6 Months Today...

A Baby is God's opinion that life should go on...

~Carl Sandburg

I Didn't Know We Were On Strike...

I am not going to do a post today because apparently there is a writers strike going on. I wish someone would have told me.

I have figured out my list of demands:

1. Oprah needs to call me. I have mentioned her name several times on this blog and she has yet to compensate me.
2. Britney Spears owes me money too... but that was for a dance I did on MTV with her.
3. Bill Gates owes me a few posts due to Microsoft errors that have caused perfectly good and brilliant moments of clarity to be lost forever.

That is all... I will see you rot in hell before I bow down to the demands of the blog world.

Oh who am I kidding... I will be back tomorrow. I have too much to do today (laundry, dishes, dusting, toilet scrubbing.)

You know what, scratch everything I said. I just want someone to teach my children how to put their shoes in the closet instead of in front of the door so that I trip and fall each and every mother loving time I walk in this house. I will write forever if you can give me that.

See you at the negotiations table my friend.

Thanks, But No Thanks... Really.

Something happened last night that has never happened in my 17 years of being with my husband...

Someone hit on my husband when I was sitting smack dab next to him!

I am not blind or stupid, I am aware of the fact that my husband is freakin' hot, but I did not know how to react to the type of attention he was getting.

I have to tell you that I have had other women flirt and chat with my husband whilst I am around. They get no where with him and they usually end up with my foot up their ass...

But this time it was different. This time it was our WAITER!

We sit down at a table at one of our favorite eating establishments and are greeted by the waiter. "Hi, my name is Dave, I'll be your server tonight." I looked up and realized that we have had Dave wait on us before, so I mention this. "Oh, hello. We have had you for our waiter before." To which he replies, "I know... I recognize him." And he looked at my husband with a sort of Ooohh La La feel about it. He then proceeded to sit down across from us (because we were sitting next to each other, not because we were being romantic, but because we were at a Sport's Bar and the Oklahoma game was only on the TV in front of us. It we had sat across from each other one of us would not be able to see the game.) Anyway, Dave sits down across from us, well, more across from my husband than from me, and he puts his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his two hands gazing at my husband.

My eyes must have been as big as saucers and my husband suddenly became very uncomfortable.

He offered to tell us the specials, but I was afraid of the specials so I cut him off and sent him on his way.

I think my husband did the best he could to make it clear that he was not interested. He guzzled beer, cursed, burped 7 times, farted 3 times and yelled "HERE'S TO HONOR!" and smacked me on the rear and called me "woman" as we were leaving.

After that display of manliness I can see why poor Dave was so turned on by him. He is pretty irresistible.

Don't Tell Anyone You Are My Mother...

Emma goes to preschool three afternoons a week. This is a very good thing for her as she can run and play and hold other little girl's hands and do something on her own without being in the shadows of her older brother and sister.

This is also a very good thing for me because I get to miss her a little bit. It is hard to miss a little person when they are with you 24/7 and they ask you things like "Mommy, why is your butt so big?" or "Mommy can I have a snack/drink/toy/pot of gold?"

I truly do miss her while she is gone and I am very excited to see her when I pick her up. At her preschool they do not want all of the moms traipsing in and out of the building asking question, looking at art work, or even making suggestions like "My Timmy is ready for multiplication. Do you think you could introduce multiplication to the preschoolers... somewhere between wiping their own butts and blowing their noses on a tissue and not on their arm?" Instead, all of the moms get to stay in their minivans and line up waiting for their child to come out to the car with a teacher and off you drive, never having to compete with the other preschool moms for the best parent award in the hallway.

Each day when I pick Emma up I am very animated with my greeting. I happily sing "HI EMMA! DID YOU HAVE FUN? I MISSED YOU! I AM SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU!"

I am a good parent and I want the teacher putting Emma in my car to recognize this. I imagine her walking away from my car thinking "Goodness that June Cleaver is such a good mom-look at how thrilled she is to see her precious child. She is a shining example for moms everywhere."

Well... the jig is up. Emma called me out on my "phony" greetings.

She told me I needed to stop being so happy to see her. Basically she said I needed to take a chill-pill. Then she made me practice my greeting to her so that it was to her satisfaction. Now I am only allowed to say "hey Em, how ya doin'" Just like that.

It was a sad sad day let me tell you. It was the day that I knew might one day come, but I didn't think it would come so soon. It was the day that I realized I am an embarrassment to my child.

I remember when I was a kid my mom was gong to chaperon a school field trip. I was horrified! The night before I made my mother go through her entire closet in order to pick out an outfit that would not embarrass me. You have to understand that for most of my childhood my mother wore two different pair of pants, one was a purple polyester pair with diamonds all over them and the other was a green polyester pair with brown stripes. My mom suffered from the same disorder that I suffer from... the one where your children suck your checkbook dry of all funds and therefore you have to walk around looking like an idiot in 14 year old jeans and a sweatshirt that you wore in college.

I would like to publicly apologize to my mother right now. I am sorry. Sorry for being a brat and thinking you weren't cool. Oh, and I am also sorry that I told you that you looked like a nerd the last time I saw you in those brown pants that you wear that are too short although I think you may think they are supposed to fit that way. They are not. Sorry for making fun of your hair too for those few years where you thought you would grow it out a bit... it didn't look good and I was only trying to help. I am really sorry for making fun of your eyebrows as well. They do need to be shaped... and not with a razor like you like to do it but with some hot wax and tweezers. Sorry...

Lord help me... my children are exactly like me. The only consolation I have is knowing one day Emma's child will look at her and say "Mother, please drop me off at the corner... and do you really think that blue eyeshadow looks good on you?"

Poo Happens, And It Happened All Over Me Today...

When I was a kid, my mom used cloth diapers on us all. I was seven when my little sister was born so I vividly remember my mom rinsing out poopie diapers in the toilet. She used to say that she was going to get nice long fingernails because of all dirty diapers fertilizing her hands.

My nails should be in the Guinness Book of World Records by now.

Today I had a plan, and as most moms know, when you have a plan... nothing is going to work out. I had told my older two that when little Emma was at preschool today I was going to take them to the MALL and buy new SHOES! This is very exciting to Hope, and to Aaron, this is code for "We are going to the MALL and buy PRETZELS!"

We spent the entire morning preparing for our trip to the mall. School was completed, the house was cleaned (OK, so the cleaning lady was cleaning the house... so what) children were bathed, the checkbook was balanced and we were ready!

As we were driving to the mall I started to smell something. I did a fart check (WHO FARTED?) to which no one claimed responsibility, so I knew it was the baby.

We pulled into the mall parking lot and I pulled Mary Claire out of her car seat to change her real fast before heading into the building where they sell new shoes and soft pretzels and discovered that she had a blow out.

This was not typical blow out where there is a little poo on her pants, no, this was an ginormous blow out. There was poo up her back, up her belly, down her legs, on her shirt, her pants, her jacket and her car seat. Oddly enough, there was more poo on the outside of her diaper than there was inside of it!

I searched the baby bag for more clothes and all I had was a tank top of Emma's, a summer dress for Mary Claire, a tampon and Kleenex.

What kind of mother am I???

I briefly considered stripping her naked and putting the dirty diaper back on her considering the diaper was about the closest thing to clean I had, but I just could not talk myself into putting a poopie diaper BACK ON my child, even though my options were scarce. I decided to strip her naked and wrap her in the towel I use to sit on. Why do I sit on a towel you ask? Because we have leather seats and I just don't like hot seats in the summer and cold seats in the winter... and because I have given birth 4 times and I may on occasion tinkle a little when I cough, sneeze, or laugh.

So, my day of money spending was brought to a screeching halt and I ended up rinsing poo out of clothes, off of car seats and out of a baby's hair. I had to give her a poopie bath in my newly cleaned tub and I had to change my own clothes because you know as well as I do that I was not getting out of this poopie situation without getting poo all over me as well!

My life is so glamorous that sometimes I just have to pinch myself!

Only The Strong Will Survive...

My kids weighed their Halloween bags this morning. They each received about 5 lbs. in candy.

If I were to eat all 5 lbs. of that candy I would somehow fall into a deep deep coma and gain 25 lbs.

If my children eat all 5 lbs. of that candy (and believe me, they will) they will be so hyper that they'll run around and bounce up and down and sing silly songs constantly and will ultimately end up losing 3 lbs.

Yet another blow to my dieting psyche.

Homeschooling

Aaron (doing his spelling): "Mom, what is a four-letter word that begins with Sh?"

Me: "Shit"

Aaron: "Can I really write that down?"

Missing: One Frumpy Dumpy Mom

This morning I woke up earlier than usual. I was able to not only shower, but I dried my hair... with an actual hair dryer. I was able to pick out an outfit to wear... and not the usual jeans and sweatshirt. I was able to put make up on... more than just a wave or seven of mascara. I was able to curl my hair... which took so long that now I know why I stopped and I was even able to brush my teeth before lunch!

My son walked down and saw me in the kitchen making omelets and looking all supermodel-ish and he said to me...

"Who are you pretending to be for Halloween mom?"

Your worst nightmare kid... your worst nightmare~!

Grocery List: Candy, Beer, Candy, and more Beer.

Halloween for my son is so much different than Halloween for my daughters.

The girls always want to be something sweet and fun like a cowgirl, a princess, a ballerina, or an exotic dancer from De Ja' Vu.

My son always wants to be something with blood and guts dripping off of him.

This year Emma is going as a cowgirl/Cinderella. She could not decide which she wanted to be more so we just morphed the two costumes together. Now she looks like the cowboy from the Village People. Hope was going to be a 1920's Flapper Girl, but decided to be a Bears Fan instead. She even went to the orthodontist and had the colors on her braces changed to blue and orange for this costume.

Aaron is going to be an executioner. He has the mask, the black robe (which incidentally was his Priest robe for the All Saint's Day party this past Sunday... talk about an oxymoron!) and he has a big plastic ax to carry around. He always needs an accessory.

I am going to be a drunken housewife. I love Halloween!

Who Pee'd In Your Cheerios? Oh Wait... That Was Me.

My husband somehow ended up in a very bad mood Friday night. This mood may or may not have come about because of something that I may or may not have said/done. I would tell you what I did or did not do but this post is not about me... it is about my foul mooded husband.

Anyway, this bad mood followed my husband around all weekend long, so in turn, everyone in the house had to bow down to him and treat him like a King (a very unfair and unpopular King) in order to survive this bad mood of his.

When I am in a bad mood, no one cares. The kids don't go out of their way to make my mood happier and my husband usually just says "What in the world is wrong with you!" As if me being in a bad mood is somehow ruining his moment and therefore I am very selfish. How dare I.

By Saturday afternoon I let my husband know that I thought he had let this bad mood of his linger long enough and it was time for him to get over it and move on. I even insisted that he give me a kiss. My kisses usually will pop my husband out of his bad mood and put him into a horny one... which is not necessarily what I want, but having a horny husband is much better than having a bad mood husband, unless of course his horniness is rejected and then I run the risk of having a husband in a worse mood than what I started with. Men are such complicated creatures.

When my kisses did not work I knew I was in for a long weekend. A weekend of chores, cooking, watching Army movies, helping hold the hammer or screwdriver and eventually black lace. *Big Sigh*

The kids knew that this foul mood meant that they were in for a weekend full of "Clean your room!" "Rake the leaves!" "Why are you watching TV?" "Who's plate is this on the counter?" and the such...

At one point I walked into the family room and found both Aaron and Hope watching TV. I warned them that their father was on his way into the house and if he saw them sitting around and not doing something "constructive" that they would be in for "it." As the words were still lingering in the air, the door started to open. Aaron and Hope made a mad dash for the kitchen only to collide into each other and fall to the floor. Hope jumped up and went to help Aaron but he yelled "Save yourself! Just GO!" My husband walked into the family room and looked at Aaron and said, "Why are you lounging on the floor? Go chop wood until I tell you to stop!"

Aaron looked to me to help get him out of the situation but all I could think of was the time when I was a kid and we were going on vacation. My dad was always in a bad mood when we were going on vacation. I am not sure if it was the packing of the car or the constant license plate game that set him off, but he was always cranky. On this one vacation, we kids started to complain in the back seat. Things like "she is looking at me!" and "Why do I have to sit on the hump?" were heard. When my dad stopped for gas and got out of the car my mother turned around and said "Listen up! I am doing the best I can to make HIM happy, you, I don't care if you are happy or not!"

Having a husband in a bad mood is much like having a black bear living in your house. You can never tell if they are going to be calm and just sniff your campground, or if they are going to slash open your tent and rip your head off. The only difference between my husband and a black bear is that to get the bear under control you have to tranquilize it and helicopter it 100 miles away, with my husband, you don't need to put him in a helicopter.

Thank God for tranquilizer guns.