Never Underestimate A Gag Reflex...

Twice a year where we live there is a HUGE, I mean HUGE consignment sale for children's clothing. I wait anxiously for the date to arrive and shopping to commence. I love this sale because I can get gently used clothing for all of my children to last them the entire season. Wait... that is a lie. If I bought any of Hope's-I am 13 therefore I am a fashion expert-clothing at a consignment sale she would lock herself in her bathroom and refuse to come out surviving only on toothpaste and mouthwash.

Anyway... like I said, they have this sale in the Spring (to purchase all of your summer clothes) and in the Fall (to purchase all of your winter clothes.) It is GREAT. I will walk out of there with piles and piles of clothing and never have to buy another stitch of clothing for my kids for months and months. You would not believe the amount of people who apparently shop at the Gap or Gymboree and never even put the clothes on their kids! What to do with the extra clothes? Sell it to me!!!!

This year I went and bought for baby Mary and Aaron in one day. They are my easy kids to shop for. Aaron can care less what I buy for him as long as it is denim, nylon sweatpants, or a hoodie. Simple. As for Mary... well she is 17 months old. She does not care what I put on her.

I decided to take Emma with me to do her shopping because although Hope did not start protesting my clothing choices for her until she was 10, Emma has started early. At the age of 2 she looked at me and said "Mother please. Do you really expect me to go outside with this outfit? It is so 18 months."

Shopping with Emma today was like shopping with a crack addict whore. Seriously. She only wanted clothing that had feathers, sequence, faux fur (she has her principles), leopard print, tiger print, cheetah print or that tramp Cinderella on it. She fell in love with a little black number that had a feather collar and tied at the waist. She also had to have a hot pink sweater with diamond studs spelling out the word "Naughty" across the front. Her life's dreams were complete when she spotted the sequence purple tank top with matching leggings and feather boa.

When she was distracted (looking at high heel hooker shoes) I put the tramp-in-training clothes back and purchased the few items that we agreed upon. When we arrived home she could not wait to show her siblings her bea-u-tiful clothing finds.

Imagine her surprise when she dumped out all of the clothing and all she found was pretty pink sweaters and girly leggings and Mary Jane shoes.

She turned to me and said "M!O!M!"

Now, I know a little secret about my 5 year old. She gets disgusted easily. If she sees Mary with a little extra lunch on her shirt she will beg me to change Mary's clothes because she is so utterly disgusted that she cannot even look at Mary... and she may just get sick and vomit.

I looked at Emma and said "Em, when you were looking at the shoes, I went through all of the clothes we LOVED and I put back all of the clothes that had food stains on them... and Em, I have to tell you... that black feather top that you loved so much... it had some other kid's booger on the sleeve!"

She put her hand up for me to stop talking about such disgusting things. She was appalled that anyone would be so gross as to try and sell clothing with boogers on it. She even had to leave the room because my detailed explanation about the green booger that was still wet was making her gag.

Some people have no class at all. *wink*


Had It Up To Here? Welcome To My World...

Do you ever have one of those days where everything that is on your to-do list just makes you want to vomit? That is me today.

I remember the days when I didn't have to do anything... when I could just sit on my rear and watch TV. Adolescence is great isn't it?

No one tells you that when you have kids you will be picking up crap off of the floor for the rest of your life. Days like today make me want to just run back under my covers and go back to sleep for 12 hours... but I know my children would find me, they always do.

I am so tired of walking into my kitchen and there always being a dirty fork in the sink and a half poured glass of milk on the counter. I am tired of my counters always looking sticky and I am so sick of the fact that the dishwasher is constantly clean and has to be emptied before I can put the dirty fork and glass in there. If I had a million dollars, I would hire someone who's sole task in this life would be to empty my dishwasher 7 times a day.

I hate laundry. I hate the fact that when I tell the kids to bring me their laundry they throw it in the laundry room in piles on the floor, and then my neighbor will stop by to say hello and walk right through the laundry room entrance and see that we live like animals. I hate sorting laundry, washing laundry, folding laundry and I LOATHE looking at the folded laundry in the laundry room for weeks on end because my children go deaf every time I say to them "You have clean laundry in the laundry room. Put it away!" I also hate that after I have done all of the laundry and it is folded my children will do one of two things, they will leave their pile of clean clothes in the laundry room and go in and just take out the things that they need. My son has been out of boxer shorts in his dresser for 5 years now. He just changes his boxers in the laundry room-taking one clean pair and leaving the rest folded neatly on the folding shelf and then leave the dirty pair on the floor. Or they will say to me "Mom! You didn't wash my uniform skirt!" because it is stuffed under a bed and wasn't brought up on Friday with the rest of the dirty laundry. Also, the occasion in which they discover that something has not been washed usually happens 5 minutes before they need to walk out of the door with it on.

I am tired of giving baths to little people. Some days it is fun, but most days I would rather pull my fingernails out then bathe my little children. They splash until the entire bathroom is soaking, scream when I wash their hair, cry when I wash their feet, wiggle away when I wash their bottoms and some days the baby will even poop in the tub! Then I get to pull everyone out of the bath, scrub and disinfect the tub and then start all over with the bath. I mean, I have days where I think that showering myself is a load of work... to have to bathe little bodies is torture.

I am so tired of walking into every room in my house and it never looking the way it did the last time I walked out of it. Some days I avoid the family room like the plague simply because I don't want to pick up 1000 pairs of barbie shoes and 79 battalions of army men. I just don't understand why everything needs to look like a tornado just hit. One room I hate to walk into is my son's room. I walked in there yesterday and I could not even see the floor. He has a laundry basket but it is empty and there are clothes strewn everywhere. He could not fold a used bath towel up on a rack to save his life... seriously, if someone said to him "In order to avoid a slow death by fire ants, all you need to do is hang up your wet towel." he would be eaten alive within an hour.

I am tired of my dresser being the "dump-all." Don't know what to do with the hoards of letters that come home from school? Put them on mom's dresser. Don't know what to do with this lonely sock that you can't find the match for? Put if on mom's dresser. Have no idea what to do with this Barbie leg that your brother pulled off of your favorite doll? Put it on mom's dresser. How about the tags to the new top you just got? Put it on mom's dresser. Wondering just where to put the dirty spoon from the pudding you were walking around eating? Put it on mom's dresser... and while you're at it, you might as well put the empty pudding cup on her dresser also.

I am really tired of constantly having to repeat myself. "Mom? MOM? Can I go down to the corner and sell Dad's chainsaw?" (NO! We have to go pick up your sister and then head over to the grocery to buy some Tylenol and poster board and then we have to drop off your other sister at dance class and go to the post office.) "WHAT?" (I SAID WE HAVE TO GO....) "WHAT?" (WE HAVE TO...) "WHAT?" (JUST GET IN THE CAR!)

*Big Sigh* Maybe tomorrow I will wake up with a new outlook on life. Doesn't Oprah say that attitude is a choice? Well... what the hell does she know? She wakes up to people doing crap for her, not her doing crap for people... little people who need to be fed and bathed and loved. The chances of me waking up tomorrow morning and saying "Oh Joy! I get to do piles of laundry today!" is about as realistic as me pooping rainbows.


Just Another Perk...

There is a dead squirrel in my backyard. I don't know how he got there... my guess is he was either a squirrel from the other side of the hood and he was up to no good in my backyard and the squirrel that lives in my trees (who is still up in my trees cackling and laughing and not answering any questions) snuffed him out, or the killer ground hog got to him.

I have been looking at this dead squirrel through my back door all morning hoping that his homeys would come carry him away and give him a funeral with some Tupac song playing in the background, but that doesn't seem likely. I am sure the rival squirrels are scared into hiding in order to keep their furry tails out of view... or maybe they are planning their retaliation.

It could be like West Side Story in my backyard in the next few days, but in the meantime I need to go grab my shovel from the garage and clean the dead squirrel up before he starts to smell.

It is days like these when I think about how much I love my job and how glamorous it all is.


Nothing To Fear But Fear Itself...

The one thing I hate the most about my husband being deployed is not feeling safe. Although his life fight is to help others be safe, when he is gone... I feel very vulnerable.

Last night someone was jacking around in my backyard. They were tapping on windows and walking on my deck. I lay in my bed paralyzed with fear. Thoughts of "Is this just my mind playing tricks on me because I watched CSI before bed?", "Is that just the ground hog that we have living under the shed in the back lumbering about out there?" or "Do I call 911 because I am about to be killed?"

I crept my way through the house checking on each of my children before I sat and decided what I needed to do. Now, some of you may be yelling at your computer right now: "CALL THE POLICE YOU STUPID WOMAN!" and that thought did go through my head, but for some odd reason I didn't want to bother the police because I did not know what or who was in my backyard and chances are it was nothing, so I didn't want to look like a crazy woman calling the police out and have them come to my rescue because a ground hog came out to see his shadow. Or, it could have been a serial killer about to cut me into little pieces. I had a 50/50 chance.

Fear is a powerful thing when your husband is on the other side of the world and you think you are about to be eaten by a ground hog. The mind is a horrible enemy that never helps you to calm down but forces you to think of all of the horrible possibilities that could be lurking in the shadows of your flowerbed bordered backyard.

I decided to call my neighbors and they graciously met me at my door and walked through my yard with me at 1 o'clock in the morning. Whatever it was was gone. I was able to fall asleep by 3:30 in the morning and had a refreshing 3 hours of shut eye. Just what a crazy woman needs... sleep deprivation.

It is times like these that I wish I had super powers... or a 300 lb. body guard. Do men ever freak out from fear or do they just turn over and go back to sleep? I wonder...

Is That A Twisted Sister Pin On Your Uniform...

I never thought this day would come... the day I am no longer cool.

When I was a kid I remember my mother never being able to listen to anything she wanted on the car radio because her choice of music was so uncool. There was no way I was going to sit in the car, in all of my coolness and listen to her old-people uncool tunes. Therefore my mother was never allowed to even touch the radio dials. I was in complete control of the station choices and I believed I was doing her a favor by making her listen to my cool music and not her old stinky music. I was educating my mother in cooldom.

I had carried this need for control over the radio dials throughout my life and I have always thought that my choice of music was far superior than anything a mere passenger in my vehicle wanted to listen to.

That is until recently...

For years my kids have happily sung along to my music. I was proud of the fact that they could name singers like Freddy Mercury, or Paul McCartney just by listening to the first note. I thought I was teaching them to have an eclectic sense of music. One that is neither dictated by teeny boppers or MTV.

Well... my 13 year old daughter thinks my idea of music is prehistoric and totally, like completely uncool right?

As of a few days ago, I am no longer allowed to touch the dials on the car radio. If I dare to put my old people music on her ears may just start to bleed and she will keel over from embarrassment for my lack of music coolness right there on the spot.

So now instead of Journey I have to listen to Will I am (that is William for those of you who think his name is stupid like me), and other people who pretend to sing but have not an ounce of talent in their little voice boxes and in 2 years from now no one will remember who they are or what they were singing.

Music today just does not have the staying power that my cool music does.

I fully admit that I like Rihanna and I know who Leona Lewis is... but this past weekend we went to a festival that was 45 minutes away. We stayed at the festival for a little bit and then headed home for the 45 minute drive again. In that time, we heard the same 10 songs played over and over and over again on the radio... on the same station of the radio.

What in the world has happened to music and why do my children think that Metro Station is cool and Duran Duran is not? They look a lot a like to me... and you can still hear a Duran Duran song on the radio. I seriously doubt we will hear Metro Station ever again after today's youth have been so saturated with "Shake Shake Shake."

This all feels like a bad Twisted Sister video to me. Only instead of being the cool rebel in the video, I have somehow morphed into the parent screaming at the cool kid "WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE?"


I Don't Care What You Think... I Can't Help Myself!

I recently read a review for my blog from "someone" in "blogspere" that thought I was witty and charming but thought I wrote too much about Matthew McConaughey. They said that my blog was "at least 30% Matthew."

How am I supposed to respond to that?

I think it may have been Levi's mama that posted that review, but I am not sure. I wonder if she goes by the handle "Mineallmine" Whatever.

So, just to piss this reviewer off, I am going to give yet another Matthew update.

Will you just look at this picture? It is obvious that living life "alright alright alright" is starting to take a toll on Matthew and the Baby Mama. I mean, what in the world are they wearing? It is apparent that they are sleep deprived... and they dressed in the dark... and they haven't done laundry since the baby was born... and they are on the verge of a nervous breakdown because they just want 1 hour of uninterrupted sleep-FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

Poor Matthew.

I thought I would post this picture just to reassure you all that Matthew is hot... at least 30% of the time. Thank God for that!


Earrings Are The Cause Of Most 5-Year-Old Nightmares... Trust Me

I need to write a book. I need to write a book for every woman who is about to give birth. I need to write a book for every woman who is about to give birth to a baby girl. In this book there will be one chapter. In this one chapter there will be one main thought... one sentence even. It will read:

Under No Circumstances should you pierce your daughter's ears if she is below the age of 25. EVER!

The end.

I bet it is a best seller. Women all over the world will thank me. If a book like this was published when I was pregnant with Emma I would have read it and avoided getting her ears pierced 8 short weeks ago. That is the day that I sold my soul to the cashier at Claire's and my future as the world's greatest mom came to a screeching halt.

Yesterday while I was getting Emma ready for the day, I somehow, accidentally ripped one of her earrings from her little ear. It is not my fault that she has an abnormally large head and the size 5 princess pj's that she was wearing has to be pulled and tugged in order to get it off each morning. She started screaming instantly-not a "OW" type of scream, but a scream that would make Wes Craven wet his pants.

I could not have her walking around with just one earring so the ripped out earring had to be put back into the little hole in her ear that just had a earring ripped out of it. I promised her it wouldn't hurt a bit... even though the ripping of the earring hurt her so much that she felt the need to let the people in Kansas know by the volume of her scream.

It took me 20 minutes to convince her to let me look at her ear. Another 20 minutes to convince her to let me clean her ear with the ear hole cleaner that the skinny little cashier at Claire's sold me... and then it took me another 20 minutes to get my hearing back after Emma screamed even louder from the obvious pain that putting the ear cleaner (which is apparently 100% Satan oil) on her little ear.

I cannot delve any deeper into this story because it involves kicking, crying, thoughts of tying up a child, and even bribery. In the end... Emma had only one earring in and I was pissed off that my husband is deployed. How do you like them apples?

It took me 2o minutes to try and convince her to let me take out the earring that she had left in her other ear because it became crystal clear that I would never, ever be able to get another earring into that ear again.

After 20 minutes, Emma refused to let me take out the other earring so I did something that I am not proud of. I held her down and ripped it out of her ear. OK-calm down... I didn't "rip" it out. I was actually amazed at my steady hands and my cat-like reflexes when it came to dodging flailing arms and getting that earring out in one second flat.

Disaster averted and it only took a moment for me to decide to never let this little girl get her ears pierced again. Well, a moment and 2 hours of screaming... a moment, 2 hours of screaming, and 8 weeks of waiting for the holes to form so that changing her earrings wouldn't hurt... a moment, 2 hours of screaming, 8 weeks of waiting for the holes to form and $47 for the ears to be pierced in the first place.

But the mother-daughter bonding moment we were able to share was priceless. Friggen priceless.


What's A Little Political Humor Amongst Friends...

If NBC calls... I have no idea where I got this clip.


My Daughter Is Dating... Please Send Money For My Bail

Today I read this:

DELTONA, Fla. - An angry Deltona father whacked his teenage daughter's boyfriend with a metal pipe after finding the boy naked in his daughter's room. Authorities say the father, 45, didn't even know his daughter had a boyfriend or that the youngster had been sneaking into the home for more than a year.
He heard noises coming from his daughter's bedroom Thursday morning and saw a stranger standing naked on the girl's bed, he swung a metal pipe. He then chased the teen out the front door and called police.
The boy was taken to the hospital where doctors closed a head wound with staples.
The father was charged with aggravated battery on a child and bonded out on $10,000.

The father was charged with aggravated battery and bonded out on $10,000???? Huh? Let me get this straight... If I hear something in my house and I go to investigate and I find a naked person jumping on a bed in my house, I am not supposed to go Rambo on their butt? I am not supposed to whack them over the head with a metal pipe? What about a baseball bat? Can I hit them with a baseball bat? Better yet, what about a gun? Can I shoot the naked person who is jumping on a bed in my house if I don't know who they are?

I guess not.

Do you know what would have happened if my father caught this kind of activity going on in my house when my sisters and I were growing up? My father would not have hit the boy over the head, no, he would have strangled the boy and then hit us over the head. We would have never seen the light of day ever again. We would still be in our rooms today, locked away from perverted boys and bad influences. We would eventually be on the news when we finally were able to emerge from our bedrooms at the age of 45 squinting at the sunlight and saying things like "What do you mean Scott Baio is 45 and Single?" and "Now let me get this straight, you can carry around your telephone in your back pocket and talk to anyone around the world for $29.99 a month?"

Parents don't stand a chance today. You can't even bring the shotgun out and threaten a teenager anymore... they'll call the police and you'll be in jail and the teenage boy will be out with your teenage daughter trying to convince her that he loves her and can't live without her... blah blah blah.

They don't scare me... little punks.


Ahhh, Young Love... It Cost So Damn Much

When Carl and I were first married I was a working woman. I had a yob. I had money honey. Not a lot... but it was money. Soon we became pregnant and Carl and I made the decision that I would stay home with our children.

About a year into that decision, Carl started questioning my spending habits. "Why did you spend $45 at Target? Do we really need to buy toys for the baby? How come you bought 3 pair of socks? The baby can only wear one pair at a time... just do more laundry. Diapers? What ever happened to cloth ones that you rinse out in the toilet and scrub by hand?"

Eventually I started to crave having my own money again... or rather money to contribute to the household. I thought it would help with Carl's budget worries if I got a j.o.b.

So I got a job at Target... I figured that I spent most of my time and money there, I may as well work there. I went through the training and came home with my schedule. I posted it on the fridge and said "See! I contribute! I matter! I can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan and never let you forget that you're a man!"

My first day I quit. I realized that I didn't want to leave my home with my child and go to work. I remembered the decision that my husband and I made and went to him and said "Listen Bubba... I ain't workin. Now go buy me some Bonbons so I can watch my stories on the television."

He said "You are right! I am so sorry I ever complained about money. You are the wisest woman in the world. Thank you for pointing out my weaknesses."

Not really, but if you remember, Carl cannot get my blog in the Middle Eastern country that he is in so he can't really dispute anything I say on here... so I am sticking to my story.

In the end I took over the checkbook and Carl stopped questioning why we had to buy diapers for our baby. And we all lived happily every after... The end.

You may be wondering why I am telling you this story. Well... my little sister has been married for two years now and she is getting tired of explaining to her husband that she does in fact NEED feminine hygiene products and NO, she is not going to use rags like our Grandmother did... so she has become a Avon Lady.

Avon Calling! So here is her web site. Go on it, support my sister and her Maxi Pad buying habits so she can feel a little power... so she can bring home a little bacon... so she can make money and look good doing it... so she can say "honey, do you need money? I have some and can spot you a 20 if you would like."


on-line shopping... I bet a smart woman thought of that!


Did She Just Say She Wanted To Prance Around In A Thong???

"OK-that is it! I have had it! I cannot stand myself one more day!" That is what I said to myself this morning when I climbed out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror. I keep giving myself excuses for looking the way I do... I just had a baby 16 months ago, I have four children, my husband just deployed for a year, there is still beer in the fridge so I better drink it, that family size bag of Doritos is not going to eat itself, I talked to my mother-in-law today... I deserve a pint of ice cream!

So today is the day. Today is the day that I start taking care of myself... I hope.

After I dropped off Emma at gymnastics, I ran to Borders to find a book that would help me start taking care of myself. I thought for a brief second that I could have gone to the gym while she was at her class, or I could have even gone for a walk... but I had already showered and even put on make up so I didn't want to have to shower again and re-apply make up. This is going to have to be gradual... working out on my first day of self-loathing would only cause more self-loathing and sore muscles.

While at Borders I browsed the fitness section. I could get these extra 10 lbs off by belly dancing, line dancing, yoga, power yoga, Pilate's, lifting weights, running, walking, spinning, and even stripper pole-dancing. Blech... I want to shed these last few pounds but not that badly. The thought of lifting weights makes me want to barf and I have made it a life policy that I will only run if I am being chased by someone who is wearing a face mask and violently wielding a knife.

A friend of mine teaches Boot Camp here in our hometown. She tried to convince me to come, but I would have to wake up before Christ Himself and on the first day she makes you run a mile while she times you. That alone made me want to never speak to her again for the rest of my life. I could not imagine having to run a mile. First of all, my uterus would fall out and I would pee myself, not to mention the jiggling that would occur and the sheer embarrassment of it all. No thanks.

I picked up a book today that is the answer to my prayers. It is going to make me skinny I just know it! I opened the inside cover to Skinny Bitch and this is what I found:

Are you sick and tired of being fat? Good. If you can't take one more day of self-loathing, you're ready to get skinny. You don't need a degree in biology to get skinny. You don't need to starve yourself to get skinny. You don't need to spend all day at the gym to get skinny. You just need to smarten up and use your head. Really. It is that simple. We have been so brainwashed by fad diets, magazine articles, and advertising that we have forgotten how to think for ourselves.

Skinny Bitch delivers the truth about food, so that you can make intelligent and educated decisions for yourself. This knowledge will empower you to become a skinny bitch.

This is not a diet. This is a way of life. A way to enjoy food. A way to feel healthy, clean, energized and pure. It's time to reclaim your mind and body. It's time to strut your skinny ass down the street like you're in an episode of Charlie's Angels with some really cool song playing in the background. It's time to prance around in a thong like you rule the world. It's time to get skinny.

Boy I'll tell ya... that was exactly what I needed to hear! That was the pep talk of all pep talks. They had me hooked and at the cash register when they said I could prance around in a thong like I rule the world!

They are talking about footwear right? Anyway... wish me luck!


This May Be What Heaven Is Like...

Has anyone ever been to a Red Robin?

Yesterday was my first time and let me just say... I think I'm in love.

First of all... they had televisions everywhere playing football. Heaven.

Secondly... the burgers are the size of Rhode Island (I mean, it was as if I was holding Rhode Island with all of it's Rhode Islanders in my hands preparing to eat them all). People have told me in the past that I have a big mouth, but I think I may have sprained my jaw opening my mouth so big to eat the darn thing. I didn't even have one of the specialty burgers-like the one with the kitchen sink on top. I am a center line type of eater... I don't stray to far away from normal. Cheeseburger-yes, Cheeseburger with goat cheese, onion rings, confetti and frog legs-no.

Lastly... their fries come in a "bottomless basket." When the waiter told me that, I could have swore I heard my hips get wider and my butt add a few cellulite dents to it. These aren't your regular skinny, greasy fries either... these are steak fries, with a really yummy seasoning salt on top that cries out for you to throw your manners aside and suck on every last one of your fingers after each bite just to get every bit of salt that you can. Who cares about water gain... these are BOTTOMLESS FRIES!

After leaving I told the kids how much I loved of this place. I praised it as if Jesus himself were our waiter... and they give you a balloon when you leave!

Then I told them that we are NEVER coming back!

How Red Robin expects me to stay my normal 10lbs overweight is beyond me. If I made Red Robin a regular in our eating circle, I would be 50lbs. overweight by Christmas. The bottomless fries alone would cause me to have to ride around in a motorized cart at Target.

Oh the injustice of it all... when two lovers are forced to be separated for the greater good of humanity.

It Makes Me All Happy Inside...

That's right. We won. Uh-huh. So what if we lost 19 months ago to you Payton Manning... we won tonight. Uh-huh. Can you see my happy dance?

Mr. Manning... it looks like you need to stop eating so many Oreos.


Thems Fightin' Words...

I made the decision long ago when I started this blog that I would not talk politics. I know who I am going to vote for, I know who I believe will be the best leader for our country. This may not be the same person that you think is the best choice. Politics are something that I take very seriously... you never know, I may be Vice President one day.

Anyway... I have been standing by my decision to leave Politics off of my blog until I saw this:

"I'm not one of these fair weather fans,'' the junior senator from Illinois and presumptive presidential nominee of the Democratic Party explained. "You go to Wrigley Field, you have a beer, beautiful people up there. People aren't watching the game. It's not serious. White Sox, that's baseball. Southside."

That is Barack Obama talking about my beloved Cubbies, or rather, he was talking about ME as I am a Cubbie fan... in good times and bad. I go to the games to watch when they win and when they lose. I take it very seriously.

Too bad he is a Sox fan, I mean, I used to have a cousin that was a White Sox fan... we removed him from our family and he has not been heard of since (Irish Catholics don't fool around.)

One more thing... I think this White Sox fan throws like a wimp. My five-year old daughter can toss out a ball with more strength. My Grandma-a Cubbie's fan-could toss out a ball harder than him... and she is dead!

I'm just sayin'

But I'm not talking about Politics here, I am just mentioning a person who happens to be running for President. I am not discussing his policies, I am discussing his shortcomings as a White Sox fan.



Curse You Mother Nature...

It was a sad sad day yesterday. Aaron has baseball practice at the city park every Wednesday night. This park has everything to offer... baseball and softball fields, tennis courts, playgrounds, duck pond, swimming pool, go-cart course, bowling alley, skateboarding ramps, and yes... sand volleyball pits.

Every Wednesday when I drive by to take Aaron to play ball, there has always been a group of men playing on the sand volleyball pit. It is always hot so these guys all have their shirts off. I'm sorry, but I could not help but look... you would too!

I always forget that they will be there until I am pleasantly surprised each Wednesday when I turn the corner onto a little path and there they are, in all their glory, sweating and shirtless, playing volleyball. It is the little things in life that make me happy.

Well, yesterday was a little chilly and when I turned the corner I was not greeted by my usual Top Gun scenario. No, I was greeted by just a bunch of guys in sweatpants and t-shirts playing an ordinary game of sand volleyball. Big stinkin' deal.

I hope we get an Indian Summer this year-one that will bring warm breezes and pleasant sunshine. One that will force the men who are playing sand volleyball to remove their shirts and play the game the way God intended it to be played. That is all I ask.


Yo Quiero Taco Bell

Hope's Spanish teacher called this morning. It seems I have robbed my children of being able to ever succeed in the good ol' USofA. I did not teach my daughter Spanish... I taught her Latin.

She is 3 years behind her peers in her Spanish class. Her Spanish teacher says that she needs to catch up or she will have a really hard time once she gets into high school.

I tried to get a few brownie points for Hope by pointing out that her father is half Puerto Rican, making Hope a Quarter Rican... but the Spanish teacher did not think I was funny.

Please respond in Spanish only for your comments. I am taking the cold turkey approach to learning Spanish. grassy ass.


Where For Art Thou Romeo?

This really does suck you know. Sure, sure, I am supposed to be the strong military wife that we all like to imagine. The one who can handle everything that comes her way while her better half is on the other side of the world. Sounds romantic doesn't it? The strong wife keeping things afloat at home while her soldier is fighting for those less fortunate? Well... it isn't.

Today was a bad day. The kids are making me go crazy. Seriously... crazy. The older two cannot say a kind word to one another if you paid them. If she says the sky is blue he says it is a aqua hue. If he says he brushed his teeth, she pretends to pass out from the smell of his breath. If she says that she needs another bottle of acne cream, he falls over laughing and pointing at her. I was tempted to put duct tape over their mouths earlier... I would have too if I could have found the duct tape, but all I could find was Hello Kitty band-aids. They weren't even waterproof.

The 5 year old has decided to be a dog for the past few days... a dog that has just had a litter of puppies and is lactating. That is right. She lays on her side and "attaches" little stuffed puppies to her tummy and says she is feeding them. She also pretends to go potty outside when I let the "real" dog in the house out. What are the neighbors thinking? At least she isn't barking at people. My friend's daughter used to bark at me when I would say hello to her. "Hi Susie, how are you today?" "Ruff Ruff" "Nice dog Susie."

The baby is teething, which means she has a runny nose and slobbers all over everything she is wearing. I can't really complain about her though because she is a baby and that trumps anything bad that can be going on. One look at her and I melt-thank God for babies.

It does not help that I feel so disconnected from my husband. 15-20 minute phone calls every other day are just not hacking it. I mean, I am a woman who likes to speak her 25,000 allotted words a day and now I have no one to listen to my theories on why I think Angelina Jolie eats only cottage cheese and laxatives and how the speed limit should be raised 10 mph if you have to go to the bathroom really bad. I cornered the mailman the other day and started telling him a story about unclogging my son's toilet until I realized he was slowly backing away from me and trying to slide into his little square mailman car.

We have tried to IM (that is "instant message" for all of you readers out there who only come on-line to read my blog and check the weather) but he will be knocked off -line every 30 seconds or so and after I have written a small novel about life out here I will realize that it is all one-sided and he hasn't gotten any of it.

So if I start writing blogs about the water bill or what I am going to cook for dinner, just understand it is because I am in need of an outlet other than BBC's "You Are What You Eat."

I miss my husband... not just because it is lonely at night, but because I don't have anyone to listen to me talk. Oh, and because he used to hang up all of the clothes that I throw on the floor of our closet and now I can't even see the floor and I have nothing to wear. It would be nice to have the bathroom trash emptied as well... and my bedside table lamp light bulb has burned out and now I have to turn the bright 100W overhead light on... and my van needs gas.

*Big Sigh*