tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20479458853804393012024-03-13T23:57:20.787-04:00The Daily EpiduralThere are those who need coffee to start their day...others would like an epidural...Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.comBlogger118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-70434106897503309212012-10-05T09:57:00.001-04:002012-10-05T09:57:58.344-04:00Trick or Treat Savings & LoanWhen I was a kid, I wanted nothing more than to have our mom buy a Barbie costume for me for Halloween. You know the one...Barbie was garbed in a shocking pink, plastic dress that tied behind the neck with drawn on faux pearls and it came with a mask that smelled like animal carcass (or so I've been told...) that stayed on for about 12 minutes before the elastic snapped and your mom had to strap it to your head with an old shoelace. The one that was made ENTIRELY of plastic and your parents held their breath as you skirted every staircase, brushing right past the neighbor's lit pumpkins, for fear you'd burst into flames or melt into a puddle of pink plastic right before their very eyes. Nope, never got that pink Barbie costume. <br />
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<span lang="">But now I know why. They were expensive. I've never understood paying more than $10 for a Halloween costume. It's against my religion. My storage area houses a Buick sized bin that contains a plethora of clearanced Halloween costumes from years past. When my kids start tossing around ideas of what to be for Halloween, I send them down to the bin. "But mom, the Cad Bane costume with super reflective head gear and laser blasting pistol isn't IN the bin" I remember growing up wanting nothing more than for my mother to buy me that plastic Barbie costume. She would retort with, "Can Barbie wear this pillowcase, threadbare towel, and make-shift cotton batting wig?" Why yes mom, that is exactly what I had in mind. But now I'm that mom. I refuse to give in to the hype of Halloween costume catalogs that show up in the mail (that I destroy before my children know of their existence) I refuse to be a patron of Halloween specialty stores for a variety of reasons (most important ones being they are fucking terrifying and horribly over-priced) A few years ago my husband came home with store bought FULL PRICE Halloween costumes for the kids and I almost had heart failure. <br /><br />Is it mean that I crush my children's childhood dreams of being a Clone Trooper or Lalaloopsy? Probably. But I just can't get on board with my children picking their costumes out MONTHS in advance and then dropping $40 on each one...and THEN changing their minds about what they desperately want to be. Halloween costumes are insanely expensive. And if you think about it, they are a colossal waste of money. They are worn for a few hours at most, are cheap pieces of shit that fall apart after visiting no more than six houses, are worn when it's DARK out so who the hell can even tell what the child is supposed to be, and for those of you in colder climates chances are your little princess or Jedi is going to be wearing their fluffy marshmallow coat, boots, hats, and mittens over their costumes anyway. Why spend the money? Or at least the insane amounts they want for some of those costumes. You can buy a whoooooooooooole lotta groceries with Halloween costume money. The year my Mr. bought the costumes I just kept picturing the kids walking around as boneless skinless chicken breasts, pork loin, produce, and other necessary staple pantry items...when asked what my kids were dressing up as for Halloween that year, I'm quite certain I replied chicken cordon bleu with steamed vegetables, chicken alfredo lasagna with a mixed salad, and loaded baked potato soup.<br /><br />So it may be mean of me to squash their visions but I DO buy Halloween costumes and then GENTLY steer my children in the direction of those costumes. The ones happily housed in my Buick sized storage bin with pretty little clearance stickers on them. I always make sure I buy costumes that I KNOW my kids would have a least a small amount of interest in. I wouldn't buy a Thomas the Train in the hopes that my princess loving 4 year old would love it and want to sleep in it dreaming blissfully of Percy and Sir Topham Hatt. I wouldn't buy a Harry Potter themed costume for my son who is convinced that he truly is a Jedi in training. They usually get so excited by the costume overflow that they forget about the low quality high priced crap they saw at the store. Who needs that when mom has a bucket FULL of low quality low priced crap right here???
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Even though *I* never got to be plastic pink highly flammable Barbie for Halloween, I'm ok with it. Because a few years later I DID get to wear my older sister's hand-me-down Miss America costume, complete with pipe cleaner tiara and glittered banner. My mom made some killer costumes for us growing up...several of which she still has. And although I DO have sewing skills, my clearance shopping skills are better. My kids still get to dress up in some sweet ass costumes. Considering what I have to spend each year on candy for the little neighborhood urchins (and myself because I hoard and eat half of it before October 31st even arrives) I can't be dropping $40 on ONE freaking costume, I just can't do it. So as some parents rework their monthly budgets, revamp their household energy usage, and vow to eat nothing but ramen to ensure that Junior gets to be Boba Fett, we'll still be eating just as well as we ever do, keeping the thermostat at a comfortable temperature, and my kids will be proudly trick or treating in their costumes that I rescued from the floor at Target and purchased for 90% off.<br />
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</span>Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-12363987277275873092012-10-02T06:44:00.002-04:002012-10-02T06:45:22.537-04:00Pintastic? Not so much...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My name is Anne and I'm a Pinterest junkie. I have spent many hours mindlessly, blissfully scrolling through page after page of recipes, home decor, crafts, nail polish art and hairstyles that would make Frederic Fekkai jealous...that is if anyone could REALLY do that shit.<br />
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I will say that I have found MANY useful things on Pinterest, for example did you know that if you cut up a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser and drop a few pieces in your toilet that bald headed genius cleans that shit for you (literally)? Or the perfect way to hang a picture is to use painters tape to line up the holes? Amazing...my walls no longer look like a firing squad went ballistic in my living room.<br />
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I have found fantastic recipes as well. Cake batter pancakes? Hell to the yeah bitches!! Salted caramel pretzel bark? Sweet baby Jesus...if you haven't tried that there is something fundamentally wrong with you. Not even kidding. I mean seriously, if a recipe calls for TWO STICKS of butter you know it has to be fanfuckingtastic. I love you all SO much I'll share the link because you need to make <a href="http://mamasaywhat.com/salted-caramel-pretzel-bark/" target="_blank">this</a>. And eat it all. Immediately. And then make more and send it to me. It's almost my birthday. And you love me. Trust me. If you aren't already on your way to the store I'm a little pissed off. <br />
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But for each fabulously useful or delicious thing I've found, I've stumbled across ten times as many things that did not bring me to a near orgasmic state. Quite the opposite in fact. I'll admit I've looked a few things and wondered who the hell could REALLY do that or make that? But then logic is brushed aside by pure stubbornness because if anyone can do it goddammit, it'll be ME. I'll show all of those naysayers and make my fingernails look like an argyle covered work of art while braising a pork tenderloin, making no sew pillows for my couch, and creating breathtaking wall art for my baby's nursery...while breastfeeding...and doing a needlepoint...and mod podging SOMETHING. Yeah, not so much...<br />
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Here I am going to share with you some of my most epic Pinterest fails...the ones that I'm willing to admit to, anyway...<br />
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Homemade ice cream in a baggie...<br />
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Yeah, I should have run for the hills as soon as I realized exactly WHAT needed to happen with this here recipe. BUT I was gigantically pregnant (and clearly oxygen was not flowing to my brain properly) we had just moved, my kids were bored out of their ever loving minds, and I wanted to spend quality time with my kids before spawn #4 arrived. All of the above = recipe for disaster.</div>
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I should have just called a halt to proceedings when the 7 year old insisted that HE be the one to pour the half and half into the first ziploc. Bet you can guess how THAT turned out huh? Good thing I bought two containers of half and half. So the 11 year old poured while the 7 year old mopped up the floor and bitched about how life isn't fair, homemade ice cream sucks, why can't we just go to McDonalds, and that mom is the devil (not certain about that part but sure sounded like it) So THEN the 4 year old said she wanted to get the ice...well, she has a hard enough time getting ice out of the ice maker and into a cup so getting it into a floppy, uncooperative plastic bag was soooooooo not gonna happen. But I was too fat, cranky, hot and miserable to fight her and we were having bonding time dammit. So fast forward to 48 bazillion ice cubes all over the floor...so now I have a crying 4 year old standing in a puddle, a bitching 7 year old on his hands and knees basically just pushing half and half everywhere, and the 11 year old standing over them laughing. I SHOULD have just called a halt to the project right then and there. But we were fucking bonding and I was going to make homemade ice cream with my babies dammit. WITH SPRINKLES And then came the shaking...well, if you put three children together and shaking a giant ziploc bag full of liquid is the activity of choice OF COURSE they are going to fight over it and OF COURSE the fucking bags are going to explode in the ensuing battle. So does homemade ice cream actually turn out? No idea...my floors are STILL sticky and the 7 year old was grinning ear to ear as I handed out cones from McDonalds.<br />
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Handprint family tree...<br />
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SO cute, right? Yeah...not the one we did. It looked like my children were having seizures just as they were pressing their hands onto the paper. OR have giant man-hands. Or both. We ended up with Godzilla-esque, rainbow smears across our family tree. I figured that the end result would lead people to question our DNA even further so it never made it into the frame.<br />
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DIY ruffled baby shoes...<br />
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TO.DIE.FOR.CUTENESS. I gasped when I found this one. And rubbed my giant belly and smiled blissfully at the thoughts of my sweet baby girl toddling around in the precious little shoes that I would make for her. I would make her some in every color, of every fabric, to match every little outfit hanging in her closet...with bows, and buttons, and flowers. Let me just say that I MAKE CLOTHES FOR OTHER PEOPLE. They PAY ME to sew for them. I should have had this one nailed, right? Something went horribly, terribly wrong. Epically wrong (is that a word? it should be...fuck you red squiggly line spell check) They were not the cute itty bitty samplings of ruffly goodness you see posted above. Mine would have fit perfectly...if my little princess had been born with 12 inch wide, webbed, flipper feet. Thankfully she was not...<br />
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Rainbow Pinwheel Cookies...<br />
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When Dr. Seuss' birthday rolled around, I thought these would be SO cute for my daughter to bring in to share with her preschool class, along with a copy of The Lorax. These are so very Seussical and mine were going to look EXACTLY.LIKE.THAT I was going to be THAT mom...the one who walks in with my rainbow pinwheel cookies on a plate and triumphantly present them to the children who will jump around me cheering and shouting my name. Luckily I did not tell the preschooler of my plans because they failed. Epically so. (used it twice so now it's totally a word) I wish I had taken a picture, but in hindsight it's probably for the best. They were unappetizing piles of discolored turds. Mine were not the perfectly coiled, twirled, and sprinkled puffs of color. Mine looked like a unicorn had snacked on a Care Bear and then shit the whole mess out onto a cookie sheet and threw on some sprinkles for good measure. Not pretty. And if you know anything about colors, you know that all of the above colors mixed together do NOT make anything appealing, further solidifying the shit-like resemblance. So I COULD have brought them in along with the book "Everybody Poops" but I didn't think that her teachers would appreciate that.<br />
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I have had other disasters that would make Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart cringe in horror. Painting nails in a checkerboard pattern is NOT that easy, not all cute little mod-podged, be-ribboned, buttoned frames turn out quite so attractive (unless you tell people the preschooler made it...THEN it's adorable), certain homemade sauces are NOT meant to look like curdled, spoiled baby formula, it IS possible to burn off your own fingerprints, I won't tell you about the hairstyle I tried on my 11 year old...we're still waiting for the bald spot to grow back in, and if a project LITERALLY has your blood, sweat, and tears all over it...don't hang it on your wall. I'm just proud of myself for actually trying some of the things I've pinned. I've spent hours upon hours upon hours on pinterest (great way to pass the time during a 3 am feeding) and I feel like I should have something to show for it. So while many projects have failed miserably, it's not going to stop me from wasting hours of my life pinning things, ideas, and recipes that may or may not EVER happen. So here's to Pinterest, all of the time I've wasted pinning, and the projects that made me feel horribly worthless and inept aren't going to keep me down. Pin on and someday I WILL find success...<br />
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Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-90894003836303889912012-01-23T22:49:00.000-05:002012-01-23T22:49:09.840-05:00P-I-L-E....PRESIDENT...Today's scenario...I am sitting in my dining room with child #2 supervising while he writes out thank you notes from his birthday party. When I announced that this activity must take place, he reminded me that he "said thank you when I opened the presents". Yeah, duh. Call me crazy or old fashioned, but I'm a firm believer in handwritten thank you notes. But now I wish I wasn't. Fuck it, yep, he DID say thank as he opened them. As far as I'm concerned that is enough because this is fucking torture. I want to take his pencil out of his hands and stab myself in the eyes repeatedly. I want to take this stack of fucking Star Wars themed thank you notes and slice them up and down various parts of my body inflicting horrendous paper cuts. And then I would roll around in lemon juice just for good measure. Then I will overenthusiastically lick the adhesive on the envelopes in the hopes that they are poisoned and will take me out of my misery.<br />
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Getting my son to do anything other than stage a battle with action figures, legos, and qtips is like getting a Republican and a Democrat to agree that Obama is doing a great job. If I need to engage him in an activity that requires any sort of reading or writing I have to give myself a mental pep talk for hours leading up to the task. I promise myself that I will be patient with him, use gentle reminders and soft, calming tones. That typically lasts for about 12 seconds. Some of my biggest frustrations are (but not limited to)...<br />
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Attention span:<br />
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He has none. Now this is the same kid who can set up aforementioned battle and spend literally HOURS pretending the Republic is attacking the Clones (or however the hell it goes) A pile of legos can be given undivided attention for a full day. But if it requires reading, writing, or anything involving school he shuts down. Practicing reading flash cards results in him rolling around on the kitchen floor, last time he was down there he was thrilled to find a stray french fry under the oven....THAT captivated his attention for at least 10 minutes. While we have been sitting here in the dining room (we're now at over 90 minutes...with a lunch break and 5 bathroom breaks) he has thrown himself off his chair no fewer than a dozen times, blown 17 raspberries onto his arm, picked his nose with his pencil at least 5 times, crawled under the table a few times, and has tried to engage me in discussions about everything from the recipe I am using for dinner tonight to whether or not dinosaurs could run faster than his dad's motorcycle.<br />
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Patience:<br />
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I have none. I will fully admit that. And yes, I am a teacher. However, I teach older students who, a large majority of the time, can be left to their own devices. I super suck at working with younger children. I especially super suck at working with my own young children. I find myself grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw when we are doing something that SHOULD be a relatively easy task. Or at least *I* think it should be easy. Not really sure what the hell is wrong with my kids. Idiots.<br />
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Basic skills:<br />
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I really shouldn't even comment on this because I will likely piss off other parents and educators of young minds everywhere. I do NOT like working with my children in kindergarten and first grade. It is painful. It is frustrating. And yes, at times it makes me feel like I have FAILED my children intellectually...I feel like I should have taught them all of this before entering school, it's not for lack of trying, I found a Star Wars character that corresponds with EVERY GODDAMN LETTER of the alphabet to help my son learn his letters...and even that didn't work, it held his interest for about 12 seconds longer than the 47 ABC books we have so that was kind of a downer for me...thankfully he has learned his letters and now, heaven help me, we're working on reading....working with beginning readers on basic reading skills SUCKS MY BIG WHITE ASS...<br />
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"buddy...you JUST read that word on the last page....and the 12 pages before that...and in every fucking book we've EVER.READ"<br />
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"just sound it out...one letter at a time...that word RIGHT.THERE...don't look at me, look at the BOOK" (trying really hard not to increase the volume of my voice)<br />
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"yep, sound it out...**IN MY HEAD: DUDE ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?????***...um, buddy P-I-L-E does not spell PRESIDENT" Funny thing was, with that one, he was on the right track with sounding it out great, put all of the letters/sounds together and then SOMEHOW it morphed into PRESIDENT. Fuck...well Dan Quayle DID kind of help run the country for a while so maybe he does have a chance?<br />
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It's just such a slow, painful process...GOD BLESS elementary school teachers. I should have made it a habit to send in a bottle of SOMETHING for each of my child's teachers every Friday. Seriously. They must have the patience of saints, whereas I should likely have my children taken away from me because I can't even make it through a goddamn Little Critter book without wanting to cause bodily harm. <br />
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PLEASE tell me I'm not the only one??? I made it through with my oldest and she's now making straight A's and cries in heap of disappointed hormones if she gets a B. I know things will be different with my son, he just doesn't seem to care. He just can't be bothered but I KNOW he needs the basics to get by in life. His teachers can't do it all unfortunately...or CAN THEY????? Can I give up completely? Just kidding...kind of....Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-24632296422150565852012-01-10T10:20:00.000-05:002012-01-10T10:20:04.161-05:00No such thing...I am a firm believer in "there is no such thing as a stupid question" If I'm ever asked something that could possibly be considered a stupid question, yes, I may look at you like you have a penis growing out of your forehead but I will comply and answer, even if on the inside I think you're an idiot. We are taught as children that if we want to learn something or are curious about something, we should ASK someone for enlightenment. When did that stop being ok? Can't adults ask questions too?<br />
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Case in point...since I'm recently knocked up, I started frequenting a few forums on a well known "baby/mom/pregnancy" oriented website. Recently a mom there posted that she was not cut out for said forums basically because the other moms were fucking idiots. She could not BELIEVE that some of us (actually the vast majority of moms who participate on the forum) are so uneducated as to ask such basic questions that could EASILY be found in other sources in which to educate ourselves. Kind of thinking she has no friends in real life, no one likes her and she has no choice but to resort to books and google because no one talks to her. So she wanted to make herself sound holier than thou and super smart because she opts to defer to the written word of so-called "experts" instead of discussing the ins and outs of pregnancy/childbirth/motherhood with other moms who have DONE IT BEFORE or are experiencing the same thing at the same time.<br />
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Don't know about you all but I like to find people who know what I'm talking about. Like EXACTLY what I'm talking about...<br />
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"should this shit be coming out of my nipples right now?"<br />
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" is my stomach this huge because the baby is growing so rapidly or because I have such bad gas I could clear my entire neighborhood in one fart?"<br />
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"so hemorroids basically feel like a cluster of grapes coming out of my ass, right?"<br />
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Pretty sure I COULD google those things or MAYBE find them in a book, but I like talking to real women who have been there, done that. I guess the fact that I (and many other moms) like this method of "learning" makes us uneducated shmucks. Apparently we're all drooling idiots for wanting real time answers and responses to our concerns, no matter how repetitive or ridiculous...<br />
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"Should a foot be hanging out of my crotch right now?"<br />
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"If I push hard enough to get this stubborn poop out will the baby come out too?"<br />
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"What the FUCK!?!?! Did I just sneeze out of my vajeej??? What is this HUGE snot looking thing??"<br />
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All valid questions...some people may read them and wonder, REALLY? Is she serious? But for those of us who have been through even one pregnancy knows that SO many fucked up things are going on with your body as you house your little parasite that you NEED to be able to ask someone. You NEED to know that you are #1: not dying, #2: harming your parasite, or #3: not crazy. Believe it or not, doctors do NOT know everything and SURPRISE SURPRISE...they've been known to give conflicting information before! GASP! For example, it's typically frowned upon to drink during pregnancy...pretty common knowledge. However, imagine MY shock and oh-so-pleasant surprise when my midwife damn near prescribed a small glass of red wine a night to chill out my super spaz baby, fucking awesome. I was told I should shy away from body shots and tequila mixers but a small glass of Pinot Noir was ok...score. And imagine my pleasant surprise to find out (upon asking a seemingly "uneducated dipshit" question on aforementioned forum) that MANY moms have imbibed in a bit of wine during pregnancy. Didn't find THAT in a book, bitch!<br />
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So my point is...there is no such thing as a stupid question ESPECIALLY when you're pregnant. Get your information where ever you can, from whoever is willing to share (want to get moms talking? ask about pregnancy, labor, & delivery!) I'm all about googling too, but sometimes information that one finds on the internet is downright terrifying...so if you have to ASK someone, no matter HOW STUPID you think the question is, ask away!!! Odds are pretty good that there is another mom (or several) who had the same question! So you may be doing many a favor by having the balls to ask "is it normal to piss my pants everytime I sneeze?"Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-10156110630110915352011-12-23T09:52:00.000-05:002011-12-23T09:52:08.620-05:00Happy Holidays..are you as fabulous as I am?So 'tis the season...full parking lots, assholes who won't move out of their spots for you, long lines, maxed out credit cards, last minute scrambling for a gift for your significant other because in your frenzy of buying Lalaloopsy dolls, PS3 games, and Star Wars lego sets you completely forgot about him/her, baking, wrapping, standing in the godforsaken line at the godforsaken post office, and of course...holiday cards.<br />
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I truly love getting holiday cards in the mail, I look forward to it every year; I love seeing the pictures, seeing who loves me enough to send a card, etc, etc. And for the most part, I even love those damn letters. Those newsy letters filled with fun little tidbits about people I never see...good times. But invariably a letter will show up in my mailbox that makes me feel like a total asshole. You know the one I'm talking about...you get them too (or god forbid you SENT one)<br />
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Dear wonderfully amazing family and friends sent to us by our blessed savior:<br />
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Another blessed year has almost passed us by and we feel so very blessed to be able to share with you, our wonderful family and friends, all how incredibly wonderful we all are and how we spent the blessed year of 2011, year of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.<br />
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Chauncey is almost 13 and it's so difficult to find words to describe our amazing little boy who is rapidly becoming a wonderful young man, right before our eyes. He has had a fabulous year at the St. John's Preparatory Academy for Overachievers and excels at calculus, chemistry, physics, world literature, political science...well, there's nothing this boy can't do academically. Next term he has been invited to co-teach several of his courses, so of course we're ridiculously proud and he is making the astronomical tuition fees worth it! I guess mom won't be upgrading her BMW this year! HA HA! He started the fall football season with the freshman team but was rapidly moved up to varsity, as the coaches were astounded by his athletic prowess. I'm sure the senior quarterback was a bit disappointed to be benched for the season, but when Chauncey needs a break, he does get to see some playing time and is learning quite a bit from our boy. Looking forward to baseball season as well; Chaunce can't wait to spend the summer at two highly overpriced, exclusive sport camps, all the while making time for reaching his goal of 150 hours of volunteer work and rescuing wounded and abandoned ferrets...so proud!<br />
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Our little Penelope Rose is quite the astounding young lady. She turned 10 in October and was able to jet off to New York City with mom for a girls' weekend. Nothing says Happy 10th Birthday more than tea at the Plaza, a suite at the Waldorf, a shopping spree at the American Girl doll store, and an appearance on the Today show! Will be hard to top that for the big #11 but we're working out plans as we speak! Paris, anyone?? ;) So far she's impressing all of her teacher's at Miss Emmaline's School for Young Debutantes with her impressive knowledge of well, EVERYTHING! Won't be long before she's challenging Chaunce at his academic pentathlon competitions! She is still masterfully juggling ballet, flute, honor chorus, student council, yearbook, and fitting in yoga sessions every other day to stay in balance. She'll be going on her first mission trip this summer to teach young orphans in Zambia the importance of staying connected on the world wide web and maintaining physical beauty in an otherwise tough world...our little do-gooder managed to procure several thousands of dollars in donated beauty products from MAC and Estee Lauder to bring to the lovely little darlings of Zambia...she's always thinking of others! We'll round out 2011 with her 24th pageant of the year, fingers crossed she'll bring home another Grand Supreme crown to add to her collection!<br />
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James and I have had another busy year, as expected!! James received many achievement awards from his company and has garnered yet ANOTHER promotion! Along with those awards and promotions clearly came quite the pay raise (yay!) and the added bonus of several work related trips around the world, many of which I was able to join him. We spent several weeks traveling around Europe (the south of France is GORGEOUS and now James wants a bigger yacht..maybe next year?) The all inclusive resorts of Thailand really are something and we can't wait for another trip back to Fiji...maybe this time the kids can come too! Thank goodness for their team of nannies at home to help hold down the fort while we're away! I'm still involved with many charities and organizations and spend my days scheduling social teas and luncheons, auctions, and balls...all of course to benefit the many groups we support and sponsor. I feel so blessed to be in positon to help all of those less fortunate, it's amazing to see how exciting a "day at the country club" can be for those who wouldn't experience it without the tireless work of our committee...so rewarding!<br />
<br />
If I haven't mentioned it already, we are blessed beyond measure for so many wonderful things this year. We can only hope that the good Lord has blessed all of YOU, our dear family and friends, as plentifully as He has blessed us. We wish you all the happiest of holidays and implore you to remember the reason for the season...look for a postcard from the Bahamas sometime soon! Love to all, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all!<br />
<br />
With love and prayers for a prosperous New Year that you can be thankful for, <br />
<br />
The Snootington family<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ok, so MAYBE a bit of stretch...but you KNOW the letters I'm talking about...we are wonderful, our kids are fucking amazing and accomplish more in 20 minutes than your little spawn will EVER achieve, my husband is rich and successful and I get to buy shoes and bags and jewelry like it's my job, all while fitting in trips to the spa and salon...barf, barf, barf. I get being proud of your kids and your husband but seriously...SOME people take the holiday letter a little too far with the whole blowing of the sunshine up one's own ass. It makes me want to send them a singing telegram in which I pay extra for the giver of said telegram to assault the receiver.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And what they do/accomplish/achieve over the course of a year makes me feel like a total asshole. A bottom-feeding, mother of delinquents, underachieving asshole. My drafted out holiday letter would probably sound a little bit like this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear family and friends...<br />
<br />
Odds are good my family and I will be taken off of your holiday card list after you read this but I figured for this year, hey...why not jump on that holiday letter train just this once?<br />
<br />
Where do I even start? Kind of hard to wade through everything that has happened in the past year in my mind...I guess a fog of valium, vicodin, ritalin, and Jack Daniels will do that to a person, huh? But I DID get myself a new Keurig so that makes mornings more bearable...of course the Bailey's added to each cup of coffee sure does help too!<br />
<br />
Samantha is our oldest and will be turning 11 this coming April. We're ready to pack her off to boarding school because the pre-teen years are upon us and will likely result in a homicide here sooner rather than later. She pretty much sucks at school, she's fighting to keep her head above water...we're just happy she has maintained 50% attendance so far. She WAS in band for a while but was asked to be removed from the class when she "accidentally" hit a few other students in the head with her flute. We tried art classes for some time, but apparently sniffing glue was the only thing she got out of those. So we're working on her, slowly but surely.<br />
<br />
Alex turned 7 in September and is trying kindergarten for the 3rd time, we're hoping the old adage "third time's the charm" holds true! Fingers crossed!! He loves playing with legos and riding his bike, we think we've nipped the "ride around the neighborhood chucking legos at unsuspecting passers-by" game in the bud...HOPEFULLY! We like to encourage creativity and activity but apparently other parents didn't like HIS method of combining the two, so we've made it a requirement that the legos stay INDOORS for the time being. He enjoys rough-housing with his sisters but we need to curb the number of knee drops and choke holds, the plus side of that is that he is really doing well in the Parks and Recreation wrestling program!<br />
<br />
Ryan is a 3 1/2 year old little spit fire. Her cute little blonde pigtails and big brown eyes are deceiving...she's um, well, she's something. We've got her enrolled in a preschool program 3 days a week and we've only had a few issues so far. Thankfully no parents have chosen to press charges! She loves to paint and draw, hopefully a few gallons of Kilz will mask the "artwork" she has created throughout the house that we are currently renting! But we don't like to curb creative energy so we just kind of go with it...gotta choose those battles wisely, right? :) MOST of the play-doh has come out of the carpet, doors can easily be replaced, and I THINK the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser will really come in handy! <br />
<br />
As for Vince and I...it's been an average year. Vince is still hanging in there in the USMC, working on a Naval Base has been a challenge for him but he's muddling his way through. I'm still staying at home with the kids, which, given their current "issues" is probably a good thing. Our legal "troubles" are hopefully almost over...send prayers that the case DOESN'T make it to court! My personal habits are getting under control, my support group really helps with it most days. I keep busy with the kids as often as I can, they finally lifted the ban on me volunteering at their school which is great! <br />
<br />
We're hoping that 2012 shapes up to be a good year for us and the rest of you as well! We are so blessed to have you all in our lives and hope that we can continue to maintain our relationships throughout the coming years...we need as much as support as we can get! Love and holiday blessings to you all in the coming year!<br />
<br />
<br />
From our family to yours...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So there ya go! Unfortunately time got away from me and I wasn't able to print these babies up and get them in the mail...I'm a little bummed but pleased that you all can read about my wonderful family on this forum.<br />
<br />
Again, I need to reiterate that I really truly enjoy reading the holiday letters that I get in the mail...mostly because I'm friends with normal people who don't enroll their kids in intensive language programs for "fun" or have them involved in every activity imaginable in the hopes of early acceptance in an Ivy League school...So if you sent me a holiday letter, I read it and enjoyed reading about you and your kids. I also enjoyed that you are NOT one of "those people" but I know you all know some of "those people", so not only do I thank YOU for not being one of them, but I thank THEM for giving me something to write about...Merry Christmas to all! Cheers!Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-83078329957483422292011-10-21T08:34:00.000-04:002011-10-21T08:34:29.531-04:00Smack it, flip it, rub it down...So my husband and I just returned from a blissful week-long vacation in Mexico...without kids (there will be a separate blog post about this and the scathing I received from not one but TWO people) and unfortunately the weather did not cooperate and it rained the last 3 days we were there. Suckage. But we made the most of it (get your minds out of the gutter, people...there will NOT be a blog post for this one) and one particularly gloomy, blustery afternoon we decided to book massages in the resort spa.<br />
<br />
I've had many a massage in my day and I'm a big fan. Some people get weirded out by a complete stranger not only rubbing them down with various slick oils but rubbing them down with said oils whilst barely clothed is just crossing a line for them. I get that. Clearly it doesn't bother me since I would strip down buck naked in the middle of Times Square and roll around in a drainage ditch of vaseline if someone wanted to give me a massage then and there. <br />
<br />
The spa was pretty booked considering the shit weather so we were asked if we wanted our massages in the "couples" suite. Yeah, whatever. I had no intention of spewing words of love and holding his hand, I was more focused on my 80 minutes of pure bliss that were awaiting me just beyond the frosted glass doors and waterfall. So, NORMALLY I've done my massages completely nekkid. There, I said it. I'm covered with a sheet so why would I need to mess with undergarments? A bra would get the in the way so off it goes and who's gonna sneak a peek of my vajeej? Um, likely no one and I wear a thong anyway so it's not like it's hiding a lot. Off it goes. Welp, apparently that's not the policy here so she handed me a set of "disposable underwear" to put on. Hmmmm. 3 minutes later I was wearing a paper tube top and a diaper.<br />
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Awesome. Once in the room she told me to remove the top so off went the elastic, newspaper tube top. Bummer, I was hoping to hold onto that. Clearly it was pointless but I guess they all wanted to laugh at the stupid ass American who put it on because they told me to. It's like the Asian ladies who talk shit at nail salons. I was tempted to ditch the Pampers but I didn't want to get yelled at in Spanish so it stayed on. Did the standard climb on the table face-down in the blow hole thing and waited for them to come back in the room (I was just flat out ignoring my husband (<strong>who didn't have to wear a diaper </strong>thank-you-very-much) laying on the table next to me and fully focused on the 80 minutes of happiness and relaxation that were about to be bestowed upon me)<br />
<br />
Now, our resort was VERY spa-zen-peaceful so there was aromatherapy shit EVERYWHERE. We should have expected it. What I did NOT expect was to be smothered with what I suspect were rags soaked in choroform and held right under my nose via the blow hole. WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! Make it stop! I was trying not to cough and gag because it was so strong, she was already trying to kill me. This should have been a HUGE red flag. I just stopped breathing altogether hoping it would go away, but not before the pure strength of her "aromatherapy" invaded my nasal cavity and my nose started snotting all over the place. She is lucky her feet weren't right underneath me. I was wishing I still had on my paper bra so I could use it to wipe the river of snot that was flowing freely at this point mixed with tears from being gassed. Once I started breathing again I tried to relax but then I realized I had to pee. Shit. I had 79 minutes to go and although I wasn't uncomfortable yet, I knew I would be in about 13 minutes, give or take. I briefly considered peeing in my diaper but they weren't particularly "absorbent" and I didn't want to lay in that for 80 minutes. I didn't give a shit what they would have thought when the time came to clean up the room and realized what I had done...what were they going to do, walk upstairs to room 7009 and dump my diaper and peed on sheets in the hallway? I think not. But I chose not to, despite having to pee REALLY badly. And so began my massage...<br />
<br />
The beginning was pretty fucking awesome. She started on my feet and legs which was very relaxing and I wanted to hug her and bring her home with me...that blissful feeling lasted a grand total of about 3 minutes. Then she started doing some weird-ass yoga shit on my leg and I'm convinced she was trying to see if my big toe could touch my left ear lobe. Then she grabbed my calf and started shaking my leg back and forth. Not sure if that was part of the therapy or if she just WANTED to gross herself out while seeing what my cellulite looked like in motion. I just wanted it to stop. Immediately. The bending, twisting, and whipping my leg around like an al dente spaghetti noodle was NOT my idea of massage. There was no rubbing involved; pretty sure she was trying to jump rope with my leg. My hip was dislocated and I couldn't feel my toes. I don't know what she was doing but it hurt, it wasn't relaxing and I was PISSED not to mention a little frightened when I realized she was going to do it on my other leg shortly. I almost kicked her in the face but I couldn't move my leg. And I still had to pee.<br />
<br />
She moved on to my lower back and I had mentioned to her previously that I suffer from sciatica so I wanted her to avoid mainly the right side but I apparently that translated to "I like your unibrow, I will likely fart in your general direction, and please use all tools at your disposal to hurt me you sadistic bitch". Not only did she NOT avoid that area, I'm convinced she had hot pokers hiding under the table that she jammed repeatedly into my body, or it could have been a wrench or crowbar...tough to tell. Then she moved onto rolling small John Deere-like tractor vehicles with spiked wheels up and down my back, taking special care to REALLY dig in near the lower back/butt area, because again "please avoid the sciatic nerve area" loosely translated REALLY means "use 40 G's of pressure to make every effort to sever my spine" then I think she added a knee drop for good measure. Beating me with wooden spoons may or may not have been involved. Good times. <br />
<br />
Once she got to my upper back and neck I was in tears and think I may have peed a little, or I was bleeding internally, it was hard to tell. I was more tense at that moment than I had been in college when I had 4 finals within one day, hadn't slept, hadn't studied for any of them, and was still drunk. She stopped using her hands and resorted to her pointy, little elbows. I came up out of the blow hole for air at one point (to try and work out a kink, ironically) and glanced over at my husband who was being gently kneaded and massaged into a blissful state while I was being beaten into submission by the most sadistic bitch Mexico has ever seen...HIS side was was like rainbows and unicorns with the gentle sounds of Enya flowing through the speakers. MY side had anacondas and Nine Inch Nails. No sooner had my head popped up then she was ramming her forearm into my upper back forcing me back into the blow hole. Then I think she sat on me and put me in a head lock. She was pissed and now not only did I have to pee, but my internal organs had been crushed, she had broken my sternum and I was trying desperately not to fart and/or pee on her. <br />
<br />
I think I blacked out at this point because I don't really remember her doing much of the same to the left side of my body. Either that or she temporarily severed some nerves, thereby rendering me unfeeling of all sensation. Fine by me. And yes, I did try a few times to ask her to lighten up the pressure but again...I believe that was translated to "Me love you long time... smack it, flip it, rub it down" At one point on the left side I believe nunchuks and cleats came into play, then she used the sheet to bodily toss me in the air...allowing me to flop helplessly back down onto the table in a bruised, battered heap and the next thing I knew I was being suffocated with more chloroform. In retrospect, I would have welcomed being unconscious for the last 80 minutes. My husband sat up on his table, yawned, stretched, and rubbed his eyes ever-so-gently looking so content and relaxed, and I just rolled off the table onto the floor. No Tonka trucks, no chloroform, no elbows, no sternum-crushing, no internal organ damage were involved on his side of the room. Not even wooden spoons. Whereas my diaper-clad self nearly peed all over the table, was paralyzed from the waist down, couldn't turn my head to the left, was cradling what I suspected were broken ribs, and was gasping for air as a result of my crushed sternum. Oh, and I couldn't walk. He got an 80 minute aromatherapy massage as the brochure stated and I got a crash course in Lucha Libre. <br />
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People smiled at us sweetly as we left the room together with our arms tightly wrapped around each other; likely thinking "aw, so cute and in love". Nope, he was holding me up and I had to shuffle because she had severed my sciatic nerve, my bladder was reaching critical mass, and my diaper was rapidly working it's way down my legs. Super romantic. He would have carried me out potato-sack style but it would have snapped my already compromised spine so we nixed that idea.<br />
<br />
I somehow made my way back up to our room where I promptly pounded 5 advil with a Corona. The spa called later to ask how our experience was and I informed them that my instructions to avoid a certain area were ignored and I was actually in a bit of pain and they offered to book me another massage....yes, please...the internal bleeding has slowed, my left side isn't completely paraylzed and I can still feel my toes on my left foot and turn my head to the right. Sign me up...right after I hunt down a certain massage therpist named Valeria and go vigilante on her ass.Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-44378281855321911742011-09-21T21:17:00.000-04:002011-09-21T21:17:07.029-04:00Not breaking down any barriers here...There is a YouTube video floating around of a couple "breaking the barrier"....have you seen it? If not, you should watch it, it's pretty damn funny...go <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xFaJUZRkQM">HERE</a>...quite entertaining. And of course it got me thinking about that "barrier" that may or may not exist between husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, or whoever makes up the other half of your couple. Is there ANYTHING that is kept only to you in your relationship? Or is your significant other privy to EVERYTHING, right down to the last skid mark?<br />
<br />
My husband and I most definitely have our "barriers". There are things that we don't care to know about each other and things we have absolutely NO desire to share. It's ok to not know EVERY.SINGLE.THING about your spouse. I'm not saying you should keep vital information from your significant other. Obviously the number of sexual partners should probably be shared (although I know quite a few women who have fudged that number one way or another) if your vajeej is a hotbed of communicable diseases...may want to passt that one along...are you deathly allergic to latex, farm animals, or Brut cologne? Again...may warrant some sharing.<br />
<br />
<br />
BUT there are things that you and your spouse can most certainly keep under wraps. My husband is well aware of the fact that I suffer from irritable bowel syndrome (aka: spastic colon). That is ALL he needs to know. Do I need to inform him that our most recent meal at TGI Friday's had me clinging to the shitter about 7 minutes after my plate was cleared? Does he really need to know that a trip to Taco Bell SHOULD require a diaper (for me)? Does he really NEED to know how spastic my colon REALLY is? Nope. Just like I don't need to have any insider information about what goes on when he closes himself into the bathroom with his dog-eared copy of "War and Peace" for 45+ minutes. I don't want to know what it looked like, what it smelled like, what it resembled, or how long it was. I'm just not comfortable sharing that with anyone...a girlfriend told me that her latest bout with diarrhea was shared with her husband and 2 out of 3 children who refused to leave the bathroom. That's got barrier written all over it.<br />
<br />
My husband knows that I get my period. He has more than enough basic information about what it entails. Enough that it makes him want to stay far, far away from me for about 4-5 days and he cringes everytime a tampon commercial comes on. I was folding laundry one day and he made the colossal mistake of asking me what I was doing as I sorted my underwear into two piles. "These are my period underwear" as I pointed to the pile on the left. He turned white, gagged, and walked away. That was more information than he ever wanted to know...when I told him I know women who have changed tampons/pads/etc. in front of their spouses, pretty sure he sent up a silent prayer that my period would go far, far away...forever. He likely aso prayed that my "period underwear" would go up in flames and the girls on the Kotex commercials would meet an untimely demise. I like to pretend his barrier is constructed entirely of tampons.<br />
<br />
One barrier that we agreed upon years ago is the one that was the topic of the YouTube video. We DO NOT fart in front of each other. It is highly likely I let one rip as I was giving birth but when you are squeezing something the size of a watermelon out of an opening the size of a lemon and it feels like you're shitting knives, odds of a little gas escaping are pretty good. But I have held some in that have been so incredibly painful because I just don't need to share that with him. And vice versa. My brothers are disgusting people and their wives have dealt with their "scent" for years, it was a barrier that was blasted down in a gassy explosion...likely on the first date. They find great pride and pleasure in sharing that with others and I'll never know why. There is nothing pleasurable about sitting in someone else's fart cloud. Contrary to popular belief it does not dissipate as you walk away from it, they cannot be masked by couch cushions, and I don't know of any women who enjoy dutch ovens.<br />
<br />
People may think that because we have these barriers with each other it means we are not comfortable with each other. I would politely disagree with that. Just because I don't tell my husband when I'm about to shit myself, change my tampons while he is brushing his teeth, or let him waft in the gassy cloud of today's lunch does NOT mean I am not comfortable with him. We think it's more of a show of respect that we do not share these things with each other. We KNOW they happen, we KNOW less than pleasant things exist about the other but I'm content in not getting the details about his junk chafing the inside of his legs after a run. Just like I'm sure he's totally fine NEVER knowing that my hemorroids flare up after I shit myself. We like our barriers and have every intention of keeping them firmly in place.Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-22777263410536550822011-09-13T08:12:00.000-04:002011-09-13T08:12:02.059-04:00Little white lies...Obviously as parents we have taken on the role of raising our children to be good people (well...MOST parents). We want them to be kind, compassionate, hard-working, empathetic, moral...blah, blah, blah. But I'm a walking oxymoron. I tell my kids that I want them to always be honest with me and daddy and to never lie to anyone. Well...I'm a fucking liar. I do it often and I do it well. But I always have the best of intentions and if they never find out then I'm STILL being a good parent, right?!?!?! (humor me...) These are just a few "lies" that have rolled off my tongue in order to maintain what little sanity I have left.<br />
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<b>WHAT I SAY:</b><br />
"Oh no! I'm so sorry you can't find it! Of course we can try to find a new one!"<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I MEAN:</b><br />
"Oh honey, we LOST that toy that makes mommy want to rip her own ears off? I'm so sorry! Yes, uh-huh...we ABSOLUTELY will buy you a new one! Right after pigs fly out of my ass to retrieve the original that is buried at the bottom of the garbage can sitting at the curb" <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I SAY:</b><br />
"I don't know what happened to it? Oh no! Look at that scratch (insert mom's sad face here) it probably won't work anymore but you bet we can sure try!"<br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>WHAT I MEAN:</b><br />
"Really? That super irritating movie that makes mommy want to drink herself into a stupor has a BIG ASS SCRATCH in it? I wonder how that happened! Couldn't have possibly been the pair of kitchen scissors that I just hid behind the coffee maker! What a bummer, I know how much you love it!" (insert big hug and hair petting here for effect)<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I SAY:</b><br />
"No sweetie, I'm not sure where that skirt is. I'll go dig in the laundry quick for you"<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I MEAN:</b><br />
"Oh NO! The skirt that you wear at a minimum of 3 times a week that matches nothing in your closet has turned up missing? What a shame...get a sense of style and self dignity and stop wearing shit for days and days"<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I SAY:</b><br />
"Buddy, there's some toothpaste on your shirt...here, put this one on instead so I can wash that one."<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I MEAN:</b><br />
"Hey, you need to go put on a different shirt that actually has the same fucking colors as the plaid shorts that you have on because it got some toothpaste on it and mom needs to wash it immediately and then go color coordinate your closet using pictures so you can actually see what outfits WON'T make you look like a tool" Child looks down for supposed toothpaste stain and before they get a chance to inspect closely I am ripping the shirt off of them and running like hell. **I will pause here to defend myself and say that I don't do this all the time (I'm not THAT shallow...often)...have any of you SEEN some of the pictures I've posted on Facebook of my kids' chosen outfits??? Sweet Jesus...<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I SAY:</b><br />
"Nope, it's over...it'll probably be on again later though. Should we DVR it?"<br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>WHAT I MEAN:</b><br />
"No I just checked Disney channel and the godforsaken show with weak plot lines and horrible acting that rots your little brain is NOT on and if it WAS on it'd be the same goddamn episode that they've aired repeatedly for the last month straight. Want me to act it out for you instead?"<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I SAY:</b><br />
...while rummaging through the pantry "No, I guess we're all out! I can get some more the next time I'm at the store honey!"<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT I MEAN:</b><br />
"Oh bummer, if I'd known that you liked that snack so much I wouldn't have hoarded them all for myself in the super-secret-only-known-to-mom location in the pantry. I'll get more at the grocery store for you when hell freezes over, how's that sound? Get your own goddamn 100 calorie packs you little leeches!"<br />
<br />
Those are just a few...I'm sure I could think of more given enough time and alcohol. I really don't think of it as lying...I think of it as self-preservation. I can only handle so many viewings of Thomas and the Golden Magical Acid Trip Railroad or whatever the fuck that movie is called. I can only handle looking at some of the less-than-favorable items of clothing that my children seem to get as gifts and develop an unhealthy attachment to a few times before I snap. There are just some snacks that are mine and NO I will NOT share (again, I get that I should be teaching my kids to share but if they don't know that a package of Pepperidge Farms Mint Milanos is stashed behind the crock pot it's not hurting anyone!!) I'm telling YOU guys how I roll so that's gotta count for something right? My kids will figure it out eventually...my parents spent YEARS lying to us and I'm just now figuring it out and I get it. I'm ok with it and clearly I've embraced the concept...have you? ;)Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-1638793305918946292011-09-09T09:25:00.001-04:002011-09-09T09:29:32.897-04:00"Um, mommy? What happened to you?!?!?"The 3 year old encountered an unfortunate incident with a sippy cup of milk last night and her hair was the casualty. I didn't notice it until they were brushing teeth and I was trying to brush her hair...wasn't happening. It was damp, stiff, sticky, and getting a brush through it was impossible. Being the stellar mom that I am, I pulled it back into a ponytail and sent her off to bed, telling her she was taking a shower with mom in the morning.<br />
<br />
She has showered with me before, she loves showers, loves being naked, loves turning around and shaking her little butt at me telling me to "looka my booty tushy". So I figured today would be no different. WRONG. I start the water, get undressed, she does the same and in we go. She normally totally ignores me and hangs in the water singing random songs about it raining and unicorns and butterflies and other nonsensical 3 year old shit. Not today. I'm busy washing my hair and she turns and gasps...<br />
<br />
"MOMMY!!!!!!!!! What happened to you?!?!?!"<br />
<br />
I look down, thinking I had cut my leg shaving and was gushing copious amounts of blood down the drain. Nope.<br />
<br />
"What do you mean what happened? I'm fine!"<br />
<br />
"NO you are not....WHAT is that?!?!?!" (pointing to my vajeej region)<br />
<br />
"That's my vajeej (ok, didn't use that term with her but I like it better for some reason) you have one too"<br />
<br />
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH IT? That is BASGUSTING, put it away, ewwwwww....I don't wanna see your hairy butt mom OH.MY.GOSH" <br />
<br />
At this point I'm feeling a gamut of emotions...mostly torn between amusement at her apparent horror at my BASGUSTING hairy vajeej (which was just recently maintained, thank you very much) and depression at being called basgusting by my preschooler. Preschooler = 1, self-esteem = 0<br />
<br />
This carries on for several minutes, I'm trying to wrap up the shower quickly so I can put my nasty, hairy, basgusting self in a towel and then partake in hours of hair removal and exfoliation to restore even a shred self-esteem. She keeps going on and on and on and on about how gross and ewwwwww it is, she's covering her eyes, pointing and acting as if the Elephant Man is standing in the shower with her. I've never felt so grotesquely disfigured in all my life. But then it got worse...<br />
<br />
"OH MY GOSH mommy...your boobies are falling onto your chubby belly!!!!!"<br />
<br />
Wow. Awesome. So now she's carrying on about my hairy butt and my sagging boobs and I'm near tears. Having been reduced to a hairy, drooping, chunked up mess with a mom-gut I can't get dried off and dressed fast enough. <br />
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<br />
"WHY do you have those boobies? Why are they down?"<br />
<br />
Because of YOU you demonic little spawn. YOU made my boobies hang down to my navel. YOU gave me this unsightly midsection. I BLAME YOU.<br />
<br />
"All mommies have boobies and all mommies have hairy butts" (granted to varying degrees...some are partial to being bushwomen and some prefer Brazilians...I fall somewhere in the middle...we won't discuss the boobies right now)<br />
<br />
"I don't want a hairy butt and I want nice boobies" (don't we all???)<br />
<br />
"You'll have a hairy butt and nice boobies when you're a mommy too"<br />
<br />
This is when she starts crying hysterically at the thought of even slightly resembling the horrific display standing before her.<br />
<br />
"BUT I DON'T WANT A BASGUSTING HAIRY BUTT LIKE YOU!!!! IT'S SO GROSS MOMMY!!!"<br />
<br />
"You won't have them until you're bigger and you're a mommy, it's ok"<br />
<br />
Sniffling now, she manages to get out "When I turn 43 like you?"<br />
<br />
Knife through the heart....NOT that there is anything wrong with being 43, but I'm still 10 fucking years away from that. So my rapidly aging, hairy vajeej'd, saggy boobed self wrapped us both up in towels and snuggled her onto my bed and reassured her that the hairy ass, drooping tits, wrinkles, stretch marks, and being old would NEVER happen to her. Boy is SHE gonna be pissed in a few years...Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-54833964124827923662011-09-08T08:30:00.000-04:002011-09-08T08:30:13.974-04:00Give me a break..I'm MAINTAINING here!!I was out running errands the other day and my husband called me in a panic: "WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OK? WHAT HAPPENED?????" Um, I'm not sure...I know they're out of the kind of bread the kids like at Target and that Jada and Will are breaking up according to People but other than that I'm not sure what happened? Which prompted me to ask "WTF are you talking about?!?!?" Dead silence...long painful pause...."Um hello?" He cleared his throat and informed me that he had just gotten home. He didn't need to say anything else because I knew what the problem was. I had abandoned ship in the middle of the day and the ship was a wreck (pun intended).<br />
<br />
He was likely standing in the middle of a war zone. The battle had ensued earlier that morning and there were many, many casualties that had yet to be dealt with. The Cheerios that had dropped from someone's bowl had likely created Cheerio concrete on the kitchen floor, the various lunch fixings were still on the island countertop...but whatever, the youngest was going to need to eat lunch eventually so why NOT leave out the bread, peanut butter (including the pb that was smeared ON the countertop) jelly, cheetos, juice boxes, and baggies; for whatever reason the vacuum was smack in the middle of the front entryway (doesn't EVERYONE keep theirs there? No? No one? Hmmm...weird...) Pajamas were flung over the back of the couch, the arm of the chair, and strewn across the ottoman...and OH SHIT I'm pretty sure the youngest child's Pull Up was left on the floor by the tv...and we can't forget the container of hair accessories that got dumped in the upstairs hallway because the oldest couldn't find the exact one that she was looking for...discarded outfit choices were scattered haphazardly on bedroom floors, of COURSE no one's bed was made, I'm PRETTY sure the dryer was hanging open and half the contents were on the floor of the laundry room, toothbrushes were cemented to the bathroom countertop in a pool of Crest, a REAL battle between Jango Fett, Darth Maul, Anakin Skywalker, and ObeWan Kenobi had taken place earlier that morning as well (when middle child was SUPPOSED to be getting a clean pair of socks...which he never came downstairs with because DUH...Anakin needed some sort of battle cruiser and what better than a pair of Hanes???) so the victims of said battle were strategically placed along the stairs (along with a wide variety of weapons, back-up troops, and vehicles) So traversing the stairs was like battling a Galactic Heroes minefield...good times, good times.<br />
<br />
So basically the house was a shit hole. The scene that particular day was not normal (I had to leave immediately after putting the older two on the bus for an appointment and then stayed out to run errands after) but you're not going to find it spit-shined and polished every day before 9 am either. I typically like to keep up with it during the day, I MAINTAIN if you will...dishes are done, meal preparations are cleaned up, kids rooms are tidy enough...but I'm guilty of maintaining a "lived in" home. At any given time you could walk into my house and odds are pretty damn good you'll trip over a pair of shoes, step on a Lego, walk through a patch of mystery stickiness on my kitchen floor, have to move a jacket/backpack/blanket/stuffed animal/barbie to find a spot on the couch...you get the idea. I have three kids and it's damn obvious. It also drives my husband CRAZY. He can't stand the pile of the kids' school paperwork in a certain spot on the kitchen counter. Finding shoes/toys/sippy cups under the couch drives him to the edge. The stack of DVDs that have yet to be returned to his alphabetical orderliness in the basement makes him want to hurt someone. But keeping up with that shit ALL DAY EVERY DAY is akin to keeping the ocean back with a broom. WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I BOTHER???? I clean up one mess, turn around to deal with another and the first mess is all fucked up again! Ocean...broom.<br />
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Yet it's been our most consistent battle since we first got married. I grew up in a "lived in" house...there were 8 of us...no freaking way could my mother have kept up with it all day every day. She MAINTAINED. I do the same. My house is clean, it's usually pretty tidy, 90% of the time I would not be embarrassed by unexpected guests. My husband is a little different though. He grew up in a house where his bed was made before he had completely gotten out of it, a discarded tissue was removed from a bathroom garbage can to be placed in the larger kitchen garbage before the snot even had a chance to dry, and dishes were washed, rinsed, dried and IMMEDIATELY put in their proper place, couch pillows were re-fluffed and re-positioned as soon as he had abandoned his spot. So he's had a bit of a difficult time adjusting to the fact that shoes in the front hall and GI Joe guns wedged in the couch cushions don't bother me. Sure they get dealt with eventually but I refuse to deal with every mess the second it happens. I'd go crazy. I'd drive everyone else crazy. THERE.IS.NO.POINT but he doesn't see that. He doesn't understand why the kids backpacks, papers, toys, shoes are still in the family room at 6 pm on a Wednesday. We always do a quick clean up as we head upstairs for bed...everyone grabs their shit and puts it away. It works. Shit gets picked up, everyone is happy.<br />
<br />
I've proposed that he stay home for a week straight with the kids day in and day out so HE can get a firsthand look at what a huge pain in the ass even MAINTAINING can be. He doesn't think it's that hard. He CLAIMS that if I'm out for a few hours and he's left in charge the house is kept clean (um...yeah...that'll be reserved for another blog post entitled "My husband can't clean up after the kids for shit when left alone but I should be thankful that our children are still alive upon my return") So in summary, Star Wars, Cheerios, ocean...broom...MAINTAIN my friends, MAINTAIN.Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-29074081893280668602011-09-02T10:22:00.000-04:002011-09-02T10:22:20.193-04:00Why going to the movies sucks...I don't even have it in me to come up with a witty title for this one...taking a family of five to the movies sucks ass. Period. I have yet to figure out why, everytime we have a low-key weekend without a bazillion different activities and destinations on the itinerary, my beloved insists on suggesting a movie. Of COURSE he does it when the kids are within earshot so I look like a raging-party-pooping-Mommy-Dearest-pissing-in-everyone's-Cheerios BITCH if I say no. Don't get me wrong, I like movies...ones I only pay a dollar for and can enjoy whilst wearing flannel. I like hitting pause if I (or someone else) needs to take a potty break, I like perusing my pantry for affordable snacks. Apparently my family does not enjoy these things as much as I do.<br />
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<br />
They LOOOOOVE going to the movie theater. The smelly, sticky-floored, bacteria-infested-stadium seat movie theater. Ewwwww. I just threw up in my mouth. But I digress. My family loves movies, we have a lot of them, and yes, we GO to a lot of them despite my best efforts to redirect them into other activities. Apparently the art of underwater basket weaving and making bottled sand art isn't nearly as entertaining. Assholes.<br />
<br />
So off we go...and it goes the same way EVERY.SINGLE.TIME. I insist that we stop at a convenience store so I can purchase drinks to smuggle in. This mortifies my husband beyond belief. I bring the biggest fucking mom-bag I own, I could easily fit a small child in there but for these little outings, that baby is reserved for Gatorade and Diet Coke. We argue for about 15 minutes about why I bring our own drinks in, he acts all irritated and whiny. And even though I always smuggle in a soda for him, he always buys a small bucket at the concession stand as if to say "HA! I can get my OWN drink bitch...I just spent $8 on flat, watered down soda that will have me pissing my pants 30 minutes into the movie..TAKE THAT!" Yeah, good for you buddy, too bad I only brought Pull-ups for the youngest of the brood. I also bring in snacks (yeah, it's a BIG.ASS.BAG) but again, he will buy a barrel of popcorn once we're in the theater. <br />
<br />
After we sign over part of a college fund contribution to buy tickets and my man-child stands in line for his snacks (for which the total rivals a small grocery bill) We make our way to the theater, stand in back while the man-child and the two oldest spawn argue about where to sit. Let's face it, the 3D glasses are going to make me want to puke 5 minutes in regardless so I could give two shits if we sit in the back on the right, smack in the middle, or up front with my head cocked back at a 90 degree angle. What's that you say? You want to sit in the parking lot??? OK!!!!!!!!! Sign my ass up! I'll race you!<br />
<br />
We make our way to our seats and more arguing ensues about who is going to sit next to whom and then we listen to a chorus of :<br />
<br />
"MOVE YOUR ELBOW"<br />
"THAT'S MY DRINK HOLDER"<br />
"SHE TOOK MY GATORADE!"<br />
"YOU'RE GOING TO KNOCK OVER MY POPCORN!"<br />
"YOU GOT TO SIT NEXT TO DAD LAST TIME!!"<br />
"I HATE YOU ALL I HATE THE MOVIES AND I WANT TO GO THE FUCK HOME!!" (oh wait, that last one was me...)<br />
<br />
And a whole bunch of other bullshit that makes me want to knock heads together and just rouse them from unconsciousness once the movie is over. But the real nightmare begins once the lights go down and the movie starts. After of course 15 minutes of previews...those stupid BASTARDS know my kids are suckers so of course they show previews for 10 more movies I'll have to drag my ass to. Fuck my life. So the movie begins and I WILL say, there are a few times when I've actually WANTED to watch the movie that we paid a small fortune to see. However, it NEVER turns out that way. I typically spend 1 hour and 58 minutes listening to various requests/demands/bitching/whining/random-stupid-bullshit talking so I actually get to pay attention to MAYBE 58 seconds of every movie we go to.<br />
<br />
"Mom, can I have more popcorn?"<br />
<br />
"Mom, can you open my drink?"<br />
<br />
"Mom, I don't like popcorn, what else do we have?" (which requires me to dig in the big ass bag...not an easy task in the dark)<br />
<br />
"Mom, remember in the first movie when the one guy had the thing that he took to the place to bring to the other guy? Was he a bad guy or a good guy? Did he have a different weapon? Because that one doesn't look like the one he had in the first movie. Can you check on your phone and google it and see what he had in the first movie that he brought to the guy at the place?"<br />
<br />
"Mom, did you bring my jacket?" Uh NO...I reminded you as we were getting out of the car.<br />
<br />
"Mom, can I have your jacket?"<br />
<br />
"Mom, can I play with your phone?" OH HELL NO! The tickets cost more than the GDP of some small countries! Your ass will watch EVERY.SINGLE.GODDAMN.SECOND of this movie or so help me God...<br />
<br />
"Hey..mom...did you look that up yet? Cuz now there's another guy going to a different place and the other guy has a different thing and he's taking it somewhere else with another bad guy and they're going to the same place as in the other movie and I want to see if it's the same one or a different one so did you look yet?"<br />
<br />
"Mom? Did we bring M&M's?" (to which I replied that I did NOT bring any M&M's...only to discover that child #1 was asking because she was suspicious of whatever floor snack child #3 had just unearthed from under her chair...HOLY SHIT)<br />
<br />
"Mom, what did he just say?" this happens repeatedly and USUALLY about 12 seconds into the movie so they spend the next 2 hours confused because they missed something during the opening credits.<br />
<br />
"Mom, I have to go to the bathroom" OF COURSE you have to go to the fucking bathroom. Because your father shared his vat of diet coke with you so not only are you going to spend the next 6 hours bouncing off the goddamn walls, you'll be pissing every 20 minutes too. Awesome. So as any mother would do, I ask ALL THREE if they have to go so I can just get it over with. The other two say no but it never fails...I get back, sit down and someone else announces that they have to go. I've started wising up and just dragging all of them with me. It will get to the point where I will put them ALL in Pull-ups so I don't have to miss anything because I missed the last 10 minutes of Transformers 3 and I'm still pissed.<br />
<br />
Occasionally their father will drag himself out of his popcorn bucket stupor to pitch in for 37 seconds of the 2 hour long movie but most of MY 2 hours is spent refereeing/handing out more snacks/mopping up spills/passing out napkins/prying mystery floor snacks out of the 3 year old's hands/etc...etc....etc.<br />
<br />
So this is why I don't enjoy going to the movies. I LIKE movies. I just don't like them with my family. Now I know why people go to movies alone. I used to feel sorry for them. Now I wish I could be them. Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-89120790091929423272011-03-07T09:17:00.001-05:002011-03-07T09:22:41.563-05:00Don't "sweat" it...at least not often...Ok, so I fully admitted via Facebook one day last week that I was unshowered and SO greasy that the water was probably going to repel from my hair...and it did. I should have taken one poster's suggestion of using Dawn dishwashing liquid because after all "it takes grease out of your way". Duh...I should listen next time. It took about 6 rounds of "lather, rinse, repeat" to get myself looking somewhat human again. Whatever it takes, right? Many of you told me that you had been in the same boat...which makes ANY mom feel better to know that other moms had been there, done that.<br />
<br />
But here's the thing...the homeless woman, greasy, non-showering, unpleasantness is NOT a regular occurrence. Spending the day in sweats does not happen on a consistent basis. I do not make it a habit to schlub around in my scrubbiest clothes multiple days out of the week. Simply put, I do NOT try to look like shit semi-weekly. Yet many moms do. Scratch that. I shouldn't say they TRY to look like shit. We all wake up looking like shit. No one wakes up pretty. If you think you do, you're full of yourself and delusional and we're probably not friends in real life because you suck for thinking that highly of yourself. It's the women who MAINTAIN the overall shittiness day in an day out without any effort towards making it go away. On a regular basis. More than once a week...or twice or even three times a week. Shit is just WRONG.<br />
<br />
I work from home, as many moms do, therefore this lends itself quite nicely to staying in jammies maybe once a week. MAYBE once a week. No need to shower, shave, and get all pretty if I'm not going anywhere but my basement to work with only the two-year-old for company, right? Even if I AM staying home to work I at least still shower...maybe put pj's back on but whatever, don't judge...But if I am leaving my house you bet your ass I'm in the shower, put on some decent clothes, make-up and am looking relatively decent to go out amongst the public. I cannot wrap my brain around the moms who go out in public looking like they just rolled out of bed. Familiar with the concepts of self-respect and self-worth? Don't you feel better about yourself if you take some time to look even a tiny bit attractive? I'm not talking Real Housewives of Orange County shit in full make-up and an outfit suited for a night out clubbing. Hell, you can make yoga pants and a hoodie look good if you TRY. <br />
<br />
Riddle me this...why are some women's kids decked out in head-to-toe matching outfits, shoes, hair accessories, with perfectly styled hair and mom looks like she got dressed in a dark closet after just having pulled what was crammed under her bed and stepped from the nearest wind tunnel? I just don't get it, I really don't. I can't tell you how often I read of moms who admit having gone DAYS...multiple DAYS without showering or changing clothes. Yummy. I'm a mom too. I get it. I get how overwhelming and exhausting it can be and how difficult it can be to even find 3 minutes to take a shit by yourself (and that rarely, if ever, happens) let alone take a shower. But don't you just feel better about yourself as a woman and a mom if you can find time to take a 2 minute shower and dig out some clean underwear? Maybe slap on some mascara and some jeans instead of sweats? Put on a cute shirt instead of digging a grubby sweatshirt out of the hamper that has lunch leftovers smeared across the front or are those boogers? Hard to tell...but does it really matter? Shit is just WRONG...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://fussypants.typepad.com/.shared/image.html?/photos/uncategorized/2008/02/21/oprah_makeover_before.jpg" onclick="window.open(this.href, '_blank', 'width=284,height=426,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false"><img alt="Oprah_makeover_before" border="0" height="426" src="http://fussypants.typepad.com/whatsmartmommiesknow/images/2008/02/21/oprah_makeover_before.jpg" title="Oprah_makeover_before" width="284" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">photo courtesy of Fussy Pants<br />
</div>Like I said, I've had my days. We all have. We have our days when our periods make us feel fat, bloated, and miserable. A cold has us so run-down that getting dressed is not an option. Being awake all night nursing a baby makes showering seem like an impossible task. I GET THAT. I really do. I've been that mom that has spent the day smelling like sour milk. I've been that mom who is so congested from a head cold I'm only grateful that I can't smell myself. I've been that mom who is so cranky and pms'ing and feels so "fluffy" that sweats are the ONLY FUCKING THING that are going on my body that day. I've had to schlep the older two to school after they missed the bus wearing ladybug pajama pants, a pink hoodie, my winter coat, Uggs, glasses, and MIGHT have brushed my hair...but I didn't get out of the car, I just slowed down long enough for them to roll free of the back tires. Anyway...the point being, I GET IT. I'VE DONE IT. But we ALL know moms who have way too many days like this far too often and just claim that "there is no time" and they just don't bother. I feel sorry for them. I feel sorry for the moms who forgot what it was like to make themselves LOOK and FEEL good. Not only for themselves but for their spouse. I do myself up for myself AND my husband. He doesn't need me to be in a housedress, high heels, fresh lipstick, and pearls everyday when he gets home but shit...I can at least have showered and have on a pair of clean underwear for God's sake...how hard is that?<br />
<br />
If someone can PLEASE clue me in to the mystery that is the schlubby, frumpy mom...I would be so appreciative. Please explain to me the phenomenon that is the mom who does not give a shit the majority of the time. I've heard the "I'm not vain" or "I don't care what other people think" bullshit before and I'm not buying it. There is a direct correlation between LOOKING GOOD and FEELING GOOD. So moms who are having a shitty ass day, sometimes all it takes is a little bit of make-up, a cute outfit, and getting the fuck out of the house...can't hurt, right? Might even help...ya never know...so please, if you have some insight into the habitual schlumpadinka, do tell...I'm dying to know..Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-51792433207805078162011-03-04T09:22:00.002-05:002011-03-04T09:27:29.657-05:00Prankster Friday<div align="center"><img height="397" id="il_fi" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3225/2761552074_bdf2e8e92d.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="500" /></div><br />
That's what my kids are calling today...creative geniuses, huh? They're huge fans of those cheesy, lame-ass shows like "Funniest Home Videos" and we saw a program on some other channel that was all about pranks and they just about pissed themselves watching it. SO they were consipiratorial and giggly last night when they went to bed and BOTH woke up without prompting today which instantly put me on my guard. Luckily those little shits aren't out to prank me (because I would have been PISSED if they had tried to Saran Wrap my toilet...because #1 that shit ain't cheap and #2 I usually stumble to the bathroom half asleep so I would have been an excellent candidate for that one to actually work...they would have been scrubbing the toilet/floor with their toothbrushes).<br />
<br />
They are out to prank each other...yet keep talking TO EACH OTHER about different pranks. See, creative geniuses..I told ya. I've been watching and listening and wanting to point out the HUGE flaw in their plan. Really fucking hard to prank someone when the someone you are going to prank is your accomplice. Oh yeah, super smart. I'm so proud. So child #2 comes down into the kitchen and his first "prank" on his sister is to....wait for it...put her juice box in her lunch box for her. Wow. Seriously? He was so freaking excited about it I was not about to piss in his Cheerios with the insight that that was one of the lamest fucking pranks I had ever heard. SO I preemptively went upstairs to clue #1 in on what the "prank" was so she would respond appropriately. WELL...let me just say she will NOT be up for an Academy Award for her acting skills anytime soon. #2 ended up in tears that his prank was dumb (yeah, ya think???) and #1 was NOT helping by telling him "well buddy, that's not really a prank" which just made him cry harder. I wanted to punch her and sign her up for acting classes. <br />
<br />
SO fast forward a few minutes to scrambling to get ready for the bus...#1 asks #2 where his fake spider is. WOW...again. Super fucking geniuses. He goes and gets it for her out of his room and she giggles and runs away to the bathroom. 12 seconds later she asks him if he has to go to the bathroom before they leave for school. You have GOT to be fucking kidding me. I am inwardly screaming at them how lame they are and how much they suck balls at pranking. He looks at her like she's got a penis growing out of her forehead and says no. She asks if he's REALLY SURE??? Sweet Jesus Lord above you guys are HORRIBLE and I'm embarassed for you. So she tries another tactic to get him into the shitter (where, DUH she's got the fake spider that he HAD JUST HANDED HER sitting on the toilet seat) WOW.<br />
<br />
"hey buddy, do you need a tissue"<br />
"no" (rolls his eyes at her)<br />
"are you sure"<br />
"uh, yeah I'm sure" (now giving her looks of total disdain)<br />
"UM, can you get ME a tissue?"<br />
"probably not"<br />
<br />
So she is watching her brilliant prank unravel before her very eyes and asks me if I need a tissue. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. No, I don't need a tissue and you need to get your lame ass on the bus...get out of my house before I disown both of you and your sad, pitiful, sub-standard skills. So as they leave, they start conspiring about what pranks they can pull on me when they get home from school. Oh boy, I can't wait...but in the meantime I'm going to come up with some KICK ASS pranks for those little shits that will make them terrified beyond any reasonable doubt to come anywhere near me with a prank...no matter how lame...<br />
<br />
Now I just need some ideas...bring it on... ;) THEY ARE GOING DOWN MUTHAFUCKAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-48816054415631255032011-03-02T23:05:00.002-05:002011-03-03T09:17:37.218-05:00Yep, I'm *THAT* mom...I went grocery shopping the other day and the spawn was making it difficult to get through the bowels of super Hell-Mart so I bribed her with my iPhone and powdered sugar donuts. I drew the line at sharing my diet coke so I got her a Snapple instead...yeah, way better. Other mothers glanced my way with looks of disgust as they eyed my offspring covered in processed sugar while she stared glassy-eyed at Dora the Explorer blaring out of my phone via Netflix while their little darlings (who were manufactured in petri dishes, no doubt) were reciting Neitzsche and enjoying an package of organic fruit snacks (that mom had brought from home, not ripped from the shelves then handed half eaten to the girl at the register).<br />
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Yeah, whatever...I'm THAT mom. Just these minor indiscretions made me think of all of the other things that make me THAT mom and how little I actually give a shit...cuz guess what? My kids are still alive, healthy, and for the most part, happy and well-adjusted...(yes, their college funds can be earmarked for therapy, just in case...) Some of the issues that MOST parents seem to be overly concerned with or focus a great deal of attention on and my take on them, just a little glimpse into how I do shit 'round here (this could explain A LOT...)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-DwwwxMM5tqM/TW-hu8sCLqI/AAAAAAAAAM8/e-SYph9Zgx4/s1600/now+I+take+a+pill+for+that.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" l6="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-DwwwxMM5tqM/TW-hu8sCLqI/AAAAAAAAAM8/e-SYph9Zgx4/s320/now+I+take+a+pill+for+that.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
TV:<br />
Well, we tried the no cable thing...that lasted ALMOST a year, not too shabby huh? It's not on 24 hours a day but I don't set timers for how long they can watch, I just can't get on board with that shit and let's be honest, if I shut the TV off that means *I* have to do something with them and that's just not always appealing. I DO however put some limitations on what they can watch. My husband feels if it is animated it means kids can watch it...hmmm...ever watched Family Guy? A drunken dog stumbling around with a martini and a perverted baby trying to pick up hookers from his carseat does NOT scream Playhouse Disney to me...but TV isn't all bad, the 2 year old can count to ten perfectly...in Spanish.<br />
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FOOD:<br />
They eat junk food. Yep, they do. If I went to take a picture of my pantry right now you WOULD see sugar cereals, processed foods, and shit with ingredients you can't pronounce. Yes, they eat fruits and vegetables and I make relatively decent meals for dinner. Does dinner come from a box sometimes, you bet your ass it does! I love some of my friends dearly but do you REALLY need to make EVERY.FUCKING.THING from scratch??? That Little House on the Prairie bullshit ain't my style. They get fruit snacks, pizza rolls, and Cheetos. We've done a "totally popcorn dinner" before and I was the coolest fucking mom EVER (for like a day). They've tried soda, the toddler gets more juice than she probably should, and yes...more than one of them has had Doritos for breakfast. I'm admittedly too cheap for organic and according to some, that makes ME the asshole because I'm not concerned with where our food comes from and what I feed my family. Whatever. I'm a good cook and a good mom but if they decide they want *GASP* hot dogs 3 nights in a row when dad is out of town and the two year old wants a cheeseburger for breakfast...what the fuck ever...I choose my battles and sometimes those little shits win. No one is malnourished or morbidly obese so YAY me, everyone is still alive and moderately healthy. Score. Should probably incorporate more fiber into the toddler's diet though because she cries at the thought of taking a shit...<br />
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PLAYING:<br />
I became a middle school teacher for a reason, I don't have the patience or the tolerance for being hands-on for hours in a row. I couldn't do preschool or anything with little kids, just thinking about it makes me want to drink. God gave me independent children for a reason. My kids like to play on their own, half the time if I try to engage in a tea party with Barbie and the Zhu Zhu pets or a battle I get yelled at because I'm doing it wrong. Okie dokie, you're on your own you tiny little tea party Hitler. Yep, I play with them...we play games, we color, we go outside. But I'm not a fucking Gymboree instructor therefore we will not be playing with sensory toys from 9:00-9:30, finger painting from 10:15-10:45, with a light snack at 10:46. So do I play with them constantly? Will you walk in my house at any given time and see me fully engaged on the floor with the Little People farm playset? Do we hold hands and sing nursery rhymes all day long? Nope, because I'm *THAT* mom.<br />
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TREATS:<br />
Technically this could go under the food category but this tends to be such a HUGE issue for so many parents I figured it deserved it's own moment in the spotlight. I'm a treat person. I LOVE me some sugar. I can be painfully full from a huge meal but if you walk by me with a tray of cupcakes, I will take your ass down. Period. My kids know that treats don't flow freely in my house and they need to ask for them. However, my petite little demon baby chewed through the lock on the pantry door and has been found literally SCALING the shelves in the pantry to help herself to a snack. Whatever, she didn't fall AND was so proud of herself for her success who the fuck am I to take away her fruit snacks??? But the standing rule is you must ask...Do they always get what they ask for? Nope, if that was the case they'd have cupcakes for breakfast, Oreos for lunch, and pudding for dinner. But yes, they get "treats" every now and then. They each get a little sweet thing in their lunchbox every day and we occasionally have dessert after dinner. Ever seen what happens to those kids who aren't allowed to eat that shit? They are the ones who hide under the cake table at little Johnny's birthday party and every now and then you'll see a grubby little hand reach from under the tablecloth to snatch a handful of the forbidden fruit because mommy won't let him have it. Why the fuck not? Everything in moderation folks, little Timmy and Susie aren't destined to a life of obesity if they get a fucking Twinkie in the lunch box every now and then. The parents who fuck with their kids food and so rigidly control what they can and cannot eat are raising kids with eating disorders. There, I said it...because I'm *THAT* mom.<br />
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I'll just leave you all with that glimpse into my life and what kind of mom I am, you all know my take on sleeping...those demons do NOT belong in my bed. Period. Don't need to go into more detail than that :) So yes, I'm *THAT* mom. My kids watch too much TV, my son turns EVERYTHING into a weapon, they've had their fair share of Little Debbies, and they ALL know what Diet Coke tastes like (and probably beer too...yep *THAT* mom). Haven't killed 'em yet, have I?? I do my "good" parenting in other ways, my kids will remember the fun shit I did with them and for them. I want them to tell their children and their children's children that I did cool shit like popcorn and root beer for dinner...not lame shit like "my mom broiled me tilapia and braised organic asparagus" Whatever. I'll eat that but if I tried to serve it to my kids they'd look at me like I had a penis growing out of my forehead. No mother is perfect, the good moms are the ones who can admit that they cut corners and that we are bound to screw them up in SOME way, despite our best efforts. So yep, I'm *THAT* mom and I'm ok with that. ;)Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-15281533482895311622011-02-17T09:01:00.000-05:002011-02-17T09:01:22.448-05:00Now, where does THIS part go?***Make sure the kiddos are out of the room for this one!!!!!!!!!!!!! Inappropriate picture content!!!!***<br />
<br />
A conversation with a girlfriend about thigh high nylons and comments about crotchless panties on our Facebook page got me thinking about a certain drawer in my bedroom...a drawer that is rarely opened...a drawer that houses a few items that my husband is unaware of but he'd probably be pretty damn excited about them if he was. SO it got me thinking about the usage of those items and in the spirit of Valentine's Day I started perusing your run of the mill websites looking for "attire" and then started finding some...well...for lack of better phrasing, I started coming across some freaky shit.<br />
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Let me just say I am not a sexy person. I don't DO sexy. And I'm not just saying that because my mom reads this blog. Sexy for me is wearing just a tshirt to bed instead of a tshirt, socks and pajama pants. Remember the scene from the movie "True Lies" where Jamie Lee Curtis tries to do the sexy dance for Arnold Schwarzenegger and just as she's getting sexy she throws herself onto the floor in a clumsy heap? Yep, that's me...except I'd never even attempt the dancing because my husband would piss himself laughing before I even pressed play on the iPod. However, I have done some Victoria's Secret stuff...but there is some shit out there that I just could never bring myself to try, hell I was cringing just looking at them on the computer; a few of them I had to turn my laptop different ways to figure out which way they were supposed to go. And of course I need to share them (and my observations of said "outfits") with you all...<br />
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<a border="0" class="jqzoom" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=2047945885380439301&postID=1528153348289531162#" id="img_0"><img alt="Wild Net Set" border="0" height="200" src="http://cdn1.wickedtemptations.com/images_products/wild-net-set-137645big.jpg" width="154" /></a><br />
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Who is more likely to get tangled up in THIS mess??? How the fuck do you even get it on let alone get it OFF? We'd need to keep scissors by the bedside and that's just not a good idea for several reasons...and stilettos in the bedroom are never practical...just sayin'<br />
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<a border="0" class="jqzoom" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=2047945885380439301&postID=1528153348289531162#" id="img_0"><img alt="Fence Net Skirt Set" border="0" height="200" src="http://cdn2.wickedtemptations.com/images_products/fence-net-skirt-set-137681big.jpg" width="154" /></a><br />
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For those super sexy, romantic moments when you're making out under the frat house black lights you've recently installed in your bedroom...<br />
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<a border="0" class="jqzoom" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=2047945885380439301&postID=1528153348289531162#" id="img_0"><img alt="Black Onyx Bootylicious Dress" border="0" height="200" src="http://cdn5.wickedtemptations.com/images_products/black-onyx-bootylicious-dress-136295big.jpg" width="154" /></a><br />
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There are no words...<br />
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<a border="0" class="jqzoom" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=2047945885380439301&postID=1528153348289531162#" id="img_0"><img alt="Zip-Up Vinyl Corset" border="0" height="200" src="http://cdn1.wickedtemptations.com/images_products/zip-up-vinyl-corset-139450big.jpg" width="154" /></a><br />
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Zippers in lingerie just don't strike me as a good idea...fumbling with a zipper in the "heat of the moment" is probably not the best move...knowing me and my not-so-graceful ways I'd end up unzipping a nipple, catching something of HIS in it, or something equally as disastrous...<br />
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<a border="0" class="jqzoom" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=2047945885380439301&postID=1528153348289531162#" id="img_0"> </a><a href="http://www.wickedtemptations.com/leather-harness-151109-prd1.htm"><img alt="Leather Harness" height="200" src="http://cdn5.wickedtemptations.com/images_products/leather-harness-151109sma.jpg" width="153" /></a> <a href="http://www.wickedtemptations.com/pixie-vinyl-teddy-139519-prd1.htm"><img alt="Pixie Vinyl Teddy" height="200" src="http://cdn1.wickedtemptations.com/scart/public/database/product/images_products/139519_thumbnail.jpg" width="153" /></a><br />
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Odds of someone getting fatally tangled up in either one of these are pretty good...and her pigtails do not distract from the potentially hazardous strangulation likelihood with these ensembles...but matching his and hers death traps?? Awwww....<br />
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<a href="http://www.wickedtemptations.com/leather-zip-up-thong-151049-prd1.htm"><img alt="Leather Zip Up Thong" src="http://cdn5.wickedtemptations.com/scart/public/database/product/images_products/151049_thumbnail.jpg" /></a><br />
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Remember that scene in "Something About Mary" where Ben Stiller gets his frank and beans caught in his zipper??? Yep...disaster written all over this godawful contraption...nothing about this makes me want to unleash the beast from it's pleather cage...I just threw up in my mouth...<br />
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<a border="0" class="jqzoom" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=2047945885380439301&postID=1528153348289531162#" id="img_0"><img alt="Strappy Lace Teddy" border="0" height="200" src="http://cdn3.wickedtemptations.com/images_products/strappy-lace-teddy-146538big.jpg" width="154" /></a><br />
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So does it come with instructions like an IKEA bookshelf? Strap A connects to hook F after looping through the back portion of the left side of the underwire of the first part of the second strap B2. DO NOT connect the first strap before unhooking the second underwire before detaching the looped hook connector, but NOT strap B1. Seriously....how the fuck do you even get this on? I'd be sweating in some very unattractive places when it was all said and done and then I'd want to take the goddamn thing off and take a shower...<br />
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<a href="http://www.wickedtemptations.com/leather-pouch-151053-prd1.htm"><img alt="Leather Pouch" height="200" src="http://cdn.wickedtemptations.com/images_products/leather-pouch-151053sma.jpg" width="153" /></a><br />
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Hm....is it there? Can you find it? Aren't the items on these kinds of pages supposed to make the guys looks super virile and masculine? Yeah, not so much for this poor bastard...it's like they took a "Pee-Pee Tee-Pee" off of the Babies R Us website and turned it into a leather thong...are the somewhat chiseled features and kind of there abs supposed to distract us from the barely there manhood (total dimestore novel term thank-you-very-much) hiding under that pleather scrap...poor guy...love the manly bicep band though, I bet his boyfriend does too.<br />
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/all-leather-styles-3461-ctg.htm"><img alt="All Leather Styles" height="200" src="http://cdn4.wickedtemptations.com/images_categories/categ_3461_1.jpg" width="153" /></a><br />
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Hmmmm....knowing my luck anything I glued to my nipples would rip one of them right off or I would end up with glue in the wrong places or gluing things together that don't belong glued together so I just can't get on board with the whole idea...and the hat would just fall off so that just seems silly to me...and anything made of "pleather" is bound to make for some awkward, uncomfortable noises if you know what I mean so that material should just be avoided altogether...<br />
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I could have gone on and on and on...I saw things that were crotchless (like a FB reader said, why bother...just go commando) things with metal studs (potentially resulting in eye gouging and other fatal injuries) whips and chains (blunt force trauma is always sexy) furry and other "faux" materials (one word for ya there: CHAFING)...the list goes on. Maybe I'm just not adventurous enough. Maybe I need to take a trip into Victoria's Secret sometime soon, or maybe even branch out a little bit more and go all out for Frederick's of Hollywood. But I MUST give credit where credit is due, for those who are wondering, the lovely pieces showcased here today can be found <a href="http://www.wickedtemptations.com/">HERE</a> at Wicked Temptations...very appropriate, doncha think? It all scares me to be perfectly honest and I'll probably just keep the drawer closed and stick with the tshirt and MAYBE, just MAYBE if I'm feeling really saucy I'll venture into the Gilligan and O'Malley section at Target today...Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-10111677899163041072011-02-04T09:33:00.000-05:002011-02-04T09:33:55.522-05:00The family that sleeps together...I'm exhausted...painfully, deliriously, mind-numbingly exhausted. I have diet coke to my left and coffee to my right...I'm considering snorting a 5 Hour Engergy shot soon. Has anyone ever successfully started a coffee IV? Just curious...<br />
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Why am I so tired, you ask? A child slept with us last night. I know that is not a big deal to MANY families but in my house, that shit does not happen. Children do not belong in my bed. Children do not enter the inner sanctum that is my sleep chamber. Children do not infiltrate my nest. In the last 9+ years of being parents, yes we have broken that rule...as rarely as possible. We don't typically allow the kids in our bed, I try to avoid it at all costs (my beloved is the worst offender of this...the kids will go to his side of the bed because they KNOW I won't let them in...he's too lazy to take them back to bed, he gives in) I HATE sleeping with my children. I detest it. I loathe it. I would rather sleep in my car in the driveway or curled up on a chair on the deck, or shit, I'd even just lay out on the deck itself before subjecting myself to sleeping with one of my kids.<br />
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I like cuddling with my kids...on the couch...in a chair whilst somewhat upright...but NOT in my bed. My kids don't cuddle while they are sleeping. They embrace their inner ninja and go Bruce Lee on my ass. Many parents swear they sleep better when their kids are in the bed with them. They are liars. How one can sleep better while getting a roundhouse kick to the larynx is beyond me. A knee drop to the uterus is just what I want at 3 am, and I don't know how the fuck it happens but my children's joints seem to multiply at night like little zombies. They have so many knees and elbows it's frightening. And those little knobby knees and elbows manage to find every sensitive part of my body between the hours of 1 and 4 am. Why not my skull? Nope, right in the eye socket. Fucking fantastic. I am clinging to the edge of the mattress for dear life while a 24 pound 2 year old is jamming her knees into my kidneys and then drops and elbow into my temple for good measure all while her father is blissfully snoring away on his half of the bed. HOW 24 pounds of toddler can take up half of the bed is beyond me, but she managed quite succesfully. My little human X kicked my ass right up to the edge of my Tempurpedic mattress to the point where I was using every muscle to keep myself on that edge. So not only do I have internal bleeding and bruises but every muscle aches from trying to maintain my 1/16th of an inch on the bed. At one point I DID manage to fall asleep only to find my feet pinned down. WHAT THE FUCK??? The 9 1/2 year old had joined us at some point. Sweet Jesus Lord above. I was now curled into fetal position IN my pillowcase because that was the only free space in the bed. I hate my children. I hate sleeping with my children.<br />
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At 6 a.m. I am groggily shoved awake by my beloved on my side of the bed shoving me towards the middle because the 2 year old "took his spot" Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME??????? The alarm is on HIS side of the bed so in order for the alarm to be shut off, *I* will have to reach over said 2 year old to shut it off for him?? Awesome. I hate them all. Alarm goes off and he has the balls to ask for me to hit snooze...I hit him instead. I hate sleeping with my family. The family bed can suck it. I don't sleep better with my kids. Some nights I question if I sleep better with my husband. I TOTALLY get that some people can sleep very successfully with their kids and that works for them...SOOOOOOOOO does not work for me. AT ALL. I am sleeping in the basement tonight, where no one can find me.Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-81815740813194517232010-12-10T11:08:00.000-05:002010-12-10T11:08:14.183-05:00Baking...DE style...I can't take credit for this one but it's funny nonetheless! Happy baking everyone, have some rum for me! ;)<br />
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Christmas Rum Cake<br />
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1 Tsp. Sugar<br />
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1 or 2 Quarts of Rum<br />
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1 Cup Dried Fruit<br />
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Brown Sugar<br />
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1 Tsp. Soda<br />
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1 Cup Butter<br />
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2 Large Eggs<br />
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1 Cup Baking Powder<br />
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3 Juiced Lemons<br />
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1 Cup of Nuts<br />
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Before starting, sample rum to check quality. Good, isn't it? Now proceed. <br />
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Select large mixing bowl, measuring cup, etc. <br />
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Check rum again. It must be just right. To be sure rum is of proper quality, pour one level cup of rum into a glass and drink it as fast as you can. Repeat. <br />
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With electric mixer, beat 1 cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. <br />
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Add 1 seaspoon of thusar and beat again. <br />
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Meanwhile, make sure rum is still alrighty-roo. Try another cup. Open second quart if necessary. Sample to be sure the second bottle is of the same quality.<br />
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Add leggs, 2 cups of fried druit and beat til high. If druit gets stuck in beaters, pry loose with drewscriber. <br />
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Sample rum again, checking for tonscisticity. <br />
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Next, sift 3 cups peppfer or salt (really doesn't matter). <br />
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Sample rum. <br />
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Sift 1/2 pint lemon juice. Fold in chopped butter and strained nuts. Add 1 bablespoon of brown sugar-or whatever color you can find. Wix mell. Grease oven. Turn cake pan to 350 gredees. Pour mess into boven and ake. <br />
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Check run again and bo to ged. <br />
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..ADN HALPIE HOLIGLAZE FROM US N THE CAP'N TWO YA'ALL! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BJ69wUGdinI/TQJP9YLUF1I/AAAAAAAAAMw/8Q-NgFKtH1M/s1600/captain_morgan-pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BJ69wUGdinI/TQJP9YLUF1I/AAAAAAAAAMw/8Q-NgFKtH1M/s1600/captain_morgan-pic.jpg" /></a></div>Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-74318325704606768302010-12-09T11:11:00.000-05:002010-12-09T11:11:47.883-05:00From our home to yours...want to hear how fabulous I am???'Tis the season...for all sorts of shit...we've started receiving holiday cards in the mail and along with many of those cheerful flocked and glittered cards that leave entrails all over my kitchen counter are the newsy holiday letters. I truly enjoy reading these letters as it gives me a chance to see what old friends have been up to over the past year. I love reading about their families, their kids, accomplishments (within reason), etc. However, there is a fine line between the "recap of the XXXX family from 2010" and the "here is how fucking fabulous the XXXX family is in 2010 and evermore" letter. I've received both so far, guess which ones I want to wipe my own ass with? (but refrain from doing so only because it could potentially result in nasty papercuts...not to mention the glitter)<br />
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I myself have sent out holiday letters because as a military family we are somewhat far removed from family and the many friends we've made over the years. However, I don't fill the letter with detailed glowing accolades of myself, my husband, and my children. Some might call that BRAGGING BEYOND BELIEF. I would tend to agree. We've outlined some subtle differences in the holiday letters in the hopes of helping you weed out folks to eliminate from next year's holiday card list AND possibly help you write your own that won't become someone's TP....<br />
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SCHOOLING:<br />
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I love to hear about your kids, really I do. Hell, I talk about mine all the damn time. The little spawn aren't going anywhere anytime soon so I may as well pretend I like them ;) But it's ok to keep it simple. Going on and on about every test score, glowing conference report from little Johnny's teacher, and "major award" is completely unneccessary. Because let's be honest, no one REALLY gives a shit nearly as much as you do about the specifics (plus that "major award" was probably given to about 95% of the damn school in light of all of that touchy, feely "let's make EVERYONE feel special" bullshit) A simple "Johnny is really enjoying the 5th grade this year, his favorite subject is math and he's really excelling....we're so proud of him!" And leave it be...no one cares about the rest. Really.<br />
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SPORTS:<br />
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Refrain from mentioning how little Johnny kicked everyone's ass this year on the football field and didn't belong in a simple rec league with those other amateurs. Holiday letter no-no...never criticize anyone who may be reading said holiday letter. Nobody needs a run-down of his ENTIRE.FUCKING.SEASON down to his cup size, uniform number, and what his coach said about him at the end of the year "banquet" which was really held at Burger King after the last game but you use "banquet" because it sounds better. Knock that shit off. Again, keep it simple. "Johnny is really improving at football and is looking forward to next season, he's hoping to attend camp this summer!" Done.<br />
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WORK:<br />
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In times such as these where SO many people are struggling in their businesses or have suffered the fate of millions and are without work, this is NOT the place to share with everyone how much money you're making and how you can barely keep up with your business because you're so successful and wonderful. OUCH. You'll find a small bonfire on your front lawn made up of your holiday letters if you do that. No need to share with everyone what your net worth is and the "major awards" you won either. "Work is going well, keeps both of us busy which we're so thankful for!" DONE. <br />
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PERSONAL:<br />
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Granted the majority of the letter is personal but many different things can fall into this category. Do I want to know that your oldest child just got married? Abso-fucking-lutely!!! But do I need to know about the black tie reception and the Vera Wang wedding gown? Probably not...save that for the society pages that no one reads. Do I want to know that you went on a trip last year? Hell yes! But do I need to hear about the 2 week trek through Europe, the Mediterranean cruise, the private cabana in the Caymans, and the timeshare in Honolulu? Not so much. I don't give a shit that you're exhausted from all of your travels (and putting a smiley face at the end of such a comment does not make it a tongue-in-cheek comment....no one is going to think you're funny...braggar) Why do I need to know that you got a new tennis bracelet for your birthday? Why do I give a shit that your husband just HAD to trade in his car for the newest model? Am I interested in knowing that your child is up for a scholarship? Of course but you don't need to elaborate with EVERY.SINGLE.ACCOMPLISHMENT since kindergarten making me feel like a total shmuck because my 2 year old still eats off of the floor.<br />
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So in conclusion...keep it simple, tell us what is new with you and yours without making you and yours sound like complete assholes. It's that easy! That makes the difference between me sharing your letter with my husband or using it for kindling. A dear friend writes a beautiful holiday letter each year that I genuinely look forward to. She shares BRIEFLY about her gorgeous family and then ends it with sharing what they are thankful for...I love that! Don't spend 2 pages telling me how fucking fantastic you and your spawn are and then follow up with, "oh-by-the-way-happy-holidays" These are the people who become positively giddy at "holiday letter" time of year because they get to brag. I hate them. And their stupid holiday letters. You know they start rough drafts in about October and spend a good month or two perfecting it and adding to it before deeming it perfect. BARF. <br />
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For what it's worth, I'm skipping our holiday letter this year. To be honest 2010 was kind of a shit year for my family and I feel no need to put that in writing (except for right here obviously) So my kids are awesome, my husband is blessed to have a stable job, I'm thankful we're all healthy...and with that...I'm fucking fabulous, happy holidays...Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-19940902596931679342010-10-14T09:27:00.001-04:002010-10-14T09:41:07.080-04:00Maybe we can pencil you in...Today after school I had to herd my herd right off of the school bus and into the car. I practically ran them home from the bus stop, dislocated limbs as I yanked backpacks from their little bodies and chucked them in the front hall (where they still sit), threw some fruit snacks at all of them and hauled them all out to the driveway. They were so shell-shocked they were actually cooperative. We had appointments right away and although it goes against my nature, everything I stand for, and my regular habits, I HAD to be on time for them. After those appointments I schlepped them home quickly where the oldest changed out of school clothes and into soccer attire while the youngest two grabbed a quick snack (and the youngest threw a shit fit because I felt that a bag of rice did NOT qualify as a snack and we should NOT bring daddy's empty beer bottles to soccer...) It was so freaking hectic getting everyone out of the car, grabbing what we needed and back into the car in literally 7 minutes I was ALMOST tempted to go do a few shots of Cuervo before heading to the soccer field. Apparently drunk parents at public parks are frowned upon...weird.<br />
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As I sit here now, finally mildly relaxed (read: sitting and semi-frantically making mental lists of all I have to do at home)watching the two youngest play happily in the sand (read: one is throwing it and one is rolling in it) and the oldest practices with her team I am so very very thankful that my everyday is not like this. I would be a raging alcoholic. I know of people whose days ARE like this. EVERY.FREAKING.DAY. I don't think I could function, nor could I successfully keep track of appropriate schedules, times, and places. I'd end up with a tball clad kid at karate practice on pee-wee football night.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><img height="211" id="il_fi" src="http://fussypants.typepad.com/whatsmartmommiesknow/images/2008/01/29/overscheduled_from_albanyedu.gif" width="275" /></div>I just don't have it in me to "schedule" my kids. I am fine letting them participate in sports; obviously as I am currently watching the oldest play soccer. They can do whatever they want...within reason. It can't cost more than a mortgage payment (sorry Sam, no figure skating) and the schedule can't be completely out of control (dance class 4 nights a week?? I don't think so) Last spring my schedule made me want to hurt people as the oldest played softball twice a week, the middle played tball twice a week, and the leftover day I spent drunk. My week was shot. I often prayed for rain so practices would be cancelled. It's not that I don't want my kids to experience stuff like Jazzercise, choir, underwater basket weaving, Chess club, Young Scientists club, recycling club, Bible study, yo-yo group, and competitive yodeling. Bring on the experiences. Just squeeze them into the school day somehow.<br />
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I want my kids to have time in their day to BE KIDS. I didn't like our schedule today and I guarantee you, by the time we get home, shove some dinner in them, bathe and bed them all WITHOUT giving them a chance to play..they'll realize they didn't like it either. I can handle it one night a week, maybe even two. But I don't want to have to SCHEDULE time for my kids to be 9, 6, and 2. You look at kids today and they are shuttled from ballet to soccer to the counselor to the dermatologist to jazz/tap combo to the chiropractor and rounding it all out with a stop at the herbologist. WHAT.THE.FUCK???? Kids are way overscheduled. No wonder they have to see a shrink and have early onset anxiety disorders. They've got way too much shit to worry about. A 9 year old should worry about which shirt to wear tomorrow and whether or not she knows all of her spelling words for Friday. She shouldn't be worrying about if she'll even have TIME to study her spelling words in between dance class, therapy, the dermatolgist, and Bible study. I know something is seriously wrong if my kids have more shit scheduled on the calendar than I do. I don't want to have to pencil in time for my kids to ride bikes and scooters, play with neighborhood kids, or just sit and veg out. Kids NEED that. Hell, who am I kidding, I need that. I can't be constantly shuttling kids from one activity to another. Drunk driving is illegal. I realize as they get older and are involved in more, schedules are going to fill up and conflict. Unless I lock them in their rooms, turn them into social recluses, and deny any involvement in any extracurriculars, their schedules will become slightly overloaded as they age. But I'll be damned if I'm going to synchronize calendars on my iPhone for my elementary school-aged kids. The ones who pick their noses, should still get help wiping, and get excited about pudding in their lunch boxes. (ok, so this could be my husband too, but for the sake of example I'm referring to my kids...)<br />
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As they get older they'll want to do more and my calendar will fill up whether I like it or not. But for now I want them to be able to have time in their day to unwind and be kids. So in between the once-a-week soccer practice I'm fine with only having reminders of when library books are due on my calendar. Shit, what day is it today????Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-26669198484902479702010-10-06T09:34:00.001-04:002010-10-06T09:50:01.946-04:00When did birthdays start sucking?So it's my birthday next week...and there is part of me that is still shit-myself-excited. Does that part EVER go away? That little kid inside who anticipates an upcoming birthday for weeks in advance? Even though I'm a grown up and supposed to pretend that I dread the arrival of each and every birthday? When did birthdays start sucking? WHY did birthdays start sucking?<br />
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Remember when we were little and our birthdays were like a national holiday? A day when we were convinced that the world SHOULD in fact revolve completely around us...as we long suspected it did anyway? My son's birthday is just a month before mine and I watched him in the weeks leading up to his big day. We planned his party, he made his "I want that for my birthday" list, he chose the flavor of cake he wanted, he changed his mind about the "theme" 62 fucking times (don't worry, I'm not bitter about that nor am I upset about the pile of unwanted party favors that I can't find the fucking receipt for...) And he was genuinely excited about his birthday. He could not have been more excited about it. All adults should be like that. <br />
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I know far too many adults who could give two shits about their birthday. And just as many who act as if they'd rather visit the gynecologist, the dentist, AND wait in line at the DMV all on one day.That makes me sad. When did we reach a point in our adult lives when birthdays are supposed to suck? I realize that we have grown up responsibilities and most days feel like a Monday but one's birthday should be a welcome "vacation" from the everyday. Your birthday should be your chance to be the center of attention (even for those of you who swear you hate that...enjoy the oodles of Facebook greetings, then...no need to talk to anyone) Your birthday should be used as your excuse for EVERYTHING....don't fold laundry, it can wait until tomorrow...why make your day worse by dealing with everyone's underwear? Don't cook anything, make someone else do cook or take you out. Or feel no remorse whatsoever about eating total shit all day long. You can. It's your birthday and calories don't count (I'll find the research that backs this up later...just trust me on this one) Go treat yourself to something new...don't buy ANYTHING for the kids when you go to Target. Go get a mani or a pedi. Plop yourself down on the couch with a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Your birthday should be about YOU. Stop pretending it sucks. Birthdays are fucking awesome. Yep, we're grown ups now and don't typically have blow out parties with bouncy castles, pinatas, and goody bags but we still deserve to have a special day. Why the hell not? Getting older doesn't suck THAT bad...I like to think I'm getting better with age (work with me on this one...)<br />
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In our 11 years of marriage my husband has been gone for nine of my birthdays. Yep, nine of them. And yep, my birthday means that much to me that I've counted. Shit, I am a middle child...number 3 of 6...when else was it going to be all about me?? October 12th, dammit. And guess what? He's going to be gone again this year. Am I going to mope about acting like someone took a dump in my Cheerios? Nope. Why would I do that? It's my birthday dammit...sure I still have to do the daily tasks that MUST get done (like making lunches, changing diapers, putting the kids on the bus...) but you better believe I'll be squeezing in "it's-my-birthday-and-it's-all-about-me" whereever I can throughout my day. Want me to pay my mortgage? Fuck off, it's my birthday, I'll do it tomorrow. The toilets need to be scrubbed? Bite me, do it yourself...you pee all over the damn thing anyway. You want WHAT for dinner?? Too damn bad, you'll be lucky if I bother to feed you...it's MY birthday dammit. I don't dread getting older (minus the effects of gravity and whatnot...but that's a separate post) and I think that birthdays are something to be celebrated no matter how old you are. Whether you're 6 or 36 (no, I'm not turning 36...just sounded good...) everyone should KNOW it's your birthday. They gave us fucking crowns in Kindergarten, why not in our 30's? <br />
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Totally kidding about the crown part...kind of...Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-71186010921504422902010-09-28T09:26:00.000-04:002010-09-28T09:26:49.645-04:00What's your "status"?Ok, so since you all found us on Facebook, we know you frequent it just as much as we do...so we know you'll "get" this post...<br />
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I like reading people's status updates just as much as the next person...some of my friends are freaking hilarious, some of my friends say the most entertaining stuff, their kids are awesome, they post cool pictures, links, etc. but I'll be honest when I say that some of my "friends" status updates irritate the hell out of me. They downright bug the shit out of me. They literally make me want to crawl through the computer and punch them in the face and tell them to stop talking because nobody cares about what they have to say. Yep, harsh I know. And for some reason THESE are the people that show up on my "feed" every.fucking.day. Odds are I'm that person for someone...but hopefully they've taken measures to either delete me or "hide" me and I'm just completely blissfully unaware of it and will remain that way forever as these people will to me so I can talk about them here. On my blog. And tell you all why they bug the shit out of me.<br />
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I like inspirational quotes or song lyrics every now and then...key phrase...EVERY.NOW.AND.THEN...you don't need to put random Def Leppard song lyrics up every 30 minutes. I get starting your day with an inspirational quote, that's cool. People appreciate that, gets the day going on a positive note. But to throw out "I'm hot, sticky sweet...from my head, to my feet YEAH" and then expect people to comment with follow up lyrics??? Lame. I'm deleting you.<br />
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Inside jokes. They are "inside" for a reason. Keep them that way. Post them on your friends walls if you feel the need to broadcast it or send a message. No one else needs to read about "the antelope and the chicken" which is just going to leave everyone else thinking "what the fuck???" and then saying that under your status...and then you'll be left saying "nevermind, it's just an inside joke" What are we, 12??? Ok, that's lame and middle school...leave it back in 1989. Thanks.<br />
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The I-must-update-every-second-of-my-life-because-people-are-dying-to-know type status abusers. These are the folks who, if you were to go to their profile page, will have miles of their own status updates...with no comments (you'd think they'd take the hint) Thank you for sharing with me that you need a cup of coffee...OH! Look at that 12 minutes later, apparently the coffee kicked in...good to know that as well. Really? you think another cup of coffee 47 minutes later is a good idea? Well, according to your status that's what you're doing and I'm terribly sorry you're out of creamer....and toilet paper. Fantastic...you're done with coffee and have moved on to the super exciting "I'm on my way to a meeting" portion of your day. And I'm moving on to my "I'm deleting your painfully boring ass" portion of mine.<br />
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I want to be one of those people who can sit on my ass and play Facebook games all day. I want to do nothing but play Family Feud, feed my Farmville chickens, kick some ass in Mafia Wars, ask for bricks to build my Medieval village, post want ads for my restaurant, and then post about EVERY.SINGLE.ONE.OF.THEM. Because I want everyone to know how little I have going on in my day. Seriously. Can I be you? I want to be able to broadcast via shitloads of game updates that I have nothing but time on my hands. I want people to know how unfulfilling my days are. You may as well just post as your status update "I have no job, no life, no friends, and am still living in my parent's basement...want to get me to the next Family Feud level?" You're still a virgin too, aren't you? Yep, kinda figured...<br />
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There's nothing like a good "I'm going to kick some Cardio Turbo Fire Rocket X ass" type status update to make one feel more like a fat, slovenly, lazy schlub. But I don't fucking care. Yes, I go to the gym (occasionally). Yes, I work out (every now and then) But I don't feel the need to go on and on and on and on about how LNMOP90SuperX has changed my life and will change yours too...is it a cult or a workout? Are there subliminal messages streamed throughout? Am I going to get in shape or end up in a purple Reebok jumpsuit drinking "special" Kool-Aid? I don't give a shit that you just got up at 4 am rode your bike up the eastern seaboard, came home and ran a half marathon, and now you're going to "rock it with some Turbo Jam Muscle Beat 500" all before I've even rolled my fat ass out of bed. I don't care, and judging by the lack of "damn, you're amazing!" or "WOW! can I be just like you???" comments corresponding to your status, nobody else gives a shit either.<br />
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I've often wondered if there are word limits on Facebook statuses...but judging by the novels that some type out for other's reading "pleasure" I'm going to go with NO, there aren't. But sweet Jesus there should be. The "like" button was created for these status updates. Because I don't know whether to comment on the trip to grandma's, the sweet ass deal you scored at Kohl's, the new recipe you're trying for dinner, the car trouble, the new book you just read, or how best to potty train your toddler. Your status update confused me and OOPS! Delete...<br />
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And don't even get me started on horrific spelling and grammatical errors within posts. Terrible. I get posting on your phone and mistyping something, been there, done that. In fact, I just did it yesterday and it bothered me SO badly I contemplated deleting the entire thing. All because I missed a "t". Or I've corrected myself underneath the status update by leaving myself a comment, for all those to read behind me so they'd know that I'm not a total moron. But if you can't even be bothered to figure out the difference between "they're, their, or there" and "too and to" I will just have to delete you so I don't lose IQ points by reading what you think is intelligent and witty.<br />
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Like I said, my personal page has probably become the annoyance of several people and I may very well be one of the examples I gave above. I know I've been guilty of some aspects of each of these, but people comment on my status updates so THERE (picture me sticking my tongue out). And odds are good I've been deleted or at the very least "hidden" So be it. I like that I can tailor a website to my personal tastes and if you do any of the stupid, annoying shit that I've just outlined above...odds are pretty good YOU'VE been deleted or hidden and I only go to your page occasionally to see if you're still annoying the shit out of other people.<br />
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Yep, you are...I just checked...<br />
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Ok, your turn...what bugs YOU on Facebook? (and please don't say me...just quietly delete or hide me...)Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-80792649221322368292010-09-17T09:40:00.000-04:002010-09-17T09:40:05.150-04:00Sweet marital bliss...First of all, I want to give a shout-out to our parents...they are celebrating 39 years of marriage today. Friggin' awesome. You don't see that much anymore and although the sight of my dad grabbing my mom's ass or my mom making out with my dad in the kitchen totally gags me and makes me visibly cringe, I still think it's pretty cool. So here's to you mom and dad...and 39 more :)<br />
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Now I know their marriage hasn't been all about shitting rainbows and unicorns. Hell, they got married at age 17 with a baby on the way and I believe the day our oldest brother was born they had $7 to their name. Quite the beginning, huh? But they've come a long way and now they're off on a romantic (gag, barf, choking...) weekend together celebrating marital bliss (just threw up in my mouth a little bit there...) And I had to laugh because it hit me this morning that I am currently on the opposite end of that shitting rainbows and unicorns spectrum right now. I can't imagine 39 more minutes of marriage let alone 39 years. <br />
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My beloved has been out of town all week and I will admit there were a few brief moments of missing him and wishing he was home. But now he's home. Oh man is he home. It literally took MINUTES for him to make his mark on the house again to let us all know he was back in his domain. It was like the alpha male pissing all over everything and marking his territory. The contents of his pockets were strewn all over my freshly cleaned kitchen counters...thank you love, for the smattering of pocket lint and the Kodiak chewing tobacco sprinkled all over the kitchen floor. Apparently he was parched and needed a glass of chocolate milk...the only reason I know this is because when I came down to the kitchen this morning (after stumbling over his shoes which were literally at the bottom of the steps) his empty glass was on the kitchen table, the chocolate-y milk covered spoon was STUCK to the kitchen counter and the bottle of Hersheys' syrup was tipped over and left a lovely puddle. A blind, drunk monkey could have managed that glass of chocolate milk better. The neatly organized stack of mail I had left for him apparently was better suited to being scattered all over the kitchen table. Don't worry, I'll get those discarded envelopes honey. I will give him props for bringing his suitcase in though, however it will take a few weeks for the large portion of toenail to grow back, because he parked the damn thing LITERALLY in the middle of our bedroom at the end of our bed. Super fun tripping over that bitch at 3 am. Ooops...did I wake you with my swearing and whimpering? My bad. His bathroom sink has a fresh layer of shaving cream, his mirror now has it's trademark spatters of toothpaste goop, and oh how I missed the sight of a wet, soggy towel dumped on top of his clothes from the night before...in a pile on the floor of course. <br />
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Ah sweet marital bliss...I KNOW my mom has been there, done that....just as well as I know I'll get over it and maybe next week I'll like him again. But for now I need to get the Windex back out, Roomba my kitchen floor, and superglue my toenail back together.<br />
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Happy Anniversary mom and dad...we love you!!!Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-65600389202825408032010-09-16T09:35:00.000-04:002010-09-16T09:35:29.622-04:00A slap in the face from my friends at Target...It's "that time of the month" for me. I feel that I can share that with you guys. Hell, we've shared just about everything else with you, our cycles should definitely eek in there somewhere, right? So there ya go. Anyway, when I'm up to my uterus in everything hormonally and menstrually related, I want chocolate. I want sweet stuff. A lot of it. Mass quantities of it. Intravenously would be fucking awesome. Hell, even my husband would be my favorite person if his "bits and pieces" were made of chocolate. However, neither of those two options are EVER going to happen (the latter is probably a REALLY good thing but when I'm in the throes of a hardcore craving, I'd be willing to take just about anything) so when I want chocolate, thankfully I don't have to resort to anything ghastly to satisfy my craving.<br />
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As we all know, I enjoy Target. So in one of my several weekly forays into said store, one of my first missions was to stock up on chocolate and/or various not-at-all-good-for-me sweets. I wandered (read: ran over several small children and little old ladies with my cart in my haste...may have taken a few corners on two wheels) over to the candy aisle because I had a killer coupon for M&M's. And I have recently discovered pretzel M&M's. Sweet Jesus Lord above maker of all that is good and holy. Have you TRIED those little buggers? Fan-fucking-tastic. Seriously. I refuse to listen to you naysayers who tell me you don't like them. And no, the coconut ones do not compare. Blasphemy. Anyway, these things are one of the best inventions EVER. You know the scene in American Beauty where beautiful rose petals are drifting down ever so gently all over Mira Sorvino? Yep, that is my vision for pretzel M&M's. Me. Satin sheets. Being pelted with pretzel M&M's. Heaven. Notice I made no comment about the svelte, gorgeous, naked body? Well yeah, no shit. That's because I will have just eaten my weight in M&M's. Ain't NOBODY wants to see this naked after gorging on 42 pounds of those bad boys. And believe me, in the 4-5 days that I'm a miserable, cranky, bleeding, angry, irritable, bloated bitch...I could easily put away 42 pounds of M&M's. Easily. Anyway, so there I am...the candy aisle...coupon in hand ready to snatch up a few bags of M&M's and THIS is what I find waiting for me:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">WHAT.THE.FUCK.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They can't be serious. I could have easily gotten over the fact that they were out of them. Ok, so maybe not EASILY but I would have pulled myself up by the ol' boot straps and begrudgingly went and found myself a few dozen boxes of Little Debbies instead. But the longer I stared at it the more pissed off I got. How the fuck is gum a good substitute for chocolate??????? What MAN made this sign? I guarantee the douchebag was sitting behind the security cameras just watching women walk past with looks of absolute incredulity on their faces. Was I being punk'd??? They seriously wanted me to say, "Aw shucks, they're out of pretzel M&M's, the most ingenious marriage of chocolate-y-ness AND saltiness ever invented to satisfy cranky hormonal bitch cravings, but you know what? A nice stick of gum sounds divine. Yes, that IS a wonderful substitute! Thank you, Target! You're so very, very thoughtful!!" WHAT.THE.FUCK.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guarantee a man made that sign. A man made the dumbass stupid douchecanoe decision to substitute GUM for CHOCOLATE. Because no woman in her right mind would willingly choose gum over chocolate. Some chauvenistic prick decided that the women of America didn't need more pretzel M&M's so HE decided to swap out the chocolate-y goodness with fucking gum. HIS tactful way of saying "HEY FAT ASS! You don't need anymore M&Ms...try some gum instead...curb the cravings, fatty, curb the cravings!" Yeah, curb THIS you assmuncher. Instant substitute my ass. I would have found this sign much more logical had they chosen to substitute Doritos or Pringles. But GUM???? Seriously. Dumbest thing ever. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Long story short, I found different chocolate (I'll probably make a separate post dedicated to what I did find...sweet LORD) And I have new aspirations for myself. I want to be the Target "instant substitution" sign maker person. That's gotta be the coolest job EVER. Out of Charmin toilet paper? Instant Substitute: Reynolds' Wrap Aluminum Foil. Uh oh, we're out of Trojan Condoms, ribbed for HER pleasure...Instant Substitute: First Response Pregnancy Test. Dammit, they seem to be all out of CoffeeMate Fat Free Vanilla creamer. Instant Substitute: Immodium AD Liquid. See? How fun would that be? I'm going to see if they have any openings....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-83209014771845003762010-09-13T09:22:00.000-04:002010-09-13T09:22:24.331-04:00Your total comes to...I'll be the first to say that I thoroughly enjoy spending money at Target. Browsing the clearance racks brings me great joy. I even find a certain sense of euphoria in bringing home new bottles of shampoo, cleaning supplies, and toothpaste. But school supply shopping can kiss my big, white ass. School supply shopping can suck it.<br />
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I went about a week and a half before school started so I didn't have to deal with hoardes of other moms and kids begging for Jonas Brothers folders and Iron Man lunch boxes. That was not the source of my irritation. Nor was I irritated by the fact that Target was missing ONLY our school's supply list. Nope. What pissed me off was the list itself. Yep, I was highly annoyed by a piece of paper. I expected the crayons, pencils, and looseleaf paper (but I'll be damned if I didn't have to tear the freaking store apart to find f-ing wide ruled paper...thankfully I didn't have to succumb to stealing it out of someone else's cart...believe me, I was *this* close). I was totally fine with having to supply a couple of folders, but good LORD do they find pleasure in being as particular as humanly possible with the specifications on those damn things? <strong><em>2 pocket folders one blue, one green, one WITH tabs, one WITHOUT tabs, silver tabs, not copper, 3 inch high pockets, one WITH dividers, one WITHOUT dividers, but make sure that the one that has the tabs does NOT have the dividers. </em></strong>WTF???? I grabbed a yellow and a purple and called it a day. Then I moved on to erasers...seriously??? They HAVE to be pink, assholes? Pink rectangles? And all I can find are white squares. Of course. What kind of communist bullshit set up is this? There are NO pink erasers to be found in the entire freaking store. Anywhere. A certain "office supply" store wanted an ungodly amount for a package of 2 fucking erasers. I laughed when they told me the amount and said I'd rather buy a bottle of wine. My daughter can live with mistakes, I can't live without alcohol. So I moved on eraser-less eager to leave Target and hit up the nearest liquor store.<br />
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Carrying on with my list...after finishing up with the requisite Crayolas (God forbid Rose Art *gasp* apparently those are the trailer trash of art supplies...who knew?), glue sticks (Elmer's JUMBO size), and pencil pouches my irritation turned to a bit of "come again????" intermingled with some "what the fucks???" when I made it to the more "teacher supply" portion of the list...Now, those of you who know me, know that I am in fact, A TEACHER. Therefore I feel that it is perfectly acceptable for me to bitch about this. A lot. Because I never got to ask my kids to bring me shit. Ever. Except Diet Coke. And I just merely "hinted" at that and whaddya know, the little buggers picked up on it! But in terms of supplies, the district always gave those to us and told us we were not allowed to get them from students. And I know that teachers supply a lot of their own shit...believe me, I spent a great deal of my not-so-stellar paycheck on stuff for my own classroom. Apparently somewhere along the way, a penny-pinching big-wig over at the district office decided that he'd shave a few bucks off of the overall supply budget by sneaking a few staple items onto the student supply list instead...VOILA! Have every student bring in a $6 pack of Dry Erase markers...CHA CHING!!!!! Genius! Unless my kids are going to be the ones writing all over the white boards every day I fail to see how these are student supplies... Which brings me to my next head scratcher, the ziploc bags...are you going to pack my kids' lunches for me every day??? FUCKING AWESOME!!!!! No? Dammit, well then what the hell do you need the gallon size ones for? Sending home freezer meals? No again? Crap...this school sucks. Two freaking bottles of hand sanitizer?? **quick mental math...carry the one, times 2...plus 1...**that's A LOT of hand sanitizer and my kids will STILL get sick, are you going to bathe them in the shit every day? No? Are they going to drink it??? TWO containers of Lysol wipes? Sweet Jesus Lord above do you have any idea how expensive those damn things are? Are they going to wrap each other up in them every day? Even if I feed them to my kids, make them blow their noses with them, wipe their asses with them, etc, etc...they'll still get sick. I'm not buying those. Here are some paper towels. Shit, those are already on the list. What the fuck do you need those for? The school doesn't have them? What kind of messed up joint is this? I debate not grabbing the two boxes of tissues left on the list because #1 I barely have any room left in the cart (I already can't see child #3), and #2 I may not be able to afford them anymore. Maybe they won't notice if MY kids don't show up with them because all of this shit just gets thrown in a pile anyway. MAYBE I'll just waltz them in there the first day of school with Target bags crammed full of wadded up paper towels that LOOK like they're full of school supplies, chuck them in the "school supply" pile and run like hell... (I didn't really do this, by the way...for those of you wondering...especially those of you local to me...especially those of you who teach at my kids' school...)<br />
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I slowly made my way up to the register and shoved the hand sanitizer, ziploc bags, Crayola markers, Fiskars scissors (they HAD to be Fiskars) and Lysol wipes (oh wait, I bucked the system and got the Up and Up brand to save 50 cents) out of the way to unearth my wallet (hey! I found kid #3) and what was likely our life savings as I was buying school supplies for two kids. God bless those of you who had to do it for more than that. As the contents of the cart began moving down the belt and the total began creeping higher, so did my blood pressure. What the hell ever happened to showing up with a few new folders, new pencils and a sack lunch????? Pens, pencils, crayons, glue sticks, valium, dry erase markers, scissors, pencil pouches, dividers, folders, merlot, ziploc bags, headphones, xanax, hand sanitizer, paper towels, moscato, lysol wipes...my head was spinning...their college funds were already dwindling and this was just the beginning of 4th grade and kindergarten. I seriously gagged when I saw the total. And may have blacked out. And I literally bought NOTHING but school supplies. Not a single thing. I cried about that part later. She had to repeat herself because I stared for so long, I'm pretty sure she thought I didn't hear her correctly. The good news is I won't have to worry about pink rectangle erasers for next year because I had to sell my 4th grader to pay for the supplies. But I did get my wine... (and contemplated drinking it right there in the parking lot...)Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2047945885380439301.post-65938313872876943772010-06-21T10:48:00.000-04:002010-06-21T10:48:44.730-04:00Survival 101...Just do it.....<br />
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No, we are not going to motivate you "Nike" style. We are not going to get you all revved up in the hopes that when you finish your first marathon, biathlon, triathlon or shopathon, you credit us inspirational gals at the DE with stoking your inner fire and bringing you to heights you never imagined. Shit, we aren't that motivated ourselves, so if we do that to you, let us know. It might get our own asses in gear to do something of spiritual contribution on this earth beyond laundry and killer mac and cheese.<br />
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In any case, this entry of the DE wants you to just admit that it is ok. You're going to screw up your kids. Plain and simple. Don't feel guilty, it is just a cold, hard truth. An very "convenient truth" if you ask me...because the sooner you accept, the happier you will be. Don't fight it. You are going to fuck them up in one way or another. Just get that into your head and mantra early, and you will be just fine. How do we do this? We exist. Plain and simple. And we invited Pandora's box into our world to make it an easier place, and that bitch has helped out quite a bit. It is much easier on the soul and psyche if you just accept that lying, cheating, stealing, bribing and a whole host of other ugly sins will be thrust upon you in parenthood. And it may not seem that apparent to you, but I am pretty damn sure you do it already....but those sins are sneaky. Your crafty, evil canevil ways might be SO snide that even you are pulling the wool over your own eyes. Here are a few examples (and I have gotten so good at this, that all of these examples are just from the past 48 hours of my life....) This is how I keep peace in my household, and therefore make an awful example to my kids of how a contributing member of society should conduct oneself:<br />
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<strong>Lying:</strong><br />
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I started out Saturday morning with a quick run to WalMart to replace the dead goldfish my husband killed with blatant neglect. We had a busy weekend and I did not want to kids to start their weekend off with tears over why Zip was floating upside down and smelled like dirty feet. So Zip II was quickly introduced into our family and no one was the wiser. Chalk one up for the parents. Also, the pool right by the baseball tournament was "closed", the concession stand was "out" of Ring Pops, and "No we can't go to Grandma's after the game because she is not home". This also comes in handy when your preschooler picks out her own clothes, and you tell her she looks amazing because that little face is so proud. And the ever popular "Honey, the tooth fairy must not have been able to fly here last night because it rained..." Yes, Santa will skip right over this house if you don't take a nap....yes I know it is only summer, but he watches ALL OF THE TIME. Seriously. It is shocking. The list goes on. <br />
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<strong>Cheating:</strong><br />
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Yes, I have cheated my kids. Get over it. I have. I have pretended to count equal amounts of candy, gum, etc to keep the peace. But damn those little buggers, they can count by themselves now, so I have to be extra careful. I guess all of the above examples could be creatively woven into the "Cheating" category, so maybe we will just leave it at that.<br />
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<strong>Stealing:</strong><br />
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Now before you get all judgmental and "holy holy" on me, watch yourself. You've done it. A fruit snack before you hand over the rest of the pack you just opened, a bite of the popsicle, a sip of the juice box. HALLOWEEN CANDY!! HELLO???!!! Who has not done this? If you answered an angelic "No, not me" you are a double liar and I would avoid the outdoors and lightning storms at all costs. I may have even "borrowed" a dollar from one kid to "lend" it to me so that I could make sure that tooth fairy bitch didn't disappoint two nights in a row. I always pay back. Tenfold. Summer camp is not cheap. <br />
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<strong>Bribing:</strong><br />
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Been to Target with a toddler? Call it what you will. You might want to make yourself feel better and call it "strategic offspring management" but I am calling a spade a spade. I have checked out at Target before with every single box of food item purchased pre-tested by the population of ankle-biters in my cart all the while getting the stink-eye from the cashier. Whatever. At least I bought everything and didn't ditch what they didn't like. Snot. Don't judge. I won. The kids are happy, Target stock increased and the 18 boxes of open snacks allowed me to check out patio stuff AND the hair products for more than 12 seconds. I even recall in an act of rookie desperation offering my two year old a million dollars if he would PLEASE stop screaming at Nordstrom's on the escalator. It did not work and I ran with my double stroller beast to the nearest exit. tip: make the bribe at least a good one. Toddlers don't like money. They like food. They like toys. They want Elmo to come to your house. Go with it.<br />
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<strong>Hiding:</strong><br />
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yes, out of safety and sanity, I have hidden from my children. Only once in public. It was to prove a point that if they did not stay near me, they were going to get lost. But mostly I just hide at home....so I can shower alone, pee alone, use the phone alone. Whatever. Try it. It is best to do it in a room with a door that locks. But kids are quick. Little Sherlock Holmes'. They won't be able to find their shoes right by the back door, but they can hunt you down in 3000 square feet like a bloodhound.<br />
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Survival. That is the general goal of parenthood. Yeah, yeah, produce successful, kind, contributing members of society that will have a positive impact on our world, blah, blah, blah. Everyone wants that. But it is all about baby steps. Make it through brunch at Aunt Ruby's. Make it through the shopping mall. Make it out of Target with the same amount of kids you went in with (and in the best case, the same ones). Parenthood is about survival of the fittest. Sometimes it is you, and sometimes it is the kids. We are just here to keep your arsenal well stocked. Best of luck to you.Anne and Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14775912208343401432noreply@blogger.com9