Survival Training... Day 2

It is an interesting thing this relationship between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. I have to admit that I do not like the person I am when I am around my MIL. I do not like my grudge that I carry as a heavy heavy weight and I do not like the crease I am going to get between my eyes that will age me by 5 years because of the scowl I am sporting. It is not like I do not try and be open, and it is not like I do not try and be nice... but if you knew me you would know that I don't pull off "nice" very well sometimes.

I am a product of two entirely different kinds of people. On one hand you have my father who has always been open with his Irish anger. I remember when I was a kid there was a neighbor that my dad did not get along with. Words were slung regularly and one day my dad even threw a rock at her. He missed. She threw it back at him. She missed. A few hours later they were having a beer on the front porch.

My mother is more subdued with her anger. She will let it sit within her for months until one day a kid (me) would spill some kool-aid and all hell would break lose. Her favorite saying was "GOD BLESS AMERICA!" Her favorite word was "shit"... kind of like mine is "crap." But my mom is not the kind of person that does not like others. She likes everyone-and she talks to everyone.

So within me is this delicate balance of a rock thrower and a anger suppressor. With my MIL, I am an anger suppressor to her and a rock thrower at my husband. I figure that she is old and beyond my reach of altering... my husband on the other hand is very well within my reach of altering and therefore he gets the brunt of my angst.

I am sure much of this is a territorial thing. I suppose if I were a dog I would have pee'd all over my house before she arrived, only to have her pee on everything and then I would have to go back over it all and pee again. You can see it is not a pretty picture.

It makes me wonder if all mother/daughter-in-law relationships are similar. Sure sure you hear those stories of daughter-in-laws who LOVE their mother-in-laws, but I figure those are either urban legends or they live on separate ends of the earth and have never met face to face.

I guess I can be grateful to her for giving birth to my husband-I mean, he is a pretty darn good guy, but if I really sit and think about it, he became great only after I got a hold of him. She had him for the first 17 years of his life and what did he do? Graduate high school? Anybody can do that. I have had him for the last 17 years of his life and look at where he is! All of his accomplishments have come pretty much after he met me.

So I would have to say the score is daughter-in-law: 1

Mother-in-law: 0



In just a few short hours, my mother in law will be descending upon my house. I do not know how my posts will be for the next few days... seeing as I will probably be inebriated.

I just want to add this disclaimer to my blog:

Anything June says (especially after her 9 a.m. cocktail) cannot be used against her in a court of law. So help her God.

Are You Trying To Butter Me Up Ward?

I love my husband...

and not just because at his promotion ceremony yesterday he said "I was better for meeting you and even smarter for marrying you."

It is about time I get some recognition around here don't you think? What a guy!

By the way, making love to a Lt. Col is much like making love to a Major... only I leave my diamond earrings in now, of course they are cubic zirconium but still.



Why do babies wake up at 4am ready to play and be adorable?

Why do 12 year old girls leave wet towels hidden in their closet on the floor when their hamper is 2 feet away... and the bathroom is 10 feet away?

Why do 9 year old boys put on dirty boxers after they have just taken a shower?

Why do 4 year old girls think it is appropriate to wake mommy up by hitting her on the head a few times?

Why do men think their mothers are the best cooks ever? I mean, I believe that I am a better cook than my mother... why can't he just come over from the dark side and admit that I am better than his mother? Sheesh.


The Rules Of The Game Are This... Drink.

Apparently I have an innate talent. Even after months or years of not practicing this talent, I am able to display this talent again and be victorious. I am talking about the rare talent of being shit hot at drinking games.

Last night our new neighbors had a "Stock the Bar" party. This is the type of party where you invite everyone you know and ask them to bring liquor to drink and basically give you a well stocked bar for little to no cash. It is a great idea, although you will end of with bottles of "Fighting Cock" or "Dirty Housewife" liquor... it is a risk that you have to take.

When I was younger, drinking games were a way of life-cheap entertainment if you will. It also offered a quick buzz off of cheap beer. Ahhh... college life. As I got older drinking games were replaced with gambling games such as "Left Right Center" or Poker. It was harder to get a quick buzz off of the gambling games because they did not offer you the incentive to drink the cup of beer that the quarter fell into in 3 seconds flat. No, gambling games just made you lose all of the dollars in your wallet which meant I would have to write a check to our babysitter instead of paying her cash.

Our new neighbors are young... as in they are still in their 20's. They still play drinking games. The husband is a police officer and it became crystal clear that police officers do not need to be young in order to play drinking games. They just need to be breathing. Oh the stories these cops were telling~you would be amazed at some of the things that people do to get out of getting a ticket. June Cleaver advice-do not cry when a cop stops you. All of the police officers in attendance last night said that crying was an automatic ticket... as is showing your breast. Dang!

Anyway, we start playing this game called "Flip it" where there are two teams and basically you have to go down a line and drink your beer (while everyone is screaming at you to CHUG CHUG CHUG) and then you have to set the cup on the table and flip it so that it land upside down. Sounds easy... not so much. By the end of the first game I was a cup flipping expert. I was the ace in the hole for my team... the pinch hitter... the fourth batter... the champ.

Then we played a game called "pong" where you have two teams and you have to toss a ping pong ball into the other teams cups. If you make it, they drink. I have MAD SKILLZ with this game. I could do it with my eyes closed-but if I closed my eyes I lost my balance so for safety sake I kept them open. The special moment of the night was when I made the final toss for a victory and my husband yelled from across the room with great pride "THAT'S MY WIFE!" Obviously cooking, cleaning, birthing... these are not as impressive to my husband as my pong performance.

It was really funny drinking with all of the neighbors. One neighbor I did not recognize because he was not pushing a lawn mower... but we connected and became life long friends. It is amazing what chugging Budweiser (blech) beer can do for neighborly relations.

The best game we played was the one that the police administered as you were walking out of the door. It is called a BREATHALYZER! Yes... that was so much fun! We all took turns blowing into the little machine that told us what our alcohol level was. I am pleased to report that I was wayyyy under the limit, which mean I have not lost my high tolerance for alcohol (thank you Irish heritage) or those drinking games make you THINK you are drunk when really I was just on a "I am out of the house and away from my children and I fit into a pair of jeans and I spray tanned and have a cute top on and feel pretty damn good about myself tonight" king of punch drunk.

Either way it was fun. I needed some fun. So the next time you get stopped by a cop for doing 45 in a school zone ask him if he knows how to play pong. I bet you get off on a warning.


I Eat, Therefore I Am... Failing At My Diet

I think I am starting to figure out why my diet is no working as well as I had hoped. My children are trying to sabotage me. They apparently like a mommy who is squishy and comfy. I have tried to convince them that supermodel moms make loads of money and therefore their kids are spoiled with material things but they aren't buying that. Whatever.

Yesterday I decided to write down everything I ate. By noon I was on page 3. This is what it looked like:

2 slices of turkey
1/2 glass of skim milk

-1 1/2 waffles smothered with syrup that my 4 year old decided she didn't want after 2 bites.
-3/4 bagel with cream cheese that my 4 year old decided she did not want either.

Morning snack
sugar-free jell-o cup

entire bag of microwave popcorn that my 4 year old wanted while she watched Little Bear but then decided she didn't want it because it was not the cheese kind. It was the movie theater butter kind. Nice.

Salad with cut up chicken breast and 1 Tbsp. dressing
Diet Pepsi

-1/2 of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that my son left on his plate
-handful of Cheetos that my 12 year old left on her plate
-Dora The Explorer strawberry yogurt that my 4 year old did not want
-Chocolate milk that was left on the counter
-A spoonful of butter... don't ask.

Afternoon Snack
6 grapes

-4 graham cracker cookies covered with chocolate... I have no excuse for this one.

Marinated Chicken breast
side salad

-half a pot of mashed potatoes that were left on the stove
-14 tater tots that my 4 year old wanted because she doesn't like mashed potatoes... she doesn't like tater tots anymore either.
-2 slices of bread with butter. I just couldn't stop myself.

Evening snack
cup of herbal tea

-ice cream bar that was accidentally opened for my 4 year old when she wanted a fudge bar.
-5 pretzel sticks that fell on the floor while I was putting the Cheetos back in the cabinet
-handful of Cheetos because the bag was almost empty so I decided to eat the rest and toss the bag.
-a piece of birthday cake that my neighbor brought over because she is skinny and does not like to have tempting food in her house... so she brings it over to me. Thanks.
-1 wine cooler that made my tongue turn blue.
-slice of pound cake to help get the blue off of my tongue.

At least I did some sit ups.



Thank God for organized friends. I have a friend who is very organized. She schedules play dates, luncheons, dinner parties, game nights and book clubs. If it weren't for her inviting me to all of her functions, well I would not have a social life at all!

I am a lazy friend to have. I don't return phone calls, emails take weeks to get a response and if asked to bring a side dish to something I will usually stop off at the local market and buy a salad. I don't even take the time to put it in my own dish, I just bring it in the container the teenager stuffed it into behind the counter and my carrying case is not a fancy one from Longaberger or Pampered Chef, no it is the plastic bag from the grocery store.

I am such a lazy friend that my favorite kind of friends are the ones that understand this about me and just invite themselves over unannounced. This takes all of the guess work out of who will come to a party or how I will feed them. Basically, if you pop over, chances are I have chips and salsa and beer in the fridge. What more does a party need?

I didn't used to be this way. Before I had so many darnd kids I was the bubbly hostess that was organized. I had every kind of party under the sun... even a sex toy party. Yes, I said sex toy. I never used those "hostess dollars" to purchase anything but now I see where that whip would have come in handy in disciplining my children. Lesson learned I suppose.

A part of me would like to be the hostess with the mostess again... but I have so many other important things to do like homeschool my kids and watch Top Chef.

So again I say Thank God for my organized friend who is obviously only keeping me around for entertainment value alone but I don't mind, I'll be entertaining and funny, just as long as I don't have to plan the party.


I Say Blame His Mother...

MOSCOW (Reuters) - A woman set fire to her ex-husband's penis as he sat naked watching television and drinking vodka, Moscow police said Wednesday.
Asked if the man would make a full recovery, a police spokeswoman said it was "difficult to predict."
The attack climaxed three years of acrimonious enforced co-habitation. The couple divorced three years ago but continued to share a small flat, something common in Russia where property costs are very high.
"It was monstrously painful," the wounded ex-husband told Tvoi Den newspaper. "I was burning like a torch. I don't know what I did to deserve this."

Hmmm, my guess is that you deserved this because you were watching television NAKED and you were DRUNK and probably UNEMPLOYED!


Brownies and Pop Tarts and Potato Chips Oh My...

Between you and me... I will do much better at this diet when I finish eating all of these pop tarts and brownies in the house. Then and only then will I not be tempted.

Bears 27, Colts 24

Yes Football Fans... men in tight pants are back on my television. The Monsters of the Midway are back on duty and I can stop wasting time watching baseball.

I love football!

By the way, Rex Grossman if you are reading this... hold on to the stinkin' ball son! You're giving me a heart attack!


Open Letter To VH1

Dear VH1,

Why do you do this to me? Why do you put reality shows on like Rock Of Love or Scott Baio is 45 and Single? This does no one any good-especially me because I now have to spend hours in front of the television waiting to see who Brett Michaels will choose to stay and rock his world and why oh why poor Chachi Arcola has a hard time committing. It is unfair to my family-it is unfair to the world!

Now you go and put on a show called the Pick Up Artist where a man (who I must say is just about the ugliest man around who wears eyeliner) teaches a gaggle of nerdy men his tricks of the trade for picking up women in bars. Oh the humanity!

You must have been reading my mind at the beginning of the summer VH1 when I thought "Boy, I wish there was some really bad TV shows about my former heartthrobs that I can watch." It was like you took the posters from my teenage bedroom and ran with them... well played VH1... well played.

Watching these shows makes me think of my high school prom date. He was the football quarterback and the captain of the soccer team. He was popular and had a license. Imagine my surprise when I saw him 15 years after high school and he was bald with a beer belly. My heart was broken.

Your shows have broken my heart VH1. Chachi used to be up there on a star pedestal for me... and now he is a 45 year old single man who hangs out with loser friends. Brett Michaels used to be the ultimate rock star for me... now he is in his 40's and choosing women who look like they have spent time in prison to "rock his world."

You have done a cruel cruel thing here VH1 and I do not appreciate it. Keep up the good work!


June Cleaver

P.S. Maybe next summer you could run a show where Corey Haim and Cory Feldman live together and drive each other crazy... oh wait, A&E has already beaten you to the punch. Thank goodness "The Two Corey's" comes on after Brett Michaels. Phew.


Every Day is Groundhog Day

Do you ever feel like your life is dictated for you? My life has been mapped out by other people for so long that I do not even know what I would do if left up to my own devises.

Take this morning for example... I was awoken at 4am to feed a crying little baby. No big deal. I actually enjoy these little feedings because the house is quiet and I can cuddle with a sweet smelling baby for a bit.

I am woken up again just before 7 by my alarm. I had to get the brisket in the oven for a picnic we are going to today. I trudge downstairs careful not to wake the 4 year old. The dog comes happily bounding behind me so I let her out. I turn to see she has no food, so I feed her.

I head back upstairs to sleep because we went to Saturday evening Mass so that means that maybe, just one day, I can sleep in a bit.

My husband gets out of bed as I am climbing back in because he is going golfing. He turns on lights, opens and closes drawers, walks around while brushing his teeth (a habit of his I loathe because a.) it grosses me out, and b.) he drops little dollops of toothpaste on the carpet from time to time.)

He then does something that will change the outcome of my day. He walks into Aaron and Emma's room to wake Aaron to take him with him. He inadvertently wakes the 4 year old.


This one "accident" causes my day to be dictated by others... like always. I had to get up and start being mom.

Another day of picking up toys, cleaning dirty dishes, washing loads of laundry, bed making, wet towel picking uping, disciplining, nursing, cooking and so on. Another day of constantly doing for others and being overlooked by everyone.

Oh yeah, I sound like I want a big pity party... whatever. I guess my turning point was when my husband drove out of here for 4-5 hours of alone time on the golf course.

A good friend of mine once said to me "Oh leave him be, let him go golfing. What harm does it cause?" This friend of mine did not have children so she has no idea what it is like to have your days all flow in together. There is no difference between Saturday and Wednesday around here. There are no days off. No break from the workplace. If anything, my weekends are more hectic because now I have a grown man around the house wanting me to make him a sandwich and go fetch him all of the things he needs to do a project for me. ugh.

I do not even have alone time in the bathroom. Ever since Emma figured out she has opposable thumbs and could open any door, my life has constant companionship. I go to the bathroom with a baby on the floor mat in front of me (because if I am not in her eye sight at all times she will cry) and then Emma will come in to see if she can have a snack, play a game, ride her bike, watch TV, or change her outfit for the 10th time. The dog comes in as well because she gets nervous if I am on the opposite side of a door than she is and will either sit there and cry for me or put her nose at the bottom crack and make all kinds of sniffing sounds-something I do not enjoy while I am trying to use the loo.

The sad thing is that when I start to feel like I am going crazy in this house of fertility and diapers, I begin to fantasize about the padded room the men in white coats will put me into. I bet it is really quiet in there and I could sleep for hours all cuddled up in that straight jacket. It is amazing how your fantasies change after you have children...


Just When I Thought It Was Safe To Go Back Into The Water...

I was in a really good mood and I was thinking to myself "That husband of mine sure is one great guy!" Then he says this to me:

"My mother is coming to visit."

Someone notify the liquor store... I am about to become customer of the month again.


He Didn't Even Make Me Sign A Pre-Nup!

The other day I was on the phone with my older sister. She is a fabulous person and has a heart of gold. I always say that my sister will get me into heaven with all of the prayin' 'she does for me!

Well, apparently my older sister has been reading my blog. So the other day on the phone she asks me, "Does your husband read your blog?" To which I responded "Duh! Of course, don't you know I occupy every moment of thought that he has? Don't you know he is so in awe of me and the fact that he is actually married to such a catch that he has to read my blog every single day of his life in order to feel close to me when he is at work?" Well... actually I said "Some days... when he is bored at work I suppose."

She went on to tell me that she is afraid I am not so nice to my husband from time to time on this blog. Now, this is where I giggle a bit because my family loves my husband, and they should because he is a good guy, and he did take me off of their hands. My husband's family... not so fond of me. Whatever. Something about me taking him away... blah blah blah.

I had to explain to my sister that my husband knows exactly who he is married to and a lot of good stuff comes along with my bad stuff. So I tell him to "get off of me" from time to time, that does not mean that I do not love him and think that he is the best thing since sliced bread. Sure I may call him disgusting and egotistical, but that does not mean that I will not seek him out when I am frightened or need a strong guy to open the jar of pickles. Maybe I do tease him and try and get a laugh at his expense from time to time, but my husband is the type of person that is so good and so smart that my funny little anecdotes about him are in no way damaging to his psyche.

If my husband could not handle me... well then we would not have lasted 15 years and I would be typing this blog from Bon Jovi's mansion and not from this family room with all of these children running around asking me for a snack 1000 times a day.

My husband is man enough to handle my blog.


A Blond, A Brunette, and a Nun Walk Into A Bar...

I thought it would be fun to add music to my blog because I love love love music! I used to listen to music 24/7, but most of the CD players in the house are broken and therefore I am offering up my lack of music listening as Sister Mary Martha would advise me to. *Big Sigh*

Anyway, I was on Elaine's blog and she had music! I clicked on her snippet and then spent the next 2 hours browsing music. It was late, the house was quiet, and I was rockin' out all by myself. The lack of sleep and drowsiness I have today is so worth the couple of hours of mindless browsing.

Anyway, once I had found the song I wanted to put on my blog I could not figure out how to get the stupid thing to play!

I cut and pasted again and again with no luck! Finally I gave up and went to sleep...

When I woke up I tried once again only to find that there is a simple little button that said "Audio On/Off"

Sometimes being blond can be a disability.


Holy Weight-Loss Batman!

Can I get a Hey Ho Hey Ho! I jumped on the scale this morning to find that I have lost 6 lbs. this week! Holy Toledo~(I have never understood where the "Holy Toledo" saying came from... I have been to Toledo-ain't so holy. Unless of course they are talking about Toledo Spain, but still... not so holy. Now if they said "Holy Vatican!" that I would understand.)

Anyway, it appears that the "Slim in 6" regiment of eating anything bland and tasteless and working out daily to a woman who tells me how good I am doing as if she can see me jumping up and down in my pj's is actually working. Who would have thought!

I waited one week to weigh myself and I will tell you, that was not an easy feat. I love my scale. I visit it numerous times a day-why you ask? I don't know... I just feel secure in knowing that if the earth lost gravity I would be able to stay planted because of the weight in my rear-don't ask me such obvious questions.

I follow very strict rules though for the first "weigh-in" of my day. It must be when I have first woken up and after I have gone to the bathroom, before I have eaten and after I have nursed Mary Claire. Oh, and I must be nekid. If I were a little dehydrated, well than that would help also. I also breath out as I weigh myself. I know everyone says that air is weightless, but I am not willing to take my chances.

So there you have it... I am well on my way to becoming a Supermodel.


My Husband is a Big Tease...

Last night I wanted to go out to dinner... without any children. I was happy...nay, EXCITED about the prospect of eating without cutting anyone's meat, holding a crying infant, wiping up spilled liquid from the table and threatening bodily harm on little people if they did not stop arguing about who had more mashed potatoes!

I showered and got ready for Saturday night Mass. After Mass we hurried home so that I could feed Mary Claire and rock her to sleep all the whilst praying that her new routine of going to bed early and sleeping through all household nightly sounds (like siblings fighting over who gets to use the sink to brush their teeth first or one pounding on the bathroom door while another yells "I'M GOING POOP!", or a 4 year old throwing a tantrum because the sky is blue... those type of nightly sounds).

After Mary Claire was happily asleep and I had kissed her my allotted 100 times before laying her down, I went downstairs and again threatened my children with groundings and no TV and no computer and no friends ever again, if they even walked upstairs and woke their sister up.

I put in a new DVD and gave our oldest charge of the house.

I skipped happily to the car and turned to my husband to see just where he thought we should go to dinner. I was envisioning Carraba's or Outback Steakhouse as I have been on this stupid DIEt now for a week and have eaten basically twigs and berries... I was going to give myself a reward for being so good. My mouth was watering with anticipation since it has been well over 3 months since we have gone out to eat to a restaurant where other people serve you and you don't have to throw away your own trash.

My husband took me to Quiznos. Yes... Quiznos.

I guess it is better than McDonalds.

*Big Sigh* What a waste of a bra and mascara!


Just Add Milk...

Brand New:
Three Months Later:

I've been looking for her "stop growing" button all day long!


Diet... Has The Word "DIE" In It For A Reason!

So my husband is being promoted at the end of this month. I am very proud of him, oh who am I kidding? I am very excited for the pay raise! A few days ago I realized that we would be taking photos at this promotion ceremony and the body I am sporting right now would forever be preserved for all to see for generations and worse... when he retires, there may very well be a neat little slide show documenting all of his accomplishments, and I would be on that slide show with my frumpy haircut and my saggy body for all to gasp at. I could not let this happen!

I was nursing Mary Claire one morning and watching the infomercials. I love infomercials... nowhere else can you find a liquid that could take out blood from a carpet like you can on infomercials. It is where all serial killers shop. I came upon a infomercial called "Slim in 6." Have you heard of this? Apparently if I do this routine I will be slim in 6 weeks. Then they started showing before and after pictures and I got all excited... and to top it off, they had a supermodel claim that she herself had used this system after having her child and look at where she is now-she is a sex symbol and raking in the dough with each magazine spread! How could I NOT buy this product??? I went directly to my computer and ordered it. I felt like I was well on the way to a slimmer me-I was pumped!

It took a few days for it to arrive in the mail so my excitement and motivation had diminished a bit-especially since I love to watch the Food Network and Paula Deen is happily plump eating whatever her heart desires. She was just as happy as that supermodel on the infomercial was. I was in a pickle... do I eat and be happy, or diet and be cranky until I am a supermodel. Oh the dilemma!

Well I have taken on this challenge and have banished all thing yummy from my daily eating. I now dine on egg whites and cottage cheese most of the day... oh and lettuce. I eat plain chicken breasts and brussel sprouts. I have broccoli, cauliflower, asparagus, and flax seed. No where does it say I can eat any of those damn donut holes we have in the fridge just sitting there tormenting me!

I am also working out in my family room to a DVD where the girls keeps saying "You're Doing Soooo Good!" as if she can see me. I think it is funny when she tells me how hard I am working when I am just standing there watching HER do the squats while I sip on my water.

I am sure to close the blinds before I start this workout-I don't need the neighbors seeing me lunging and squatting and such. It is not a pretty picture. Maybe when I look like the supermodel I will do the workout on my back patio, but right now I feel better if the blinds are securely tight.

I also refuse to do the workout while my husband is home. I have not even told him about my DIEt. If I do then he will ask each and every mother loving day if I have worked out and if I have eaten all of the right things. He thinks he is being supportive, I think he is being judgemental.

I am 2 days into my 6 weeks and when I started I promised I would not jump on the scale for an entire week. This is hard for me because I am a scale whore. I jump on my scale probably 5 times a day--just to see what my weight is. I would check myself into a psychiatric ward for evaluation if this daily dance with my scale were making me STOP eating, but I really don't give a crap what the scale reads... I just have to step on it a few times a day to satisfy my OCD.

I will let you know how I do at the end of the 6 weeks. My posts may be a little cranky and "woman on the edge-ish" from lack of potato chips, but I am sure you will understand. I already warned my children... my husband, well I think I am going to let him deal with his wife's "unexplained" mood because in the end he will be lovin' my smokin' hot supermodel body!


We Are Not Alcoholics... We Are Irish!

My nephew Sam was recounting the time when he was at my house and picked up a drink off the counter that he thought was just soda. Imagine his surprise when he took a big swig and realized that there was Captain Morgan mixed in with that soda! Hey, that is what he gets for trying to drink a soda that is not his at Aunt Crissy's house!

He was telling this story to my mom who (surprise surprise) was drinking a beer at the time. Sam asked if he could have a taste of her beer and she obliged thinking that he would not like the taste and therefore never drink again for the rest of his life. She was trying to instill a life lesson here... Irish style.

Sam scrunched up his face and said yuck!" to which my mother was very pleased with herself... that is until she told me this story and I had to add my own two cents.

You see, when we were kids my dad would always ask us to go down to the basement fridge and bring him a beer. When we were little we did this over and over again without thinking about the liquid gold that was inside the can we were transporting. One day I asked if I could have a taste of his beer and my dad handed it to me thinking exactly the same thing my mom was thinking with Sam, "If I let her see how bad this tastes she will never want to drink again for the rest of her life!"

Yeah... that didn't work with me.

Eventually I started opening the can for my dad-as if I was being a good beer transporter-only I opened it so that I could take a swig or two before handing it over to the legal drinker in the house. I would even drink the warm backwashed beer from the bottom of his can when he was finished and I was throwing the can away! Now, that is true love for beer let me tell you.

I started to tell my mom of how my older sister and I would make Fuzzy Navels in the kitchen because the Peach Schnapps was left right on the counter for all to see... and my sister knew how to make a mean Fuzzy Navel.

As I was telling my mom this funny story she says "Mmmm, I love a fuzzy navel" to which I responded, "Me too! It was my favorite childhood drink!"

Now, I don't' want you to think that I had a childhood like Drew Barrymore or anything. I may have had a swig of beer here and there and a Fuzzy Navel or two, but I was not out at the clubs partying. Sure, I spent many a Saturday afternoon with my dad at the local American Legion bar, but they had video games and pretzels on the tables-it was a field trip!

Irish people have special dispensation from being considered alcoholics... it is in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Look it up if you don't believe me.


XYZ PDQ... Birthdays... Butt Doctors...

My cousin Steve (we all know cousin Steve right?) just had a baby boy on Friday. Well, his wife had a baby boy, Steve just stood by and watched, but you know what I mean. They named the boy after cousin Steve and I emailed him to say congratulations. He emailed me back and signed his name:

Stephen Patrick "Last Name" Sr. Esquire MD CPA XYZ PDQ

Now I have to tell ya-stuff like that makes me laugh my rear off. If you don't get the joke, well then we could never be friends. I am sorry.


Feeling my childish XYZ PDQ giggle from the email, I used it on my son later in the day. My son always forgets to zip his zipper after going to the terlet and I am constantly reminding him to zip it up. Today was no different and as we were getting out of the car I noticed that his zipper was down.

I said: "XYZ PDQ"

To which he zipped up real fast and asked:

"Mom, what does XYZ PDQ mean?"

Me: "examine your zipper, priddy darnd quick"

My husband looked at me and said:

"That is what that means?"

Now I ask you, what kind of cruel cruel childhood did this man have???


My Dad turned 69 on Sunday. I called to wish him a Hippo Birdie but he was out at WalMart buying vitamins--I don't know why because let's face it, he is 69... a vitamin is not going to help. Anyway, I was chatting with my mom:

Ma: "Can you believe it has been 30 years since Daddy had his first by-pass surgery?" Sidenote: I can never figure out who this "Daddy" person she is talking about as I have never called my pops "Daddy" It freaks me out a bit because it makes me think of the saying "Who's your Daddy" but I just shake my head and go on listening to her.

Me: "Oh what a blessing, tis' true tis' true." (I have found that it is fun to talk to my mom with an Irish accent from time to time... she usually sets down her wine glass when I do this not sure whether it is me or the alcohol). "Lucky Stars, green clovers."

Ma: "Oh yes, a blessing..."

Me: "A blessing that keeps on giving"

Ma: "You mean a blessing that keeps on taking!"

Obviously the 69 year old man living with her named "Daddy" ticked her off before he headed out to get his vitamins.


I was on the phone with Peg (my mom) when Chuck (my dad) came home. He and I had a conversation about that same thing we have been talking about for weeks now... his colonoscopy. He thinks up more and more jokes about it and we sit and laugh about a man sticking his finger where the sun doesn't shine. I figure this is my dad's way of dealing with his experience.

Dad: "Well, I don't have to go to the butt doctor for another 4 months... thank God above, Jesus Mary and Joseph. 5 butt exams in a year is enough!"

Me: "Do you feel like you have a break from prison life?"

Dad: "Well I'll tell ya, the last doctor had such big fingers! They should not be allowed to do such things when they have big fingers."

Me: "Are you sure these are all Doctors? 5 times is a lot... maybe they just really like you."

Dad: "They always tell me to relax and breath... because when I stop breathing I clench up."

Me: "Do you ever say "THANK YOU SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER?" when they are done?

Dad: "No, but they have asked me to call them "Daddy" before."

I can't make this stuff up people!


Alaska Is Looking Like Paradise Right About Now...

It has been so stinking hot in DC the last few weeks that one would think that my extra weight would just be melting off of my bones... but that has yet to happen.

Last night we were sitting on the couch and I realized that I was damn hot... not in the "don't hate me because I am beautiful" type of hot, but the "my pits are sweating and my cha-cha is sticky" kind of hot.

I assumed that the air conditioner was just trying to keep up with the sweltering heat of the day and the house would cool itself down at night.

I woke up at 5 a.m. so cranky and uncomfortable that I thought my brain was on fire. I trudged down to the A/C controller to find out that it was 80 frigging degrees in this hell's hot hole that I like to call my house.

I think that maybe I didn't have the A/C set low enough and push the lever down to 60 degrees and go back to sleep only to wake again at 8 feeling as if I had just taken part in a jalapeno eating contest.

I came to the horrible realization that during the hottest week this summer our air conditioner decided to check out... on a Saturday no less when overtime pay is in place for Dave the Air Conditioning Whisperer.

As I sit her with cold rags on my neck and between my legs I wonder just how it was that I survived the summers of my childhood. My parents did not have air conditioning... it was a frivolous thing that we did not need, much like cable TV and Atari.

I remember sleeping in just my underpants and slapping mosquitoes became our favorite pastime that we used to lull ourselves into a heat induced coma each night.

What a wimp I have become that I cannot even handle a few hours with no A/C... I mean really, my mother raised me to be stronger than this. Wasn't it her that taught me how to take a cold bath and lay on the couch with the fan pointed directly upon her while she shouted things like "No you can't come in the house, drink out of the hose!" and "You don't need sunscreen!"

I am going to follow in the footsteps of the best mother I know and go lay on the couch and moan as if I were in pain from the heat. Maybe I can get one of these kids of mine to bring me a cold soda from the fridge and then scream "Shut the refrigerator door! What are you trying to air condition the entire house?"

And my kids complain that we don't have any family traditions...


Talk Amongst Yourselves... I'll Give You a Topic

If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?


I Owe Myself 60 Bucks... Plus Tip!

I woke up today loathing my hair. Back in April I decided to cut my long hair into a cute mom cut. I liked it for about 20 minutes and then regretted my decision so I started that long process of growing out my hair. This is a process I am familiar with as I have done this dance with hair growth at least 10 times before.

Growing out your hair sucks! I am at the point where my sides are now about an inch below my ears and the back of my hair is an inch or so longer than that. It looks stupid... so not only am I post pregnant fat, but I have a stupid haircut to boot!

I had a decision to make... should I go to my hairdresser and pay her $60 to cut the back to be even with the sides or do I pull out the kitchen shears that I used to cut up a chicken last Wednesday and do the trim myself.

I have cut my hair before but that was back in college and there was alcohol involved... and come to think of it, it was not my hair I was cutting but my but my friend who was passed out at the time... Whatever- the point is that I truly felt that I could cut my hair myself successfully.

I put the scissors up to my hair and then would set them down again. If I call to get an appointment I wouldn't be able to get in there today and I needed my haircut now-at least that is what this mood of mine is demanding! Hair will be falling today by golly!

As I was standing in the bathroom my 4 year old walked in and randomly said "Mom! Can! I! Get! A! Bike! Today!"

I thought for a moment and decided to cut my hair... and I did and it looks FABULOUS! Now I have an extra 60 bucks lying around I may as well go buy the 4 year old a bike!

I am such a good mom...


Step Away From The Stove And Nobody Gets Hurt...

I am just so proud of myself right now. I love to cook and when I am cooking for someone who loves to eat it is all the better. My husband loves to eat and will devour just about anything I set in front of him, but sometimes he feels the need to critique it. Whatever! There is only one thing in this world that I cannot make and that is meatloaf. I don't know why I can't pull off cooking a big old lump of beef that comes out looking like a bear turd, but I cannot. I am meatloaf inept.

I am fine with this disability because I do not really care for meatloaf. My husband on the other hand loves meatloaf. He loves it so much that if I asked him what he would want for dinner, every night he would respond "meatloaf!" Yuck-anyway, the other night I went to a baby shower and when I came home he had made dinner.

I walked in the door to find the table set and a yummy smell coming from the kitchen. I walked back out of the door and went to the front of the house to check the address to make sure I was in the right house as my husband NEVER makes dinner. When I say never, I mean neva eva! I have a better chance at growing a third boob than I do of having my husband make dinner. He just doesn't do it and I am fine with that because I am just so good at making dinner.

Well, you would have thought he parted the Red Sea with this dinner because my children oohhh'd and ahhh'd all over this meatloaf of his. I cook for these ungrateful brats every stinking day of their lives and they don't say a peep-the man cooks for them and you would have thought they were going to have gold coming out of their butts. It was ridiculous.

But I got over it and went on with my daily meal planning and cooking with no oohhh's and ahhh's from the peanut gallery. But today is a different day... today my brother-in-law Ryan is going to be in town and he will be having dinner with us.

To tell you I am excited to cook for him is an understatement simply because Ryan loves to eat just about as much as me. He is married to my little sister Claire and she is a pretty good cook herself, but she does not have a family that just takes her cooking for granted yet-she still has Ryan who is a very appreciative eater.

Tonight I have made the most wonderful dinner on the face of the planet. A while back I found the blog The Pioneer Woman Cooks and I just love love love it. Well, tonight I am making beef brisket with twice baked potatoes and fresh corn bake with the most delicious chocolate sin for desert.

My kitchen is a disaster and I have glops all over my shirt but I don't care. I have made a dinner that is soooo much better than my husband's meatloaf (which by the way I thought had an awful lot of tomato paste in it... but I kept my mouth shut) that I will regain my queen status in the kitchen and my husband will think twice before he tries to outdo my cooking abilities again. I mean seriously folks, making meatloaf was a low blow...

Now, to prove once and for all that this is my kitchen and although him making dinner was nice, I would rather him stick to his other favorite meal to cook which consists to white bread, spaghetti sauce and a slice of American Cheese, I would like you all to send me your best meatloaf recipe.

It is all about the tit for tat here folks. I do not want to read one comment or email that says "Your husband was so sweet to even make dinner-how can you be so mean!" I am mean people, it is how this marriage works. I don't go to his office and start making phone calls and checking off boxes, so he needs to stay out of my work place.

*side note* although my husband is not allowed to cook, he is still allowed to do laundry, the dishes, clean toilets, scrub showers, and dust... .

This Is Why Men Don't Get Pregnant...

My sister-in-law had her baby boy this past Saturday night. It was a fast and furious labor and one that I just had to share with you all...

Shannon's water broke Saturday afternoon, but Shannon did not realize that this was her water breaking and she even thought that maybe her bladder was out of control and she was just constantly peeing herself. You know it has been a long pregnancy when you just assume you are peeing yourself and go on with the activities of the day!

That evening they had a "Hail and Farewell" (they are a military family as well and a hail and farewell is just that-you hail the new members coming into the squadron and you farewell the ones leaving). Chet (Shannon's husband, my brother-in-law and my husband's twin brother) is the XO for his squadron, meaning he is the second in command and therefore he was doing the hailing and the farewelling so his mind was no where on Shannon and the fact that she was peeing herself all day, but on memorizing new people's names, kids birthday, funny anecdotes and so on...

Did I mention that the Hail and Farewell was at Dave and Buster's restaurant? You know the one... it has a gazillion video games and grown adults battle each other for a winning spot on the Dance Dance Revolution screen. It is a loud, obnoxious restaurant... one that would get anyone's mind off of the fact that they are peeing and feeling contractions every 3 minutes or so.

Oh-I forgot to tell you that my 3 year old niece Savannah was with them as well-and since Chet's mind was completely on memorizing fun new facts about people, Shannon was not only peeing herself and having contractions every three minutes, but she was desperately trying to keep a little three-year old entertained while they waited for their tables to be set up---which the waiter said was going to only take 90 minutes.

Eventually Shannon realizes that she may not be peeing herself after all since her contractions were now pretty strong and she may very well be in labor. She tugs at Chet's sleeve and tells him this to which he does not believe her.

This is the part of the story where we all look at Chet and shake our heads... poor poor Chet. Little did he know at the time of his disbelief that he would be living this moment down for the rest of his life and he basically gave Shannon an all-access pass to winning every argument they ever have just by being able to say "Yeah well, you didn't believe me when I was in labor and made me sit at Dave and Busters when I should have been at the hospital! I AM ALWAYS RIGHT!"

Now, by this time Shannon is panting and hee hee hoo'ing her way through each contraction, which she was timing off of a friend's watch that she borrowed. Someone once again told Chet that Shannon needed to go to the hospital and he makes one more mistake that was the last nail in his coffin... he bent over and whispered in Shannon's ear "Can you just hold off? I really need to give this speech and if I don't do it some other guy will have to do it who knows nothing of the people who are coming into the squadron."

This is where Shannon and I differ. If Chet were my husband, he would be incapable of ever having children again after a remark like that in my ear while I was in labor, but thankfully for Chet, he is married to Shannon who is much more patient than me.

A few of the military wives banded together and strong armed Chet into realizing that Shannon was in active labor and he better move his ass and now. They were finally headed to the hospital only to realize that they had forgotten little Savannah! Oh the love! Thankfully she was commandeered by some friends and safely taken care of for the evening. I could just see the news couldn't you? "Three year old left to play Dance Dance Revolution all night at a local Dave and Buster's while mom and dad argue over whether or not mom is actually in labor. Story at 10."

By this time Shannon is not only hee hee hoo'ing, but she is moaning as well. Chet is driving his usually old man way, which is the same way my husband drives. It is as if they are on a constant Sunday afternoon drive through the countryside... at 5 mph under the speed limit.

FINALLY they get to the hospital where Chet simply drops Shannon off at the entrance so that he can go park the car (Did he NEVER watch the movie "She's Having a Baby?") Shannon makes her way to triage where they hook her up and quickly find out that she is at 9 centimeters! She looks around and starts to wonder just where her husband is.

It seems Chet walked into the hospital, found triage and said that his wife was back there... he forgot to let them know that his wife was the woman who was in active labor! They told him he was not allowed back and there he sat waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

Why are men so dense sometimes? Women do not listen to "you are not allowed back there" type of things when they know a loved one is behind the "no admittance" door. We barrel through the door because nobody is going to tell us what we cannot do dammit!

EVENTUALLY, Chet is brought back to Shannon... just in time for her to push and deliver their son. The next morning Shannon had a list of things for Chet to bring to the hospital for her since they were not prepared and did not have their bags with them. He rubbed his eyes and made this comment...

wait for it...

wait for it...

"I am so tired I hope I don't fall asleep while driving. That was a hard night!"

Again, it is a good thing he is married to Shannon and not me.