I Could Have Been Arrested By The Wal Mart Security Guard!

Yesterday I had to go to WalMart, or as I like the refer to it as "The Gates of Hell!" I usually avoid WalMart like the plague but my husband told me that they had boy's baseball pants for only $3 and could I possibly risk my life and the safety of my children and go to WalMart in order to save a buck.

While there, my 4 year old decided to act like a lunatic. Seriously, the moment we walked through the doors and the senior citizen on a scooter welcomed us, my daughter became a living nightmare. It is like there are subliminal messages being played through the speakers I swear!

She asked for this, she asked for that and when I told her no you would think I had told her that she had to place a hot poker in her eye because the screaming and moaning that came out of her mouth was excruciating.

So there I was, dragging a kicking and screaming toddler through WalMart... something I am sure they are used to seeing. As I am holding her hand in mine-which was much like holding a monkeys hand in mine-I could feel hot anger welling up inside of me.

I knew that I had two choices. The first was to spank her right there in WalMart for all of the security cameras to capture and then wind up on MSNBC saying things like "You would have spanked her too Chris Hansen!" or "I spank therefore I am!" and the second was to give up on the $3 baseball pants and head home immediately with my dignity and child in tact.

I chose door number two and drove home with her writhing and thrashing in her car seat as if she were possessed by the WalMart demons and let me tell you, a 4 year old can really hurt a person's feelings. Things like "I. DON'T. LIKE. YOU." were spoken, and "I. WANT. MY. DADDY." was said. I didn't tell her this but I wanted her Daddy too so that he could see what I go through and so that he could have spanked her and saved me from having to be the mean parent once again.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon in her room. In bed. At times like these I always try and figure out why her head is spinning around and she is beyond the land of sugar and spice. I think that maybe she needs more sleep, more love, more ice cream, less sugar, more vegetables, another playmate, less playmates, more stimulation, less stimulation, more books read to her, more time on my lap, a million dollars... I don't know.

What I do know is that this is a stage and I am one tough cookie. I will outlast the screamfest tour of 2007 and eventually she will give up-right? I don't know what the big deal is and why life is so hard that she has to scream.

I have decided to blame my husband for all of this because she is obviously getting her flare for the dramatic from his side. My side is so much more even-keeled. Seriously...


Rock Of Love...

After going to a baby shower today and coming home to a dinner of meatloaf and mashed cauliflower, I would never think of myself as anything other than your typical suburban housewife, a Stepford Wife if you will. This is what I thought my husband wanted, what he liked... that was until I started watching the VH-1 show "Rock of Love."

This is a show that has trampy women all duking it out for the love of Brett Michaels. Now, if you do not know who Brett Michaels is, well then you were probably living under a rock in the 80's for he is the make-up wearing, "Talk Dirty To Me" singing, platinum blond lead singer of the band Poison.

I sat and watched the "Rock of Love" marathon and eventually my husband joined me in this mind-numbing television show. I love it because it offers me no educational value whatsoever... it is like Novocaine for the brain-just what a tired mom needs after a full day.

I posed this question to my husband: "Do you think these women are pretty?"

Before I give you his answer let me describe these women to you-They have fake hair, fake boobs, fake tans and fake nails. They curse like sailors, fight like inmates, and throw around their sexuality like a low-price call girl. Basically, they are like many of the girls I went to high school with-or correction, many of the girls my husband went to high school with. I went to a good Catholic high school where we wore our skirts hiked up above our knees and our hair teased and sprayed 4 inches high. My husband went to our public high school where the girls were tough and the lip gloss was sparkly. Actually, the only difference between the girls at public school and the girls at my school was the fact that we went to Mass every morning and our parents wanted us to be nuns... other than that we were on a pretty even playing ground. (Hey, I never said the 80's were pretty).

So my husband's answer to my "Do you think these circa 1984 women are pretty?" was basically a "Hell Yeah!"

I was floored. Here I sit portraying a woman of stature. I have manner and values. I go to bed by 10 p.m. every night and make sure my family has their correct servings of fruits and vegetables everyday. I drive a minivan and try not to show off too much cleavage as I am a respectable wife and mother. Who knew that all along I could have stuck to my long hair and spandex dresses? Who knew I could still carry around a can of Aquanet in my purse and make rocker signs with my fingers and tongue all day long? Who knew!

I started to think back to my Poison loving days and shook my head in disgrace over the life that my husband and I have kidded ourselves into believing is what we want.

My husband was a rocker too... he was a drummer in a band. He wore spandex pants and tied bandannas around his ankles and wrists. He even had long hair and ripped up t-shirts. He was AWESOME!

I was a rocker chick. I loved any band that had big hair and tight pants. My parents were so frightened by the choice of boyfriends that I had that they threatened to send me away to an all-girls school on more than one occasion.

Sadly, my husband and I did not hook up when we were our rocker selves. We met when we stifled our bad boy and bad girl images and carried out our lives as responsible citizens of this game we call life.

I have always made the claim that my husband "saved" me from myself. I was still living like an extra in a Bon Jovi video when we met and he was all clean cut and mature. He reeled me in and I have never returned to my "She's My Cherry-Pie" themed days. I have even said that if I had not met my husband I would probably be in jail right now...

But then I realized, if I hadn't met my husband... I would probably be on VH-1 kicking some girl's butt in order to win Brett Michaels love. *big sigh*


Mom Always Told Me I Would Like You One Day...

Today is my little sister Claire's birthday. We have come a long way since the days of me torturing her and her following me everywhere.

I was not a nice big sister. The way my son treats his little sister reminds me a lot of the way I treated Claire... only I have not heard Aaron try and convince Emma that she was adopted yet.

I was 7 when Claire was born and I remember the day my parents brought her home from the hospital. *side note: there was no infant car seat for Claire and my mom just held her in her arms in the front seat... just proving a point about safety from yesterday's post.*

I was the baby of the family for 7 glorious years and then she came along and stole my gig. I was quickly removed from my position of glory and reassigned to the "middle child" seat. What was I supposed to do but dislike her?

As we grew, we didn't really see eye to eye on things. She was little and I was big and therefore I could beat her up... and I did so often.

Claire was only 11 when I went away to college and then I ran off and got married and started my own life. We did not reconnect until Claire herself was in college, and we didn't become friends until she was out of school and working.

Now Claire is my best friend. She has forgiven me for all of the horrible things I did to her as a child (like cut all of the hair off of her Barbies) and I can't go a few days without talking to her.

Maybe Claire realizes that she had a much easier childhood because I paved the way for her. I broke mom and dad in with my adolescence and after me, Lindsay Lohan would have been easy to raise! Our older sister Colleen was a dream to raise-she was perfect (still is). I was perfect too-a perfect pain in the ass. Claire gave the illusion that she was perfect... I taught you well grasshopper.

Happy Birthday Claire-a-belle! I am so glad you are in my life. Enjoy your birthday~I wish I could be with you, especially since you are pregnant and I am not and this will probably be the only time in my life when I am skinnier than you!

I love you~


I Was Raised By Maria Andretti...

My baby sister is having a baby. This is very exciting to all of us because even though she is 28, she is still our baby. I am still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that she is married and not 13!

My older sister, mom and I are planning her a baby shower (read: I am planning her a baby shower and my mom and sister are just nodding in agreement with everything.)

We decided to buy her the infant car seat. I have bought many of these over the years due to my own fertilization and figured this would be a good safe "low-cost" gift to give considering we are footing the bill for the shower... and all of the other crap I have bought when I am out and about and proclaim "Look how adorable this is! I must buy it for my new niece who is also my GODCHILD and therefore a very fortunate child indeed!" (If you don't think I proclaim that entire sentence, just ask the cashier at Babies R Us today, she will back me up.)

I went on my sister's registry to order the car seat and I about fell over in my chair. The one she wants is $220! Holy Hell! I didn't even spend $220 to birth all of my kids put together! She wants some Peg Pergo type thingy that only Gwen Paltrow and Brook Shields buys.

I called her on the phone and said "WTF?" to which she replied something about it being the top safety seat on the market today. I personally think she needs to lower her safety standards. I mean, sure she is driving around with my niece in the car, but my own kids do not get $220 worth of safety-they get the $99 special with a ten dollar coupon and 15% off for opening a Babies R Us account.

Shoot, when we were kids the only type of safety we had in the car was that of my mother's arm whomping us in the chest when she stopped too fast or when the lines in the road were a little blurry from the 4 glasses of wine she had at Mrs. O's house before driving us all to our home where we had no cable TV and no air conditioning!

I do recall my little sister falling out of the car once while my mother was driving. She had to pee so badly that she could not wait to get home and when my mom turned the corner (on only two of the four tires I am sure) the door to the backseat popped open and my little sister was half in and half out-holding on for dear life while my mom was gassing it and screaming in horror. She had some pretty banged up knees and my mom had to have some liquid relief after that ordeal.

There was also the time when we were driving and the muffler fell off the car. My mom actually stopped the car and picked the stupid muffler up and put it in the trunk! I am not sure why-maybe she thought it would be cheaper to reattach the old rusted out muffler than it would be to purchase a new one.

Then there was the time when she got so stuck in mud at the park that she yelled at me for being the "damn kid" who wanted to go to the park in the first place! I remember her making little trenches for the tires in the mud all the while wondering if I would get in more trouble if I asked it I could swing on the swings while she was trying to dig the car out.

But my favorite memory of my mom behind the wheel of a car is when we went to Paw Paw Michigan for a vacation and the cottage we were staying at was on a dirt road. My mom would tear down that road like a bat out of hell with the tires spinning and squealing and kicking up dust-that was a blast!

Maybe I need to buy my sister that $220 car seat after all...


Wordless Wednesday...

You can't buy beautiful... beautiful only comes from God!


It's All About You Isn't It?

My mom said that to me once when I was gabbing about how much I do for everyone... she said, "It is all about you isn't it?" Huh? Crazymothersayswhat? It infuriated me! I have not had anything for myself since the day I said "I do" and signed my life away to the man who I thought wanted an independent and free spirited woman by his side. Little did I know that this was all a farce and he really just wanted someone to make babies, sandwiches and foreplay.... not necessarily in that order.

I am tired. Not "sick and tired of your bullshit" kind of tired, but exhausted tired. The kind of tired where the upper middle of my back aches from holding a baby all day. The kind of tired where I don't even bother putting make up on because I just don't care. The kind of tired where I wear sweat shorts and tank tops with a shelf bra in them knowing quite well that they do not offer me the support that I need but I am too tired to really give a crap if my boobs hang low and wobble to and fro.

Each night when I go to bed my husband is there waiting for me. Each night I go into the bathroom and sit on the toilet exhausted from my 16 hour day. I brush my teeth, splash some hot water on my face in a weak effort to wash it and I don't even look in the mirror because I don't want to depress myself. I climb into bed with only one thing on my mind... sleep. My husband has other plans though. He wants attention. He wants love. He wants a sex kitten.

I just want to sleep. I don't want to give anyone else attention. I do not even want to be touched because I have been touched by someone all day long. I share my body with little people and the thought of having to share it with one more person makes me want to run screaming from my bedroom.

Even now, it is almost 10 pm and I have just gotten everyone to sleep. I just want some alone time so I sit here at this computer typing away because I know that there is a horny man right above me in my bed who is looking for a little sumpin' sumpin'.

You would think that God would have thought this out a little better. Maybe after a woman has a baby or has toddlers in the house, he would have made the man incapable of sex but completely capable of doing the dishes and laundry. I mean, he put Adam into a deep deep sleep and took his rib for goodness sake, you would think he could do the same to Carl upstairs... only it is not his rib that I am complaining about!

Since When Did Underwear Become an "Optional" Thing?

One night while on vacation, we went to Captain Stanley's Seafood Restaurant. The place was packed so we were sure that the seafood was guuud.

We sat down and the waitress brought over a basket full of hush puppies-my favorite! We all ordered and proceeded to happily stuff ourselves with fried food.

When we were just about finished with dinner, I look up to notice the cook was coming out of the kitchen. He sees a friend of his, waves, and starts to walk toward said friend. This friend's table was right next to our table and so when the cook was talking to his friend, he was standing directly in front of me.

I looked down at his orange shorts (don't ask me why I looked there-maybe because I was sitting and he was standing and that is where my eyes settled... right above my friend Lori's shoulder at the man's package.) Well... it was OBVIOUS that this guy was wearing no freakin' underwear! How was it obvious you ask? Let's just say that his shorts were thin and he was circumcised-that obvious!

I did what any woman would do in my situation and I started laughing... and then pointed out the fact that Lori only had a very thin orange material standing between her shoulder and a grown mans wanker.

To make matters worse, he was an animated fellow. He was swaying and bouncing all over the place while he was telling his friend about the fish that he had caught that was "This Big!"

It all proved to be too much for Lori and I and we decided to stop eating. Nothing ruins an appetite worse than seeing the man who cooked your food's member up close and personal. It must have been really hot in that there kitchen-either that or Captain Stanley is a pervert.


Things I've Learned While On Vacation At The Beach...

Fish are part of a very healthy diet… fish that are battered and deep fried are not so healthy-but oh so good.

I am perfectly content being a beach bum and watching other crazy people jog along the beach. I eat the fried fish and don’t feel an ounce of guilt out here.

Jimmy Buffet is one smart dude.

Ocean Air has the same effect on little babies as a 6 pack of beer has on a grown man. It makes them sleep longer and harder.

Eating 3 lbs. of shrimp that you bought from a man on a bike is not conducive to the septic system at the beach house.

Give a 9 year old boy a fish net and a piece of intracoastal waters and you will offer him hours of entertainment.

Sea Shells are a little 4 year old girl’s greatest treasure.

Keep the boys who carry boogie boards and wear their swim trunks half way down their butts away from your 12 year old daughter.

You may need a little Dramamine before bed when you sleep in a house on stilts on windy nights.

Sand is a natural exfoliate for bare feet walking along the shore… it is not so nice to exfoliate your butt crack.

Take a man deep sea fishing and he will come back as happy as a little boy.

Fish in the deep ocean love vomit from the side of a boat.

Just because there is an outdoor shower at the beach house does not mean you can shower nude in it. The neighbors will call the police on your nekid ass.

Do not go in the ocean if you are on your period… there was a woman attacked by a shark just ¼ of a mile from our piece of beach. I bet she was menstruating. A shark can smell a drop of blood 10 miles away-I don’t like those odds.

Every man who owns a boat automatically puts the title “Captain” in front of his name. We met Captain Jeff, Captain Jim, Captain Jack… but my favorite Captain was Captain Morgan.

You should not drive any vessel if you hang out with Captain Morgan too much

Having sex on the beach is much better as a cocktail than it is in the literal term. There are some places on a body where sand should never go!


What The?

I just realized that the last time we vacationed with our friends Mike and Lori, I had a 3 year old and a 9 month old. Now, 9 years later we are vacationing again with our dear friends and I have a 4 year old and a 2 month old.

When will I ever learn?

Bucket Envy...

The other night my friend Lori and I were walking down the beach. The water was splashing around our feet and the setting sun was warm on our faces. We were talking about nothing… just enjoying our walk together. Eventually we randomly started to pick up seashells. This became our activity for the next 30 minutes or so and we were content in the mindless peace that picking up shells from the sandy beach can offer a mom. The sound of the waves drowning out any worries we had in our minds. We were escaping the craziness that was ensuing in the beach house behind us. Our children were all running around and hyper by now and our husbands were still asking us questions like “Have you seen my sunglasses?” or “Didn’t you pack my blue shorts?” We were free of crying babies and whining teenagers. Ahhhhhh~

At one point we passed a few other women who were doing the same thing as us… walking for a bit, stopping to move something on the sand with their big toe and then bending to pick it up, but they had a bucket. Lori and I could not resist to ask them what was in their bucket-assuming that they had shells as well. We peered in and saw what looked like coral/dried sponge/rock.

We exchanged some niceties with the women and proceeded on with our mindless therapy, but this time we wanted what was in their bucket! We dropped the shells that we had so meticulously picked up and started to search for things that looked like coral/dried sponge/rock.

We didn’t know what exactly we were looking for, but we did discover that it was a lot harder to find these little pieces of the sea than it was to pick a shell out of the millions of shells that were on the beach.

It gave our search a purpose. It gave us a challenge. In the end, we only found 4 coral/dried sponge/rock looking things and we were incredibly pleased with our treasures.
We celebrated by opening a bottle of wine and making fun of our husbands and telling our children that we planned a skinny dipping expedition that evening. This caused everyone to stay clear of us in case we started stripping down for all the beach combers to see… us moms know how to get some peace and quiet let me tell ya!


The Sun May Be Frying My Brain...

On our way to vacation, I was reading the book Mom to Mom, Day by Day by Danielle Bean and in it there is a chapter on being open to more children. This is a subject that occupies much of the conversations between my husband and me. The thought of having more children frightens the crap out of us… to the point where we are basically living as friends rather than lovers as of late.

I read this in the book: “For married couples, children are God’s choicest blessings.” That completely struck me. How right Danielle Bean is~my children are a blessing to my husband and I… so why was I having such a hard time with the thought of having more children?

I decided to pray. The first night at the beach house (I am on VACA remember?) I said a prayer. I prayed that Carl and I would be open to God’s will… whatever it is.

The next morning Carl was in a foul foul mood. I knew this mood was the product of my prayer because ever stinkin’ time I pray for my husband’s heart to be open to God’s will for something… he fights it with every cell in his body. He does not realize he is doing this because I do not tell him that I have been praying for him, but it is apparent to me. I know that God is pressing something on his heart and the controlling characteristics that my husband has are in chaos between his grey matter and his cardiac organ.

I on the other hand was completely as peace. More at peace with my children than I had been in a long time. Their little “make me crazy” routines were not so frazzling to me and I was able to actually enjoy them a little more than usual.

As I sat on the beach with Hope and Aaron playing in the waves and Emma building a sand castle I started to feel complete joy in my role as their mother. My children smell of the ocean air and they look so beautiful all tan and glistening in the sunshine. At that very moment I felt God say to me, “Don’t worry. Relax. Enjoy your children. Do not worry about tomorrow.”

So that is what I am going to do. I am going to stop worrying and keep praying for my heart to be open to God’s will. This does not mean that I will be completely free with my love making-I am not going to be like a hippy at Woodstock… no way Jose. I am still paying close attention to my ovulation calendar and if my husband is looking rather fine one night but I am fertile, well then I will just slam my thumb in the door to remind myself the pain of childbirth and therefore give myself the strength to resist my husband and his manly ways. I am just going to take this day to day… and not worry about tomorrow.

Do you see what a little vacation does to me? It gets me all “I love children” and shit. I don’t know if this is the wine talking, or the sun exposure…


My Shower Drain Coughed Up a Hair Ball Today...

Getting ready for vaca (have I mentioned enough on this blog that I am going on VACA?) I decided that I needed a little refresher in the hair department, so I headed on over to my hair salon. Now, this salon is one of the hip and hop type of salons where the stylists have the kind of hair you only see on the runway in Milan, not in the suburbs of Washington DC. They also have tattoos and piercing in numerous body parts. This does not turn me off as I myself have a tattoo and I have been pierced in a place other than my ear (my belly button if you must know).

While there I mentioned to Heather, my stylist, that I was what? Going on vaca. She insisted that I get a bikini wax since I was going to the beach and would be sauntering around in a bathing suit all day (that is what I do, I saunter, walking is just too boring for vaca). I mulled this over in my head while she was clipping and cutting my hair. I always say I am going to get a bikini wax, but to be honest, I always chicken out. There is something about having a girl who is young enough to be my daughter ripping hair out of my groin that just frightens me.

I almost decided to sign my vah-jay jay away when the waxist (is that what a waxer is called? A waxist?) Anyway, I was almost signing my name to the "We are not responsible if the hot wax burns your under regions" paperwork when the waxist walked out of the waxing room. She had a pierced nose with a chain that led to her pierced lip and she wore more eyeliner than a 5 year old in a Miss Little Beauty pageant. This all still did not bother me until she lifted her arm and I noticed that she had armpit hair! Now I ask you, what kind of waxist has armpit hair?

I decided that I did not need my bikini area waxed and headed home. When I got home I jumped in the shower because I was still in need of a little maintenance in the lower love box so I pulled out a brand spankin new razor and got to work.

Now, we all know I have Deodorant OCD, and Mascara OCD ... well I have discovered today that I apparently have pubic OCD as well. I need serious help.

Once I got to shaving, I could not stop! One side would always be a little uneven and the constant even-ing out kept getting me closer and closer to a Brazilian... or as I like to call it now, a "Britney Spears." I even grabbed a mirror to give myself a better angle but it kept fogging up and so I started cursing, and if any of you know me, you would know that once I start with the cursing... all hell is about to break lose.

I could not stop myself-I did not know how much would be enough or too little. I did not want to walk around the beach with any stray hairs peeking out to say hello... I also did not want to look like I should enter in the "most unique moustache" contest this weekend.

I am a believer in hair down there for the simple fact that it is like an extra covering to your secrets. I can be nekid as a jay-bird, but be confident in the fact that I have a little something left to the imagination. You can't be mysterious if you leave all of your business on display. But, since my pregnancy I have been looking a little bush woman-ish, granola if you will ("granola" is what we called the "natural" girls in college who did not shave their legs). I don't know what it is with pregnancy, but I do know that before I ever had kids I never had to worry about shaving down under... I assumed I would have a neat little upside down triangle all of my life. Imagine my surprise when my triangle morphed into a pentagon.

This was the part of the shower where my cursing turned angry because I started to think about men who have hair on their legs, chest, butt, back, in their ears, hanging out of their noses, and of course... in their britches. They do not shave or wax. They do not worry if any hair will be peeking out from under their knee length baggy comfortable bathing suit. Noooo, they get to be all hairy and comfortable. Sure they have to shave their faces... but I can GAR-ON-TEE you my husband will not shave his face once while we are on vaca and I will be shaving my legs, pits, bikini area and the occasional mole hair all week long! Oh the injustice! I almost protested the entire cha-cha shaving expedition but I was too far up the mountain to stop and head back to base. I was too far into my OCD.

Eventually I stepped out of the shower feeling a little like a sheep after being shaved of all of their wool. I did however hop on the scale to see if losing all of the "National Geographic" hair would make a difference. I hopped off the scale and then on again, off again and on. I blinked a few times and sighed heavily. I apparently have "weigh myself on the scale until I get the same weight two times in a row" OCD as well.
I seriously need medication.

We Never Use Crisco In This House...

I have loads to do today in preps of our vaca so I thought I would post a joke that my friend Lori sent me this morning. We are going to the beach house with Lori, Mike and their daughter Morgan. I expect to have surgery when I get home on my sides from all of the splitting we will be doing~

I am taking my laptop with me (a vacation without my laptop... what are you mad?) so I may toss a post in here and there to keep you amused. Don't be too jealous of my vaca at the beach... it is not like I am going without my children and I have a little waiter walking around asking for my drink order. I can dream though~

Anyway-enjoy the day before vaca joke... which is much like the day before vaca outfit you have to wear which consists of clothes that you would neva eva wear on normal circumstances, but all of your cool clothes are either in the washer, the dryer, or a suitcase so you have to endure one day of ridicule because of the daisy dukes and tube top you are sporting.

A man is showering up in a locker room with his buddy when he notices his friend is very well endowed. "Damn Bob, you're hung!" Jim exclaims. "I wasn't always this impressive, I had to work for it." "What do you mean?" Jim asked. "Well, every day for the past two years I've spent an hour each night rubbing it with butter. I know it sounds crazy but it actually made it grow 4 inches! You should try it." Jim agrees and the two say good bye. A few months later the two are in the same locker room and Bob asks Jim how his situation was. Jim replied, "I did what you said, Bob, but I've actually gotten smaller! I lost two inches already!" "Did you do everything I told you? An hour each day with butter?" "Well, I was out of butter, so I've been using Crisco."

Wait for it .......... Wait ..............

"Crisco!!?" Bob exclaimed. "Damm it, Jim, Crisco is shortening!

MORAL: You gotta follow the recipe!!!


After This... I'll NEED A Vacation

We are heading to a beach house on vacation early Saturday morning. Today I started making a list of things I need to get done in order to leave here with peace o mind. This is is:

  1. Laundry-and not just the dirty underwear, no I need to do ALL of the laundry in the house.
  2. Find a kennel for the dog and drive dog to said kennel all while she is clawing at me and crying because she somehow knows the difference between taking a drive to Dairy Queen and taking a drive to a kennel where they will obviously torture her for an entire week.
  3. Find a willing kid to come in and feed the guinea pig (and don't forget to give kid combination to the garage like last time and the guinea pig goes on a forced hunger strike.)
  4. Remember to pack all things needed for baby such as monitors, vibrating chair, portable crib, extra set of sheets in case she spits up on first packed set, a million diapers, wipes, baby soap, baby lotion, baby blankets... and Benedryll.
  5. Remember to pack all things needed for 4 year old such as tons of pairs of underpants, Dora the Horra doll, favorite blanket, favorite pillow, favorite pencil that goes with her favorite pad of paper, favorite cup, favorite fork and favorite plate (don't judge me... I want a whine free vacation)
  6. Pay all bills and mail them.
  7. Balance checkbook so that I feel confident that we can actually afford this vacation.
  8. Remind older kids to pack, which means they will pack their gameboys and I will end up packing their clothes. My son always forgets to pack boxers.
  9. Nair my under regions since I will be sporting a bathing suit on the beach and I do not want people to mistake me for an extra in the next "Caveman" series coming this fall on NBC.
  10. Pack ovulation predictor strips. We are on vacation and my husband may just be allowed to visit the land of Bwowo chicka wow wow... but not if I am ovulating. Sorry Buddy.
  11. Drink 2 gallons of milk and make a dinner of lettuce and turkey lunch meat as that is all that is left in the house and I am not going shopping before we leave.
  12. Pack 4 books that I would like to read, but remind myself that I will probably not open one of them because I am taking my children with me on this vacation.
  13. Write grocery list for when we get to the beach house... it should go something like this: beer, beer, wine, beer and uhm, wine. Maybe pretzels.
  14. Make sure we have the video camera, the regular camera, the digital camera, my cell phone, my husband's cell phone, his work cell phone, his blackberry, gameboys, dvd for the van and anything else we need to get away for a week of beach livin'.
  15. Listen to my Jimmy Buffet cd one more time to ensure that I have all the words right.
  16. And lastly... pack sunscreen.

My husband's list looks like this:

  1. Fill the van up with gas on the way out of town.


June Cleaver... Wholesome and Pure

I love my site meter. I check it occasionally and I get a thrill out of seeing the ways in which people on the Internet find me. There are tons of searches on "June Cleaver" and then there are the searches on panties-nursing bras-Jon Bon Jovi, and of course Mary Jo Buttafuco that always bring people my way. I really like it when I see a new blogspot site on the meter. I usually click over to it to see who is reading me and that is how I have found some of my favorite blogs as well.

Sometimes I get some foreign blogs... I don't pay much attention to them because #1 they are typed in a foreign language and the only language I know is English so trying to decipher what they are saying would be fruitless, and #2 they are probably just asking me to send them money so that they can continue their education/business/marriage/and so on in the good ol' USA but they cannot pay for the plane ticket and if I would just send a cashier's check for $5000 (as an investment of course) their problems would be solved!

Well, yesterday I saw a blog that had the words "feet" and "butts" in the title. My mom brain thought it must be from a mom who has a lot of little feet running around and she spends her days wiping little butts. I clicked over to see and HOLY COW! I got one eyeful let me tell you. Apparently feet and butts are a certain fetish that this gay porn blogger enjoys.

After a few stunned seconds my brain registered what I was seeing and let me tell you... I could have lived my entire life and not had to have seen that. I clicked off and thought "how in the world did they find me?"

What kind of person sits and reads a gay porn site and then says to themselves "I wonder what good ol' Catholic homeschooling June is doing today." and clicks over to my blog. What exactly would trigger a person to go from butts and feet to motherhood and marriage?

The worst part is that now that site is forever on my computer. That means if I am ever arrested for money laundering (because I sent $5000 to Gunther so that he could further his education in America) and they confiscate my computer,they will see this site with pictures of feet... and butts.

So Mr. feet and butts, if you are reading this... please do not put me on your sidebar in your "fabulous people I read" section of you blog. You will not be seeing any feet on this site-or butts for that matter.


Waiting For The Flood?

For the fasion divas at water aerobics class...

Random Thoughts...

I just got off the phone with my Dad... he had a colonoscopy yesterday. They removed a "polyp" and he says he is feeling great. The Doc had him put under for the procedure. They wheeled him in the room awake and explained that they were going to give him something that would take affect rather quickly.

The Anaesthesiologist told him to take three deep breaths and that is all my Dad remembers. He was a little disappointed because he said he had thought up some great jokes to tell the Doc before he started the colonoscopy. One was: "Gee, you've done this twice to me now and I don't even know your first name." Another was: "You would think you could have called after my last visit with you" Old people are so stinkin' funny.

I asked him if he woke up feeling violated or a little naughty. My Dad said "Nope, but that was the best sleep I've had in years!" He also said the Doc was like a "Fart in the wind" because he was in and out of there lickety split! No pun intended...

I had to go to the Social Security Office today because someone who shall remain nameless apparently tossed away Mary Claire's social security card when it came in the mail.

All I have to say is that they should hand out deodorant along with new social security numbers. Holy Cats is was stinky in that waiting room.

Maybe they could make the social security building like the YMCA... you get a shit, shower and a shave for $3 and your new social security card. Welcome to America!


My Doctor's office called to remind me that I had not yet made my 6 week postpartum gyno appointment yet. I didn't have the heart to tell the girl on the other end of the phone that I only go to the gyno when I find out I am pregnant. I have only been 4 times in my adult life... who knows if there will be a 5th.


I Am Just Following The Crowd Here...

Sara hunted me down and tagged me with this meme. If you have read June long you will know that I do not usually do meme's, but since Sara tagged me and I think she is one funny chick-a-dee, I will play along. She wants to know 8 things about me and the hubby...

1. We lived in the same hometown just blocks from each other for all of our lives, but didn't meet until we both went away to college and were home on summer break.

2. He said "I love you" first...

3. He taught me everything I know (Bwow-chicka-wow-wow)

4. He dressed up at Santa when he proposed to me and made me sit on his lap... and he asked "What do you want for Christmas little girl?" As if marriage was my idea.

5. We do everything together-seriously, this is our choice... we like each other that much! Except for golf-he won't golf with me because he is afraid I will be better than him.

6. We are polar opposites. That is the magic that keeps this love affair rockin'

7. He throws away anything that is left laying around... like marriage certificates, social security cards, escrow checks. If you leave it out he will think it is clutter and toss it... and then blame me for leaving it out.

8. I have map quest programmed in my brain because he gets lost going to the gas station. He will call me on the phone in a freakish rage and ask me where he is. HUH? I have to direct him safely back to paved roads. That trait of his just gets me hot and bothered let me tell ya.

So there you have it... a little glimpse into the life in which I call paradise. I have always said that if I didn't marry my husband I would probably be in prison right now. No kidding.

Now I have to tag 8 people. They are:

Kasia (you can talk about the boyfriend... *wink wink*)
Lady Tramaine
Special K Family

For those of you that have been tagged here is a reminder of the rules:
One: Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
Two: People who are tagged need to write their own blog entry about their eight things and post these rules.
Three: at the end of your entry, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names/pseudonyms/blogs.

June Cleaver side note: This will be the last meme you will see on here-I promise!

Bonations Only Please...

My daughter Hope has the most compassionate heart when it comes to animals. She could see her brother bleeding in the middle of the street all twisted around his bike and she would ignore him completely, but if she sees a animal in distress she brings out the big guns.

She has even had me pull a ladder out of the garage in order to put a baby bird back into the nest in which it fell out of after a storm before... only to have the two babies who held onto the nest and were able to ride out the storm safe and sound jump out of the nest when they saw my big blond head approaching.

We have rescued turtles on the side of the road, and even held neighborhood funerals for dead toads, frogs, fish, and birds.

Lately my daughter has been on a kick to rescue abused horses. She has heard about a horse refuge and has decided to send them money... the only problem is that she has no money. I came up with the brilliant idea for her to hold a car wash (I am brilliant all the time). She made fliers and posters and put up balloons and information sheets.

After she handed out 40 fliers, I picked one up to see what she had written. She gave a heart wrenching plea to help abused horses who are now living at the horse refuge. On the bottom of the page she meant to write "Donations only" but sometimes her d's and b's get mixed up (she has a hard time with the "boys have a belly and ducks have a tail" rule I thought up).

So she is taking "bonations only" at her car wash. I am going to sit outside in order to keep all of the perverts and 12 year old boys away-it should be an interesting afternoon.


Anyone Up For A Little Woo-Hoo?

I sit here... bored off of my noggin. Hubs is at the pool with the three who can walk, and the nonwalker is up in her crib snoozing (thank God because she was starting to make me rethink the whole "babies are so wonderful" notion I had playing in my mind).

I tossed some Lumpia in the oven and skipped gleefully over to my computer to see if I had any emails-all business stuff, nothing exciting. I decided to blog seeing as I have not been able to blog for a few days now (because of that "babies are so wonderful" thing.)

I stare at my computer... I have nothing to say. Do you want to hear about spit up? I have loads on spit up. Do you want to hear about laundry? I have been doing it lately-but I have no "dirty laundry" to dish about simply because my neighbor is in Florida on vaca and the block is at an entertainment standstill. Do you want to hear about sex? Well sure you do! But I have no info on that either... much to my husband's chagrin, especially since I have started wearing Lilly Padz nursing pads that are not only practical in the sense that they are the most protective nursing pads around, but they literally stick to your boobies like a tassel would a stripper sliding down a porn pole. It gets my husband hot and bothered to see these on me-I feel a little naughty wearing them, but they are purely for nursing not breeding.

I decided to skim some other blogs to see what people were talking about. I about fell off of my chair laughing when I read Moosh's blog titled I didn't moan or anything. Go on over and read it-I will take my Lumpia out of the oven while you are gone...

So Moosh orgasm'd on a treadmill. That is just about the best thing I have heard all week! At the YMCA no less. This made me think that I had to tell you what happened to me just last week...
A few years back... Oh, who am I kidding, it was years and years ago when I was an avid worker outer I too went to the YMCA. They have this machine, well it isn't really a machine, it is more like a metal god, that is used for ab cruntches. You stand upright on it and let your legs fall while you hold yourself up on your elbows. Slowly you bring your legs up to your waist or chest (which ever is easiest) and you lower them. This is a FABULOUS ab work out... it is also the frazzled mother of toddlers fastest way to an orgasm.

I, like Moosh, had to wonder if anyone knew this was happening to me whilst on this love machine. Could they tell by the look of utopia on my face? Did the fact that I rolled over and fell asleep on the floor next to the metal god give my dirty little secret away? I don't know...
I was happy with my 5 second work out orgasm until a friend of mine... we'll call her "Partay Pooper" told me that I was sinning. That just took all of the wind out of my ab machine sails.

ANYWAY, last week when I went to the Lady of America work out center for my free trial week, I noticed that they had the exact same love machine that had been my "stress relief" so many years ago. I walked around it a few times... flirting. I winked at it and introduced myself as "Bambi" before I climbed on and started to do the ab pump. Nothing... nothing happened at all. Not even a twitch.

I climbed off and gave the machine the middle finger. What a let down. Is it too much to ask for a 5 second Woo-Hoo? I would have just taken the Woo.


Yes Timmy, Miracles DO Happen!

Well, I did it. I tried on my bathing suits... and they fit! I did it simply because diana posted a comment on my blog suggesting that I try maternity suits! Crazypersonsayswhat? I know you were trying to help Diana, but b'jeeeez! You need to wash your mouth out with soap.

I would post pictures, but then I would have to charge you all to read this blog as the pictures would be so blazin' with my lovely lady humps. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!


My Right Breast is Having Self-Esteem Issues

My daughter has decided that she hates the milk that comes out of my right breast. She hates it so much that she would rather starve that eat from that boob. She loves my left breast. She coos and hums while she is eating, but the moment I switch her to the right breast-she screams.

My children have all "preferred" one boob over the other, but they never flat out refused it. My husband may prefer one over the other as well, but he is more of an "equal opportunity" type of boob man.

Now my left boob is a size larger than my right boob. I am starting to drift toward the left when I walk from the imbalance and today I actually walked into a wall thinking I was walking straight!

I do not know what to do to make her like Mr. Righty again, and I do not know what Mr. Righty did to piss her off, but I am sure the boob is sorry seeing as it has been neglected and even screamed at in horror.

You know how there is always one more attractive twin? Even with identical twins, one is better looking. This is obviously the case with my boobs. The left twin is the pretty twin (Mary Kate) and the right twin is the one that used to be attractive but somewhere along the line took a turn for the worse (Ashley). I just hope I do not have to put my right twin in rehab in order to boost it's self esteem.


Boy's Weekend

Carl and Aaron went to Gettysburg this weekend. These guys are tough.
My son is so tough... he can't even bring himself to smile.

Looking over the land in which he will one day govern...

My husband is so tough he can't bring himself to smile for a camera either.

Look For Me in the Next Issue of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition

Our vacation is coming up. We are going to stay at the beach. This means that we will be wearing bathing suits and... bathing suits. I just had a baby. I do not want to even TRY on my bathing suits. They are taunting me in my closet, but I cannot bring myself to do it. I keep thinking of my boobs spilling out of the top part, and my butt spilling out of the bottom part. I have been having nightmares about this.

I can go buy some new bathing suits... but that would mean I would have to try on these new bathing suits in the dressing room with my nursing infant, and if she sees my boobs outside of a bra she cries and then they start to leak. *Big Sigh*

Who ever invented bathing suits in the first place!