, given that it costs a hefty $350, I then finagled my husband into getting it for my birthday in April.

**boobs, beer, strippers, boobs, beer, strippers** (had to throw that in there for the guy readers….)

     At first, I L-O-V-E-D the results.  I could whip my hair into shape like I was frickin’ Ken Paves.  No more everyday ponytails for this chicky!  I was lettin’ it down on a daily basis because my hair and I had finally grown to like each other again.  We were like newlyweds, and I just couldn’t keep my hands off it.  However, as with most marriages, the honeymoon period was very short-lived.  Not even two and a half months after forking over all that dough and the damn thing was all but gone from my frickin’ hair.  Talk about a buzz kill!

**boobs, beer strippers, boobs, beer, strippers** (You still with me, guy readers??  Come on, now, stick with me!)

     And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I also began to lose ridiculous amounts of hair each time I actually shampooed.  Thank the Lord that I have a shit-ton of hair to begin with or else I’d most definitely look like Telly Savalas by now — who loves ya kid?  Seriously, we’re talkin’ about SCARY amounts of hair left in the drain.  Makes me wonder just what in the crap kind of chemicals have been caked on my friggin’ hair.

     Needless to say, I will NOT be going for Round 2 of the Keratin treatment.  In my honest opinion, it was a total freakin’ waste of money.  And yes, I’m sending out a big “Sorry, Honey” to my husband for throwing away his hard-earned Benjamins on something that was so fleeting.  Perhaps he would’ve been more rewarded spending his money on boobs, beer & strippers???


Mother Freakin’ Hints

So Mother’s Day is this weekend, right? (And for those of you who live in a cave and didn’t know this, grab a Sharpie and write it on your damn calendar in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS right freaking now!) Anyway, I’ve been dropping mad hints left and right about things the kids and hubby could possibly get for me. After all, I think I deserve a seriously bad-ass gift, given all the crap I do for everybody around here day in and day out. The problem, though, is that I have a feeling all these subliminal suggestions are falling on deaf ears.

Now don’t get me wrong — it’s not like I’m expecting diamonds or new cars or anything fancy like that. I, for one, do NOT believe every kiss begins with Kay. No, I’ve been dreaming about more practical things that don’t necessarily break the bank. For example, for three years now. I’ve been planting the seed of how much I’d LOVE to have a front porch swing. I can just picture myself swinging away with a margarita in hand as my perfectly-behaved children play nicely in the front yard. (Ok, so maybe this scene of tranquility is a tad bit far-fetched for the Nucking Futs Clan, but it’s MY fantasy, so humor me people!) So far though, no dice on the swing dream.

I’ve also been reporting any massage specials I hear being advertised on t.v. or on the radio. A professional rub down would be profoundly appreciated since I literally bend over backwards for these people 24/frickin’/7. And the only kind of massage I can get around here is when I bribe my kids with a quarter to make circles with their bony little elbows on my back. Needless to say, Mama’s muscles would be totally down with some tender loving care.

I think, but I can’t confirm, that my family is up to something though. My husband has said that he’s been working on a “project” for the past week and quickly closes his computer every time I get near it. It’s either something really cool and special, or he’s totally surfing porn.  It could go either way.  All I know is that I better not get a damn vacuum cleaner or lame old pots and pans cause I think I deserve better than that.  I work hard for the money, dammit! Oh, wait, that’s right…I don’t get paid ANY money for this flipping job. Maybe every kiss SHOULD begin with Kay from now on….

Dad In Charge

I have to say that my husband is GREAT about letting me go and do my thing on the weekends to have a break from the kids, and I am REALLY grateful for that. However, he is WAY more laid back about certain things than I am. The house, for example, often looks like a damn bomb went off upon my return, and he often keeps the kids on a MUCH longer leash than I typically do. And this past weekend was certainly no exception to the go-with-the-flow-Daddy-on-duty routine.

On Saturday afternoon the hubby packed up the kids and the pooch and headed over to the dog beach while I went for a nice, long run by myself. When I got home, however, I found my kids changing clothes for the THIRD TIME THAT DAY. Apparently, they decided to get into the freezing cold waters of Lake Michigan with the frickin’ dog. WTF?! Where was their dad when they decided to take this little polar bear plunge, you ask? Good question! I would LOVE to know the answer to that as well, but I never got a straight answer.

Yet another example occurred on Sunday, when we all decided to take a family bike ride together. My husband, AKA Mr. Speedy Gonzalez, was naturally the leader of the pack, whereas I was moseying along at the back of the bunch. We were no more than a block from our house when my daughter completely ate pavement when she made too sharp of a turn around a corner. I jumped off my bike and yelled to my oblivious husband to wait up and then proceeded to comfort the screaming kid at my feet. So, when my son later asked me why I always ride my bike so slowly, I simply explained that SOMEBODY’S gotta keep an eye out for any unforeseen accidents since their father seems to think he’s Lance Armstrong.

And then the real kicker was when I came home from the grocery store on Sunday evening to find two buck naked (and might I add VERY MUDDY) children waiting for a shower. The nonchalant explanation I got from my husband was that the kids were playing in the mud in the backyard. Oh, of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Cause that type of productive activity is something that’s TOTALLY encouraged around here. Do you know that I’m STILL trying to get the mud off my son’s caked shoes? Yeah, good times.

So I guess if I want to look on the bright side of things, nobody has lost a limb or burned the house down (yet anyway). I should just be happy that I get a moment here or there to escape by myself, right? Besides, he’s an amazing papa, and I can’t blame him if the hospital forgot to send us home with our how-to parenting guide when the twins were born seven years ago.

Sick Days, My Ass

Sick days? Yeah, unfortunately, those don’t really exist in my line of work. So, when I go down for the count like I have the past couple of days, it’s just not pretty. Not pretty at all. Nope, I still had to pick my snot-nosed self up and motor on with the program whether I liked it or not. And even though my husband tried his very best to help out in getting the kids off to school yesterday and today, I still found myself having to perform my motherly duties even as I lay at death’s door.

My very nice, loving, thoughtful, considerate, helpful (do you get that I’m sucking up here?) husband insisted that he’d handle the morning routine so I could stay in bed and rest. Very sweet, right? However, Papa Nucking Futs has his own idea of how the AM schedule should go, and it’s not at all like mine. One crucial difference? I allow for one t.v. show while they eat, while he decided that the boob tube should remain off during breakfast. That’s like taking a freaking cigarette out of a chain smoker’s hands. As you can imagine, this did NOT bring about happy results. There was screaming, there was crying, and there was lots of counting to 3 going on below me as I “rested” in bed. I cringed as I listened to him laying down the law with threats of Wii priveleges being revoked and playdates being cancelled. I finally dragged myself out of bed to explain the whole “picking your battles” part of parenting to him. Nevertheless, the t.v. still remained off.

I then heard the sounds of fumbling around in the pantry and realized that my husband wouldn’t have a clue what to pack for snacks or what to put in my son’s lunch (since the kid refuses to EVER eat the school’s food). So I once again slithered out of bed to tell him what to pack and where to find it. (And apparently, I forgot to mention that my son needs something to drink, so the poor kid went thirsty at lunch.) My husband fussed at me to get back in bed and rest, since he had everything “under control. ” (Ha!)

When I climbed back into bed, I breathed a very nasally sigh of relief to FINALLY hear everyone packing up to leave. But then the front door slammed shut at least two hundred times as they all ran in and out of the house, the dog went crazy barking at all the madness, and the kids screamed as loud as their lungs would allow to their friends walking down the sidewalk.  It was seriously like a damn circus had rolled into town.

Thank goodness I could “rest” in bed though.  I reminded myself over and over and over again that it was the thought that counts, right?  Even still, though, one point was abundantly clear — a mom’s work is never ever finished.

Failing Miserably


     Well, I guess I’ll just go ahead and address the big fat elephant in the room.  Maybe nobody around here wants to admit it, but I seem to be really sucking ass at my job lately.  I’m trying to juggle way too many balls at once, and who am I kidding?  I don’t even know how to freaking juggle!  So, yes, this is my pity party, so pull up a seat cause you’re all invited.    

     The arrival of our literal little son of a bitch has thrown a big wrench in my ability to get a grip on anything around here.  He takes up so much of my time that I feel like I’m neglecting the kids, who are by far WAY higher up in the pecking order of importance.  I feel like I’m constantly telling them that we’ll have to play that game later or read this book another time so I can deal with the dog.  I’m totally sucking in my role as entertainer.  

     In addition, I’ve also been like a giant road block for my kids’ brain cells.  I totally missed the boat last week on an entire week’s worth of spelling activities for school. Yep, Mama Jackass somehow overlooked a whole list of homework assignments and didn’t even discover this little brain fart until over the weekend.  Oopsy daisy. Luckily, they were just at-home activities that kids were supposed to do each night with their parents, but still, I should’ve been more on top of my game.  

     Then, there’s the whole issue of trying to tame the Tazmanian Devil.  Since I was at my wit’s end with the pooch all last week, the hubs spent a lot of time trying to teach him how to not be a maniac over the weekend.  I made sure to carefully watch his technique so that I could continue with it once he went back to work on Monday. So why is it then that the dog refused to do ANYTHING I asked him to do even though I was doing the exact same thing my husband was doing over the weekend? Does he have something against me or what?  I swear if he had a middle finger, I know for certain that he’d totally be flipping me off.  The dog is clearly trying to tell me to eff off.  All he does is bite me and step in his own shit.  

     Then there’s my inability to be even somewhat of a semi-pleasant wife lately.  I am so frustrated and exhausted by the end of the day that I end up falling asleep by the time my tush finally makes that long-awaited contact with the couch.  I even turned down my husband’s offer to take me on a date over the weekend and opted to order out sushi instead.  How lame am I?   Yeah, I’m just a barrel of fun these days — being with me lately is only slightly more fun than a sharp stick in the eye.  Good God, am I turning into Kate Gosselin?!  

     So, to summarize my efforts around here:  kids = failing, dog = failing, husband = failing.  My report card looks pretty pathetic, don’t ya think?  I am flunking out big time with everything and everybody.  I gotta snap outta this and get back in the driver’s seat cause I am not a fan of spinning out of control.  It makes me dizzy.

Changing of the Guard


     I know I may complain about him being sloppy and about how much he procrastinates, but I gotta hand it to my hubby for steppin’ up to the plate this past weekend.  He must’ve realized that I was at the absolute end of my very frazzled rope with the new puppy and him being out of town ALL last week.  It was WAY more stress than I had envisioned, and I realize now in hindsight that the timing could not have been worse. I was like a shaken up bottle of Diet Coke just waiting to blow my top.

     Since I was so sleep deprived, the hubs took it upon himself to get up with both the dog and the kids at the first sign of day on both Saturday and Sunday.  He even herded them all to the backyard so the house would stay nice and quiet for me.  Good man. Mama needed her sleep, especially after that little rendezvous with Benadryl (necessary for the itchy bumps the dog hair caused me) and one too many glasses of Chardonnay.  He also spent a significant chunk of time trying to work on training the dog, only to come to the same conclusion as me — that we have, in fact,  purchased an insane baby alligator.  

     Now, that’s not to say that everything was all sunshine and rainbows.  The kids, of course, decided to make up for lost time with Daddy and show him how well they’ve learned to let things go in one ear and straight out the other.  I could hear his frustration mounting over having to repeat the same damn thing about two hundred and fifty thousand times.  Of course, I just sat back and observed because we all know that payback’s a bitch.  I was so glad that he was getting a little dose of just what all he’d been missing — one big happy, albeit apeshit, family.  

     I had to just overlook the fact that my kids were running around the backyard still wearing their pj’s well into the afternoon.  And I had to just bite my tongue and turn the other way when I saw that the pile of crap on the kitchen counter may very well have rivaled the Sears Tower in height.  And I had to just let it roll off my shoulders when my husband came back from the grocery store with quite possibly the cheapest toilet paper ever manufactured — seriously, we might as well just wipe our asses with sandpaper.  None of these things could overshadow the fact that the man was giving me a much needed breather.  I was so beyond grateful to have any kind of break whatsoever from the constant chaos that has become my life.

     My gratitude was only compounded after I ran into a friend of mine on Sunday who was complaining about her lazy husband.  She was out trying to run errands and said that he was literally calling her every three to four minutes to tell her to come home and feed the kids lunch.  She was on the verge of tears as she told me that she was really sorry but she needed to run.  I stood there in awe at the audacity of the whole ordeal.  Could the dude really not slop together a flippin’ pb&j for the kids?  Seriously, any moron can do that. Thank God my husband can not only make a mean pb&j, but he can also fire up some chicken nuggets in the microwave like nobody else’s business.  Now, he may not sail the boat exactly like I do, but at least he keeps it afloat long enough to give the captain a little catnap.

Multiples of Three’s


     You know how they say bad things happen in three’s?  Well, in my house, they tend to happen in MULTIPLES of three’s!  It’s the whole snowball effect — everything breaks at once, goes wrong at once, or just sucks all at once.  

     In the past month, we have had our ice maker, sprinkler system, dryer, and oven all break one right after the other, as well as a rather large tear in the corner of our sofa cushion. And, anyone who has dealt with repair work knows what a huge pain in the ass it is to have to clear your whole day to wait around for these people to show up. And, wouldn’t you know that we just so happened to miss the warranty time period by a few weeks time with each and every one of these issues.  Translation:  we need to grow more money trees in the backyard.

     As if these things were not problematic enough, my husband was in a car accident on his way home from work last night.  He was supposed to be picking up the goods to make a Mexican dinner here, and I needed to add one more thing to the grocery list.  When I called him, he said he’d just been in a wreck and would call me back.  I had no details other than that he wasn’t hurt.  I sat on pins and needles waiting to hear back from him and having to dodge questions from the kids, because naturally, their little sponge-like ears picked up on our conversation.  The first thing my daughter asked was if Daddy was playing on his phone when he crashed his car.  I must say that she’s very intuitive because this is an issue I’ve bitched about to him many times over.  I, myself, have been guilty of texting while driving in the past, but I’ve tried to be better about it lately, especially after seeing some pretty disturbing results of the dangers of doing just this.  I’m constantly harping on my husband to lay off the phone business while in the car.  When he finally called me back, it turned out that he actually WASN’T using his phone, and some woman turned right in front of him at an intersection.  

    And, as usually is the case, the drama of the situation didn’t end there.  My husband told me that I’d have to pick him up at the police station!  He didn’t realize it, but his driver’s license had just expired a couple of weeks ago, and the insurance card in his wallet was also expired by a few days.  I guess it’s standard procedure that they had to take him in the back of the squad car to the station and have him bond out.  (And, by the way, I didn’t even know what that meant until last night.)  I decided to ask the teenage girls across the street to come over and stay with the kids.  I didn’t think dragging them along with me would be such a good thing.  I could just see them going to camp the next day and telling their counselors that they picked their daddy up at the police station last night.

     So, now, in addition to all the other crap for which we’ve had to shell out money lately, I’m sure we’ll have to pay some kind of deductible AND deal with the hassle of rental cars, insurance, etc. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that no one was physically hurt — that is obviously THE most important thing.  But, why is it that it just had to happen on top of all the other freaking catastrophes? Did someone put a curse on our house or something?

     What types of domino effects have happened in your world?  How do you handle a big pile of problems all at once?  Maybe you know something I don’t know….