Where'd Kelly Go???? THERE SHE IS!

Hi.

It's weird to be back. It's been a long, crazy summer, but nothing remotely as exciting as that sounds. I think I may be on my way back to finding me. The last couple of days haven't seemed quite as difficult. I don't feel AS tired, AS beat down, AS (insert negative adjective here) as I have. The ol' demons resurfaced for a while, and although they're still around, I'm doing much better at knocking them off my shoulders and not listening to their diatribe about how awful things are and how awful I am. I've got a lot of work to do, and I may take this forum as a way to get some things out of my system and maybe even some feedback, but I want to find me and my sense of humor and my love of life again.

Things are... interesting. I'm now living in Kansas, working, doing the geographical single mom thing, because we decided that we needed to be closer to family to get some extra support with Quinn. Hubs is still doing his Army thing (and doing it well - I am so proud of him), but we know that Quinn needs stability and family in order for him to succeed. Speaking of the little bugger - he started preschool on 20 September. PRESCHOOL. I'm dying. The days go by so fast it's obscene.

Violet decided right before she went to her mom's for the summer that she wanted to try school there this year, so she is in Arizona. Things are going well for her, and while I miss her, I'm excited for her.

My life today sure isn't what I had anticipated, but it's what I've got. And with a little help from my friends, I think I got this.

In where I am a complete hypocrite.

Fucking commercials. (I know, we've been over this.) I have to tell you something. I bought something SOLELY on the commercial. OH MY GOD MY SHOULDERS ARE SO LIGHT RIGHT NOW!

You will usually find me kvetching about the crap they advertise on TV, or more so that the commercials are crap, and what douchenugget CEO signed off on THAT to promote their product? I mean, the majority of commercials could have been written by my two year old and been loads more effective and entertaining. Er, no offense to any advertising folks out there. Actually, total offense. If you are responsible for shit like the TaxMasters, J.G. Wentworth, 1-800 I have mesothelioma or a transvaginal mesh because my uterus fell out and I want a lawyer commercials - you, sir, are an asshole. OH MY GOD MY SHOULDERS ARE EVEN LIGHTER! I DID NOT KNOW THAT WAS POSSIBLE! WHOO!

Anyway, so I bought something just because of the commercial. Not even really because of the commercial, but because of the ridiculously catchy ditty they sing. It is so catchy, in fact, that even the Preteen sings it when it comes on, and we have actions for it. Yep, I'm talking about Miller 64. (I know, I totally named dropped in the hope that someone will read this and send me a shit ton of free beer. I ain't too proud to beg, y'all.) THAT COMMERCIAL WORMED ITS WAY INTO MY BRAIN AND MADE ME BUY THE BEER! And yes, I hummed the song in the beer aisle, and did the actions - which consist of swinging my arm back and forth in front of me, pretending I'm holding a big ass mug of brewski. (I also have no shame.)

PS - I like the beer. But there's not many I don't like. And the fact that it's only 64 calories per bottle just means I can eat more Nutella, since evidently it's not good for you?! W.T.F.

Blog? Blog? Wherefore Art Thou, Blog?

My other blog, documenting this adventure/journey/whatever you want to call it - LIFE, is here: http://www.stillmyquinn.wordpress.com. Sorry, Blogger, you're kind of bitchy lately, and if you don't watch it, I may move this one over there, too.

Thanks to Brett for giving me the push I needed to share it. There are scores of Autism blogs out there, and if anyone has any suggestions of must-reads, help a sistah out, yo.

This is not a mirage. It is an actual post.

Hey peeps. I need to apologize for my absence. I'm going to try my best to be around more often, but I lost my funny for a while - still not sure if it's back - and I didn't want to be Debbie Downer and harsh any melons with my depression. Because that is exactly what it was, and is (and will continue to be), compounded by the news that my beautiful, ornery boy has been diagnosed with Autism.  I'm going to address that journey in another blog, and I will post the link here later if anyone is interested. That will be where I get real - real mad, real sad, real proud, real everything. If you don't want to stop by, because really, it will be a roulette of emotions over there, don't feel obligated. If you want to join me and my family on this Autism adventure, please join me. I would love suggestions and advice. Celebrate successes and reassess what needs to be done differently with us, but do not feel sorry for us. All that has changed in our lives is a line on Q's medical chart, some extra appointments, and some new people in our lives. I am of the school of thought that a diagnosis is not a label, not a box to put my kid in, but a tool to help us help him be the most that he can be. And I can pretty much guarantee that this boy will teach me more than I will ever teach him.

I'm not going to lie and tell you that my heart doesn't hurt. It does. There are moments I feel absolutely broken. And then I look at him. And like the Grinch, my heart grows three sizes. And I remember why I wanted to be a mother so badly. Because every second I get to spend with that boy makes life worth living. Every smile, every frown, every flap, squeak, stomp, and squawk - it's what makes him Quinn. And I wouldn't trade a minute of it. Ever.

Thanks. Oh, and I love you guys.
<3

Questions I need answered

A lot of shit bugs me. Like people who use alot instead of a lot (MOM.). Therefore, I've compiled a list of seemingly innocent questions that have not been answered in my 35 years on this planet. If you know the answer, please enlighten me. As always, points for creativity.

1. Who decided exactly what a serving size of cereal is? 3/4 of a cup ain't cutting it, people.
2. Why do kids who wear diapers poop within 5 minutes of having a clean, dry, perfect diaper put on?
3. Why do dogs need to go back out within five minutes of coming in?
4. Why must said dogs also start barking 10 minutes after the smallest child is in bed?
5. Why does it always rain the hardest right when I need to get in or out of my car?
6. Why do all rental properties have carpets that can be stained when you spill something like water on them?
7. Why do dogs cropdust? As ugly as their farts are, you'd think they'd at least own them.
8. Why did Nick Jr. take off my kid's favorite show? (To make me miserable, obvs.)
9. Why can't any of the maintenance guys/cable guys/etc. who are dispatched to our house be hot? (I can't put UPS/FedEx on this list - their drivers are so elusive, I've never seen them. I'm pretty sure they just yell "wingardium leviosa" and fly my shit from their truck.)
10. Why can't the people in my house put shit IN the trash can rather than on the counter ABOVE it.

Unfortunately, there's many more, but a dog just barfed in the middle of my oh-so-pristine living room carpet, so that takes precedence. Looking forward to the answers...

Karma in action, episode 1

*Our story begins last night during dinner. After staring at me for several minutes with a WTF look on his face, Hubs decides to speak:

Hubs: Kelly, you really need to start taking better care of your stuff! You have a huge scratch on your glasses!

Me: *disgruntled stinkeye/pretends to not hear him, while thinking, "Oh fuck right off, are you my dad???*

*Fast forward to 0453 this morning. Phone rings. It is Hubs.

Hubs: Could you look in the garage/driveway to see if there's a pair of socks out there? They aren't in the car, and I had stuck my iPod in it.

Me: Sure. Let me go get the flashlight.

...
...
...


Me: There's nothing here. Maybe you should take better care of your stuff?

BOOM.

Where's the sign up sheet for straitjacket fittings?

Yay, a post! In bullet format. Because I'm too tired and lazy today for a proper introduction. Or a complete sentence, it appears. I'll discuss my absence from ye olde blog later. Oh yay! A complete sentence! Uh...

Thoughts as of late:

• I wonder if some nighttime Triaminic accidentally got into someone's applesauce if he'd actually take a nap today.
• Dog, one of your balls is bigger than the other. How do I know this? They're on my leg. FUCK! YOUR BALLS ARE ON MY LEG! GETEMOFF! GETEMOFF! 
• I wish it would snow.
• I think my power animal is a sloth.
• I ate enough at lunch to feed Oprah's school in wherever for a, well, meal?
• I'd really like to get paid to tweet. I can promote something! How about the phone number for Binder and Binder? Or Taxmasters? Or the transvaginal mesh and mesothelioma lawyers? 
• I could really use a cabana boy to fan me and bring me fruity drinks today. 
• You'd think by now Febreze could create a formula that could cover the smell of both dog and grown man ass.
• I am officially addicted to Nutella. And that dark chocolate peanut butter I found at Publix. Holy Manna From Supermarket.
• The seat coolers in my car trick me into thinking I peed my pants.
• I want my husband to experience back labor for just one day.
• My son discovered, much to his chagrin, that the dog's nose does not honk like mommy's.
• Whoever decided to give Toodles on MMCH a voice should die a thousand deaths.
• ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK GO KU!!!

Winter, you ignorant slut.

Would it have killed you to show up for a little while this year? Let me tell you what your selfishness resulted in, mmkay? Mmmkay.

1. None of the critters around here hibernated. Therefore, my dogs were ape shit stupid all winter. Also? The amount of roadkill was ridiculous, and continues to be so. Last time I checked, I lived IN town, so I'm not sure how a deer was hit near my house. You gave these creatures a false sense of security, Winter. All these deaths are your fault.
2. Since none of the critters around here hibernated, they took the time to not only heckle my pets, but to get busy having the secks. And the secks means not A baby, no no no... but LITTERS OF CRITTERS. Bob Barker can talk about spaying and neutering all he wants to, but have you ever tried to neuter a squirrel? Didn't think so.
3. It is entirely too early in the year to be forced to wear summer clothing. People be pasty and ashy, yo. Also? You can't wear white before Easter - AND YOU KNOW THIS. 
4. You probably fucked up the space-time continuum. 
5. My vehicle was painted white by Ford Motor Co. Thanks to you, it is now yellow with pollen. NOT OKAY. If I wanted a yellow Expedition, that's what I would have gotten. No, no I wouldn't. I could have bought a school bus instead.
6. Because of the "very high pollen count", I am forced to keep my kids inside, which makes me stabby. Thanks for taking away my "me time", Winter.
7. I blame the tornadoes on you and your bitchassness.
8. You're fired, whore. I might as well move to somewhere you don't exist, like Florida. And yep, I'll blame my frizzy afro and greasy skin on you, too. Have a nice day.

Ten years ago yesterday...

My brother and sis-in-law got married. Happy Anniversary, you crazy kids! It was lovely. It was one of the last family events that my grandparents were able to attend together and enjoy. It was also a family event in which I fell down a flight of stairs and ended up in the emergency room and high on pain meds and missed the party.

On this St. Patrick's Day, I hope the luck o'the Irish is on my side and I can keep my klutziness (yeah, it's a word, Blogger, kindly erase your red squiggly line.) in check. I made it through yesterday relatively unscathed...


May love and laughter light your days,
and warm your heart and home.
May good and faithful friends be yours,
wherever you may roam.
May peace and plenty bless your world
with joy that long endures.
May all life's passing seasons
bring the best to you and yours! 

My Last Will and Testament

I have decided that one can die from being tired. Physically tired, mentally tired, emotionally tired, tired of bullshit, tired of crappy reality TV (HELLO, Bachelor?), tired of lack of sunshine, tired of toddlers playing in the slobbery dog bowl, tired of cleaning up dog barf and hearing said dog barf, tired of snotty attitudes, tired of the same mess magically appearing milliseconds after you cleaned it up... Do I really need to go on? I didn't think so. Anyway, I figure that since it seems I'm sprouting new sparkly hair on my head every 30 seconds, I should probably write my will since I'll look 90 by this weekend.

So, without further adieu, The Last Will and Testament of Kelly Jo Rhoades:

I, Kelly Jo Rhoades, (yeah, my middle name is Jo, shut up) being of not even close to sound mind or healthy body, do declare the following should occur upon my passing from being fucking tired:

To my loving children: There are only about three things in this house that are worth anything. It might be best to call the guys from American Pickers (you know, since they have a store in Nashville now), and see what they'd be willing to give you. And NO, my Bon Jovi/Aerosmith/Poison/Journey CDs do NOT count as antiques.

To my darling husband: I hope you have a grand time spending my life insurance money. Please make sure my eptitaph reads: "Here lies Kelly, beloved wife and mother. She's saving seats for her friends." Also, please spend the money (read: hide it in an off shore island account) before Sallie Mae comes a'knockin'.

To my beloved dogs: Let's be real. I'm not a crazy pet person who leaves shit in their will to their pets, no matter how much they're loved.

To Sallie Mae/Direct Loans/Nelnet: I wish you good luck, motherfuckers! And no, I didn't fake my own death to get out of paying back my loans, although I have contemplated it. Just kidding. Maybe.

Electronically signed this 13th of March, 2012,
Kelly

Shit that gave me the giggles this week.

I've had kind of a bleh week. I guess that's what happens when you're afflicted by the plague. Combine that with arguing with The Preteen about the fact that there is no way in hell she brushed her teeth this morning while she lied to my face, I needed to go back and look at stuff I've seen this week on The Internet to give me some laughs. That, and I decided booze before noon, even though it's Friday, wouldn't be the smartest idea. See, I'm showing responsibility! Yay me! Uh...

Anyway, these are a combination of new this week and ones I have had for a while, but they all made me laugh. Happy Friday, peeps - I hope you laugh too.

First of all, who doesn't love Gene Wilder? B) I seriously laughed my ass off. Not that 18 year olds can't have outstanding political points, and I admire the passion, I just remember what were my priorities when I was 18, and it certainly wasn't political agendas or damning the man.

This needs no caption. Nice legs, POTUS. Those heels are workin' those calves!

This is precisely why I don't have cats. Well, not precisely why. If it was precisely why, that cat wouldn't have shredded toilet paper, but pissed on a couch.

This is why I have children.

HAAAH!  

It is written, it is written indeed.

Right? Boppin' field mice on the head is bad juju, Foo Foo.

Your mom jokes bring me such joy.

I might have peed my pants a little when I saw this. Thanks, childbirth.

Happy Friday! I hope everyone has a fantastic weekend! We're supposedly going to a car show. There'd better be beer, or I might have to run to REI and buy a tent and occupy the shit out off it. xoxoxo

Blame this post on Twitter. Sad turns to mad, which turns to action.

NCIS is one of my favorite shows, even though I'm super behind in the series. The story lines are usually great, the cast is superb, and can Gibbs and DiNozzo get any sexier? I think not. But really, Abby is the reason I watch. It is so refreshing and inspiring to see a strong female character breaking barriers. Abby is smart, stubborn, fiercely loving and lovable, and loyal to a fault. She's real. I just love her to pieces. AND, thanks to the interwebs and the twitter, I am able to learn more about the actress that plays her, Pauley Perrette.

Pauley has been all over twitter this morning sharing facts about stalking, as she has a stalker who has been harassing (for lack of a better word) her to the point where she is ready to leave the country. And due to stalking laws, not much can be done. Pauley relies on her faith, her fiance, and her strength to get her through. Insanely admirable.

I cannot fathom what it is like to attempt to sleep at night knowing you are the object of someone's obsession. I mean, I've been through some crap in my short life, stuff that I tend to relive, but they were isolated incidents that screwed me up some. Being in a situation that is constant, whether it be stalking, domestic violence, sexual harassment, etc. - my mind, heart, and stomach hurt for them. Living through an isolated incident - you have the choice whether to be a victim or to survive. A lingering situation does not give you that freedom.

Today is International Women's Day. Learn something today. Educate someone else. Hug your daughters and your sisters and your mothers. Teach your daughters and your nieces to be strong, vibrant, independent women who know their self-worth.

This seems a little scattered, and I must say that I do not claim that only women deal with these situations - I know better - but I just needed to say something, as my life has changed a little bit this morning. All because of the twitter.

I really need to find my funny again.

I'm so calling it in today.

We don't have school today because the school is a voting site, so I took the opportunity to take some pictures of what our house looks like on a day off from school. For those of you who saw them on Facebook, you will look at them again! And marvel at the cuteness of my children! And the disaster area known as my living room.

Shit everywhere, cartoons on, a screaming boy, and a girl with a bucket on her head. Life at my house.

This dog is large. My kid is two seconds from collapsing the basket in this picture. He survived.

Take one more fucking picture of me and I'll slowly get up and walk away because I don't move very fast and I wouldn't hurt a fly.

I'll patiently wait for you to get the clothes basket off your butt  so you can get up and feed me. "I'm watching Wizards of Waverly Place. You've got a good 23 minutes to wait."

TIMMMMMMMBBBBBEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRR!!

I AM THE COMMANDER OF THIS OPERATION. REMEMBER THIS, OR I PITY THA FOO!

Mom is so going to show this picture when I get a girfriend. And when I graduate. And when I get married, isn't she? Yep. Yep I am.

DO MY BIDDING, MINION! (I'm so glad you're home today.)

After a short intermission, we will return you to your regularly scheduled program of yelling, throwing, wrasslin', and other boy stuff.

Sissy, did you know you have a bucket on your head? AND THAT I WANTED TO SIT HERE?

Annnnnnnnnnnd, it's nap time. 

Thank heavens.

Parenting at it's finest - Take 1

It has come to my attention that we (read: me) have been somewhat slacking on the consistency part of parenting lately. Now, don't get me wrong, Hubs doesn't even know the meaning of consistent (bless him), but I've come to the conclusion that picking my battles helps with my anxiety and chills me the fuck out a little bit.  That being said, the following is a list of things that I probably should work a little harder on with my children lest they become feral and I have to let them out into the wild:

• Allowing The Preteen to watch Hubs play Zombie Island or some shit on the xbox where they use choice phrases as "they all a bunch of dead zombie muthafuckas" and "fucking fuck we gwine die!" She loves watching her dad play video games, but this should probably cease and desist, even though she says "Mom, I know not to use those words. Besides, I hear them on the bus anyway." /facepalm
• Letting Captain Awesome crawl on and sit/stand on the coffee table. Seriously, he gets up there every five minutes, and if I ignore it, he eventually gets down...
• Deciding fig newtons and popcorn are acceptable meals.
• Pajamas are the new daywear.
• I've left the front door unlocked and found him in the front yard waving at cars.
• The toy room looks like a nuclear bomb site - always. I see no point in picking it up because it will be trashed in seconds after he wakes up.
• Nick Jr (who I am really pissed off at for getting rid of Moose and Zee AND Jack's Big Music Show) and Disney Junior (who our fucking crappy cable company will not get the Disney Junior Channel, the fucking Nazis) have been teaching him more than I have.
• I have threatened to UPS both of them to Zimbabwe lately more times than I'd like to admit.

On the other hand...

• I just sat through Justin Bieber: Never Say Never because I love The Preteen so much.
• I watch Backyardigans ad nauseum because I love Captain Awesome so much.
• I fucking love pajamas.
• My kids are loved, borderline spoiled rotten, and are the moon to my sun. 

Now excuse me while I go yell at one to rebrush her teeth and smother her with kisses, and then peek on my angel boy sleeping and hope I don't stub my toe on all the crap on his floor. 

She should have stabbed me. It would have hurt less.

Today, oh today... you had such promise. I got up early to shower and make 30 lbs of sloppy joes for a fundraiser - I planned to load up the car, go feed some soldiers, load everything back up, unpack, clean the area-formerly-known-as-a-kitchen-but-looks-like-a-bomb-range, get the kiddo down for a nap, and relax until big kid gets off the bus.

HOWEVER.

Today, for the most part went well.  We made $300, to my surprise - I didn't think we had served that many - all my volunteers PLUS some showed up (YAY AND I LOVE YOU!), and Quinn did really well. I even saw a few people I knew, and got to know some of the spouses better, which was great. Until.

Until this beast of a woman, upon seeing Quinn, asks him "What's your disability?" Being thoroughly confused, I said "He has none." To which she replied, "Oh, well, he looks just like my cousin who has Down's Syndrome."

Do not misread me. Had I a child with any sort of disability, I would love that child with everything I am, just like I do The Preteen and Captain Awesome. In fact, as you all know, I have concerns that Quinners might fall on the autism spectrum and am in the works to get him evaluated.  This is not so I can take him back and get a new kid. It is so I can get him all the services he needs and deserves.

That being said, the words she spoke to me, so matter-of-factly, cut me so deeply that I can't really even explain. I have no idea who this woman was, but she totally owned me and my feelings with a few words. I don't even know what I said to her. I think it might have been "Oh." What do you say to that? If I didn't have my hands full of 2.5 year old, my hands might have subconsciously went to her throat.

I am having a hard time identifying the emotions that are coursing through me because of a SENTENCE. I'm not exactly mad, not exactly sad, just upset and hurt.

My little boy is fucking awesome, and disability or no, he has my heart in his little hand. I have always said I would walk through fire for my children, and I couldn't even respond to this woman. But looking back, I'm not sure I needed to.

My heart just feels broken. I think I need to go snuggle my Quinners. Talk to you tomorrow.

Adventures in Multitasking

Sweet mother, I wish that I would be able to complete the tasks I need to in a reasonable amount of time without something getting grade A screwed up. Case in point:

Tomorrow, I have a fundraiser for our Family Readiness Group (FRG: comprised of spouses of your soldier's company to get out information, support each other, etc.). We are feeding soldiers. Cool, right? Well, I am making 200ish brownies and 30 lbs of sloppy joes - WHICH my dumb ass forgot to buy buns for - TODAY. Needless to say, I'm in the middle of a pretty good project. Which means my eyes aren't on my toddler constantly. Which would explain how I didn't notice him crawl onto the table, open my laptop, pull half the keys off, throw a couple down the vent, and feed the rest to the dog.

That led to a barfing dog. Got the keys back, anyway... unusable, but at least they came out of his mouth so I wouldn't have to go treasure hunting in the backyard.

He also ate a wooden block. Which he barfed in my room.  It doesn't even faze me anymore. I'm not sure what that says about me.  Also, if you were wondering, Captain Awesome found everything hysterical.  Little shit.  :)

Misty, you shouldn't have.

Misty, of Misty's Laws fame has tagged me as one of three people she wants to know more about!  I am flattered and a little nervous, and now I wonder if she's not following me around with her ninja photog skills trying to catch me at Walmart in my jammies... but here's the deal:  I have to share three things about me, and then pick three bloggers who I want to know more about!  Should be easy, right?  Not so much.  I can think of three things, but narrowing down three people who I want to know more about is insanely difficult.  But, because I should have done this days ago, I'm going to pick.  Right now.  Well, after I put my three things.  Circular much?  Geez.





So, without further adieu (maybe, probably not, I have a hard time getting to the point this week):

1.  I love to cook.  I like taking recipes and tweaking them (read: I don't measure shit) to make them my own/accommodate the pickyish eaters in my house.  There's only been a couple of things they could have lived without, but when I get a resounding "nom nom nom" from the peeps at my table, it brings me joy.  I do not, however, enjoy cleaning up said mess.  But that's what I have kids for, right?  Right.

2.  Reading is a life source.  I mean, I love my husband and kids and dogs and other family members, but reading has been my escape for so long from so much, I cannot imagine a world without books in it.  I read anything and everything, so please pass on your favorites!  Don't bother asking me to pick my three favorite books.  It is impossible.  What three books would I bring to a deserted island?  My kindle, duh.  

3.  I was born in the wrong era.  I'm not a fan of today's music in the slightest.  I think the 70s and 90s channels were made for me.  No, I'm not wishing I was back in high school, I just love me some hair bands.  I think Woodstock would have made my entire life.  And my dream car?  --->  I want one so bad.  

Now, on to the best part - I want to know more about these incredibly talented bloggers!  These people make me laugh, make me think, and make me want to have them over for beers and Wii bowling.

1. Johi of Confessions of a Cornfed Girl.  Not only does she have the coolest name ever, and the view from her porch is of the majesty that is Colorado, her storytelling makes me want to move to Fort Collins.  Because if I do, maybe I can get Lyle Lovett's doppelganger's autograph.
2. Hoody Hoo.  Even though I know all about her pancreas and her ham-stealing cat, I'm sure there's stuff I don't know that I really need to.  Plus?  She's hilarious.
3. Bill at The Authentic Life.  I'm expecting good stuff here, because I just started reading him, and I don't know much yet, but what I do know, I like.  A lot.  I also liked that I remembered to put a space in between a and lot, because they're two separate words.  And that is my PSA for the day.

Misty, thank you for picking me! 

Conversations with inanimate objects: The pacifier edition.

Captain Awesome is two.  Captain Awesome is ornery. The dipshits who built the house we live in did not tack down the vents, which they put in the FLOOR. Hence, the vents are rarely covered in this house because Captain Awesome finds great joy in taking them and putting them in random places around the house, like on the toilet seat. (I really wish I would have taken a picture of that.) He also delights in throwing shit down said vents, and thanks to my Go-Go-Gadget arms, I have been able to retrieve all items.  Until last night...

*Camera pans to small child, giggling evilly, while lifting vent out of floor.  He puts the vent to the side, and attempts to crawl into space.  Frustrated at his failure, he grabs the closest thing he can reach, his pacifier.  After contemplating said pacifer, he throws it into the depths of the vent, not unlike the dude on Beastmaster throwing shit on the pyre, assuming his mother will come to the rescue...


Me:  Seriously?  Leave the vent alone, and quit throwing things down there you want to keep, because someday they'll go too far down for me to reach!

C.A.:  *cheesy grin*

Me:  *shoves arm down vent up to the shoulder, bravely braving what creepy crawlies may or may not live in said vent*  SEE?!?!?  I CAN'T REACH IT!  IT'S GONE FOREVER!

C.A.: *sits on dog*


Me: *puts face near vent*  Hey little pacifer, it's okay.  I'm so sorry he did this to you.  I know it's dark down there.  Are you alright?  Do you need a night light?  REACH FOR ME!  No?  Okay.  You may like it down there, actually.  I bet it's quiet.  And now he can't throw you, or chew on you, and neither can the dog.  Maybe I should join you down there.  I like quiet.  Can I get you anything?  Are you giving me the silent treatment?  I miss you.  He's going to miss you.  I'd say he's sorry, but I'm not so sure he is.  Is there anything else down there to keep you company?  You know, like a random Lego or spiders?  Because pacifier, if there are spiders, I expect you to go all dragon-slayer on their asses, because I am not having spiders in the house.  Are you even listening to me?  You're probably on some Pacifier Indiana Jones adventure, while I look like a complete fuckstick talking into a vent.  Maybe your adventure is more Goonie-ish.  I hope you know how to play the piano, or your pretty much fucked.  If you find One Eyed Willie, will you bring me back some sparkly things?  I like sparkly things.  Well, both of my kids and the dogs are staring at me now, so I should maybe fix dinner or something.  But I'll be back tomorrow.  You're not alone, I promise.  Nai-nai.

*If anyone wondered before this post whether or not I needed help, I think the answer is now clear.

Oh, Internet... Quit making me be so serious.

You know, we all are flawed people.  There is no such thing as a perfect human being; we may have been made in His image, but He also granted us free will, therein allowing us to screw up all over the place.  Learn something, humans!  Yeah, about that...

I can pinpoint the minute my self-esteem took a nose-dive. I was in fifth grade. My Violet is in the fifth grade. Don't think I don't stare at that pink elephant every day. I do. And I'm trying my damnedest to make sure that that girl knows her self-worth.  Luckily for her, being a member of this society, she is thin, and absolutely beautiful. I was chubby with bad hair, not great clothes, and I was the new kid at school. May I remind you that Kelly rhymes with jelly and belly? Hence, the little masons inside started bricking up those walls at lightening speed, starting at age TEN.

I look at photos of myself at age 17 and wonder why I hated myself so much. I look at me now, and my flaws and imperfections - they're ME.  This body has walked an unknown number of miles, brought life into this world, danced, ran through sprinklers, felt the power of a horse beneath it - how quick we are to call babies miracles, yet forget that we are walking ones ourselves?

Learning to find the beauty in ourselves for those of us who truly don't believe the compliments we've been/are given is a daunting task - like trying to climb up an icy hill with high heels on.  Over the past few days, at the age of 35, I've realized the skies are finally parting for me and I'm finally starting to get it.  Starting to truly understand that I am a person who deserves to be happy and to be proud of herself and to not get all Stuart Smalley on y'all, but dammit, I am good people.  I have an amazing family who raised me right, yet despite that, in my 20s, I got dealt a pile of shit. But now? I am going to slam these bones down and yell, "DOMINO, MOTHERFUCKER!", because for the first time in my life, I feel how I've wanted to feel for years - strong, determined, loved, able, and willing - not meek, tattered, and broken. These demons will be exorcised.

I think I just had a Towanda moment.  I am in need of a viking helmet.

In other news, I think my uterus has gone rogue.

I'm not even remotely kidding.  Every time we start talking about having another baby, my uterus responds with something that could kind of be described as shards of glass trying to escape from inside my lower abdomen.  It makes me stabby, to say the least.  Now, Dear Uterus is not throwing the hissy fit from hell because we want to expand the brood, she's just throwing her weight around and being quite the asshole because she can.  She's really probably still pissed off that she got sliced into when Captain Awesome was born.  I've tried to explain it to her that I really didn't enjoy it either, but shit is always about HER.  Whatever, Uterus.  You just wait until I elect to have you vacated permanently.  I thank you for bringing my son to full-term, and I'll thank you in advance for the child I hope we have sooner rather than later, but soon you'll be out of a job.  Don't worry about unemployment.  It's straight to retirement for you.

Sorry dudes, this was overly girly and probably gross, but eh, such is life.

I really could benefit from buying stock in Advil as much as I've consumed this weekend.  And Yuengling, for that matter...  Happy Three Day Weekend!  A Monday with no alarm clock almost makes today better. :)

I didn't die.

Yesterday was my first 5K, and I did not expire!  I perspired, though.  I also contemplated crying because I was pretty proud of myself.  Captain Awesome WAS awesome about it, until it was over and then he was more than ready to go home, as he was pretty pissy about getting up that early and being strapped in a stroller all morning.  It was an excellent experience, one I am ready to do again, but not today.  Probably not tomorrow, either.  But soon.  I'm going to start over C25K in the hopes that I can extend the amount of time I run/jog versus walking.

Most important to my heart, we did this as a family, and really became each other's cheerleaders.  Violet has the build to be a long-distance runner, and it is my hope that she finds a love in running, since other sports really haven't gotten her attention yet.  I didn't say I love to run, but it feels good to have a challenge and complete it, and I want to be healthier and more fit, because like I've said before, if I get thinner, I have to buy new clothes, and shopping - well, according to some of my girls, that's a sport all it's own.

But for now, I need more coffee, and ibuprofen.  Lots and lots of ibuprofen...

Wrap Up.

I just haven't had much to write about this week.  I'm getting sick (AGAIN. BOO.) which makes me grouchy because tomorrow is my very first 5K.  So today I'm going to this running store that makes you run on the treadmill so they can see how your feet strike the ground and decide what is the best shoe for you.  This just blows my mind.  Technology is rad.  Then it's back to the house to put together the jogging stroller.  I think I'll just leave the house and let Hubs handle that.  Because even though I CAN do it, and could probably do it faster and without hassle (since I would read the directions), he gets all pissy when I try to do "man stuff" when he's home.

The best part of this 5K is that I get to "carb overload" tonight.  I am not exactly sure what that means, but since carbs and I are lovahs, I'm sure it will be an incredibly pleasant experience.  I'll be back tomorrow to discuss the race, should I live through it.  Right now, I should probably go to legalzoom.com and write up a quick will in case I don't make it out alive...

Roses are red, chocolates are sweet...

I bit the bullet and decided to tweet!  If you want to, you can follow me @kellbellrhoades!  I'm sure I'll be full of amazing wisdom over there.  *snort*

Also, my Facebook page is http://www.facebook.com/kellyrhoades.  I like friends.  Come ovah.  I'll make coffee and monkey bread.

Self-love. And not the kind that you're thinking of. Pervert.

Okay, so it's Valentine's Day.  Yahoo?  And being the scattered mom that I am, it appears I'm raising scattered kids, because we both forgot to make amazing Valentines go to Target and buy some amazing Valentines for her class.  Derp?  Yes.  So we'll go tonight and say oops, and she can hand them out tomorrow.  Day late = story of my life.  I highly doubt the world will stop spinning because we forgot valentines.

Anyway, that has nothing to do with my thoughts for today, but I felt I needed to share it, because it was probably the least stupid thing I've done in a while.  Fact.

I was thinking to myself this morning, "Self? Why is it that you don't think you are as fantastic as your dogs and toddler do?"  I assume they think I'm fantastic because none of them this week can get close enough to me without surgical attachment. Either I'm really fucking fabulous, or it's because I feed them.  One or the other.

Unconditional love appears to be so easy for small children and animals.  I say small children, because as you know, I live with a preteen, and don't lie to yourself - their love is TOTALLY conditional.  I don't think I need to provide examples, just think back to when you were in 5th/6th grade and how you felt about your parents. See?  Toldja.  I really don't want to talk much more about animals, because then you know fucking Sarah McLachlan will show up on TV and:

Seriously.  I can't listen to that fucking song without wanting to go adopt ninety bazillion dogs. And then since I can't, I feel like the world's biggest asshole for not.  Fuck you, Sarah.  I bet you only have one dog.  I have two.  I win.

Before I digress even further, I just want to say that I think Valentine's Day is stupid.  If you don't care enough to tell the people you love you love them more than once a year, you should get a big fuck off because you're an asshole, plain and simple.  So, since I try to make a point to tell the people in my life how much they mean to me as often as possible, I'm going to take Valentine's Day to take care of me, because no matter what my demons say, I'm a good person - I kind of have to be, otherwise I wouldn't have so many kick ass people in my life.  And when I say take care of me, it will be in the five minutes I have to spare after the house is clean, kids are fed and bathed, dogs are fed and bathed, dinner is made, cleaned up, and put away, and... okay.  Maybe it won't happen today.  But it will, dammit.  It will.  ;)

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.  Don't forget to take care of yourself while you're taking care of everyone else.  Because you know you are.

A change'll do ya good...

In a minute, after I'm done typing this, I'm going to get off my ass and go sweat.  I've been slacking hard in this arena lately, and enough is enough.  (that, and I have 8 days until my first 5K - which I'm walking, but still...)  I've proven to myself that even though a snuggly fleece blanket and a pint of Ben and Jerry's is comforting (and really appealing right now), the sense of accomplishment I'll feel after I'm done will trump the sugar crash that is inevitable.

Besides, the UPS guy brought me goodies in the mail today, consisting of some new shower stuff, so the hope is that after I sweat my proverbial balls off that my new stuff will make me want to never leave my shower.  I got a whole bunch of stuff (thank you, tax refund!), and almost all of it I've never tried before, so I'll have to let you know if I got winner winner chicken dinner or if I smell like a cheap hooker after I'm done.

Happy Friday, everyone!  I hope that this good feeling continues.  I've been a little mood swingy the past week or so, and I'm hoping it's behind me, because right now I'm excited to get my shit together and do something that will not only make me feel good, but might result in having to buy new clothes one of these days.  Shopping = GOOD.

You know, just in case your kid has rabies...or something...

This morning, I made the trek to post to re-register the kiddos for child and youth services.  This sounds like not a big deal, until I tell you that I didn't have an appointment so if anyone had an appointment, or was XYZ type people and they walked in after me, I'd get bumped to the back of the line.  WHICH, is why I was there for two and a half hours for a 10 minute thing to verify all my information was correct.  I don't mind, honest - bump me all you want to - just not when my kid is being a complete asshat.  Fortunately, they're used to this, and I was able to avoid the dirty looks from the other people (whose kids weren't being exactly saints either, thankyouverymuch), and bide my time with my nose stuck in my Kindle until they finally called my name.

I needed to get the kids back in the system so I can use the hourly daycare.  What?  Go drop Q off and go somewhere ALONE?  Yes, please.  Anyway, I have a training on Monday, so I needed to get my butt out there and get shit figured out, otherwise I'd be up shit creek without a paddle, and have to cancel on Monday.  So I get all the paperwork figured out, filled out, and kind of proudly, since I remembered to bring shit like their SSNs and whatnot.... and then I realized I didn't have their medical paperwork.  No big deal, the lady says, just have your doctor fax it.  AWESOME!  Thanks!  ... And then, she says... "Really, we just need the immunizations for Q.  you know, if he would bite someone."

Evidently vampire children are frowned upon in this establishment.  Bella and Edward would be screwed.

Let's Do The Time Warp Againnnnnnnn...

I've always thought it interesting that one time span can simultaneously go by super fast and excruciatingly slow.  Today, five years ago, I married my Hubs.  It was a crazy week that included "yes, you're getting married", "no, you're not getting married", "you're deploying on Friday.  No, Tuesday.  No, Thursday.  No, Friday.  Friday.  Promise."  And then it ended up being Saturday.  Anyone you know get married on a Thursday?  Now you do.  Me.

You see, Hubs and I decided to tie the knot pre-deployment rather than post because Violet was going to be staying with me.  By myself.  With a just-turned-six year old.  Not only was my love headed to a war zone, I had to figure out how to be a single parent, and figure it out now.  She had been staying with us a whole three weeks at this point.  We were in a routine.  We meaning the three of us.  Now shit was going to change.  Single parent. Single disciplinarian. Feeling like I didn't know my ass from my elbow.  And I didn't.  But we made it up as we went along, waiting not-so-patiently for calls from Daddy.  Those calls and webcam chats were so special - she got time with her dad, and I got some reassurance that he was okay and that he thought I wasn't screwing up his kid.

The last five years have been full of laughter and tears and worries and heartache, moving and meeting people and saying goodbye, finding where the commissary and PX and Walmart and Target and Starbucks are, looking for jobs, having a baby, being a stay-at-home mom, volunteering, being homesick, enjoying new adventures, finding myself and losing myself and finding myself again, being insanely proud of my Soldier and becoming even more of a patriot.  There have been times I've questioned choosing this life, but no matter how hard and stressful and less-than-perfect it may be, I know in my heart I am where I am supposed to be.

I love you, Hubs.  It's been a crazy ride.  I can't wait to see what is around the next corner for us.

Happy One Year Closer To Being A Teenager, Dear Daughter...

Yep, today is The Preteen's birthday.  She's 11.  She scored Just Dance Wii games, an iPod shuffle, some DS games, and some other random stuff, and that was just from us.  Hopefully the stuff from her mom comes on time, (read: TODAY), but I'm not going to hold my breath.  Not because I'm bitter towards her, she's just never on time.  Ever.  But that's not what this post is about.  Violet's currently eating a breakfast of cinnamon toast crunch and brownies.  I thought maybe she'd request waffles when I asked her what she wanted, but nope - cereal and brownies.  A child after my own heart.  She also requested a little Storage Wars before the bus gets here.  How can I say no?

As much crap as I give her (and she gives me), I cut my parenting teeth on her, and I can only hope she's not too scarred from it.  She has been a trooper over the past five years and change, as I have played the game of trial and error with her.  There have been loads of tears as well as laughter, lots of second-guessing on my part, trying my best to not take her mom's place yet raise her as though she were my own.  It's been incredibly hard, incredibly joyful, has made me consider divorce more times than I'd like to admit, and has been beyond satisfying in so many regards.  I love her to the moon and back, and I can only hope one day that she realizes that all I've done has been for her benefit; that all the times she got her way and didn't were because I love her.  That, and I don't want her to be a spoiled brat.

Happy Birthday, Violet.  I love you, punkin butt.

Mom Jitters.

I hate the internet sometimes.  Even though it's brought me some of my closest friends, it also makes me obsess like nobody's business.

Enter diagnostic tools that you can do yourself.  I'm not talking about WebMD - because we all know WebMD thinks everyone and their mother is dying - but things like the M-CHAT, which stands for Modified Checklist for Autism in Toddlers.  It's a list of 23 questions, and if your answers coincide with three or more, it suggests your child is at risk for being autistic.  Captain Awesome hit four.

Now, I know, I know... just shut up and quit worrying, but it makes my stomach hurt.  I've been wondering about this for a while, actually.  And not that it makes a difference, it's just, aw hell.  I just needed to tell someone.

Thanks for the ear.  I hope everyone has a great weekend, whether you're footballin' it up or just planning on shoving food down your face.  xoxoxo!

I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, dee lee dee dee dee...

There they are a'standin' in a row... Sorry, we're watching The Lion King this morning, and it's stuck in my head.  I love that movie!  Jeremy Irons is the best badass, and I love Mr. Bean.  Which reminds me, I saw this on Pinterest yesterday, and it requires sharing:

This might make me the biggest geek alive, but this just brings me unexplainable joy.

I really don't have much to talk about this morning.  Last night was kind of hectic, Captain Awesome was NOT awesome - he had a hard time staying asleep last night.  Not in pain not staying asleep, more like "I'm gonna throw all my shit out of my bed and then holler until someone comes and gives it back to me and THEN after you leave I'm going to cry like you just abandoned me at Walmart on the bad side of town and really, I know how to dial 911 and I will call CPS on you if you don't come snuggle with me for half an hour while I play with your hair and try to simultaneously pick your nose and put my pacifier in your mouth."  This happened twice.  Before 3 am.  And then Hubs' alarm went off at 330... and then at 5, again with the party, so I decided to bring him in bed with me because I couldn't see straight.  Biggest. Mistake. Of. My. Life.  This is why I don't co-sleep - he was all over everywhere, and I'm fairly certain four or five of my internal organs are shredded.  So back to bed he went, which started the CPS threats again... and then it was time to get up.  

Fast forward to now, when both dogs want to come in but are giant mudballs due to the swamp that is my backyard (and maybe a little bit of digging?  Sampson?  Care to weigh in on the topic, pal?  Since you've got mud up to your armpits? Does anyone else consider those armpits on dogs even though dogs don't have "arms"?) so I bring them in, refuse to bathe them because the next time they go out it will be the same fucking thing, and now Sampson is humping the Backyardigans couch like he's got something to prove.

I think I need more coffee.  Happy Thursday!

State Testing Mini Rant That Will Probably Turn Into A Maxi Rant, But Not A Maxi Pad, Just To Be Clear...

OKAY.  This effing state testing thing is just for the danged birds.  Today, The Preteen has the writing portion of the test, and she is freaking out BECAUSE, if they score a 5 or a 6, they've been promised a party.  Okay, I'm all about having a party, but can you wait until after shit is over with to celebrate instead of putting pressure on the kids to perform?  They actually FILMED A SCHOOL COMMERCIAL to play before the test this morning on how to relax and "YOU CAN DO IT!" and shit.  I'm just kind of flabbergasted about the whole deal.

Now, state testing is nothing new to this family - in second grade, her teacher told the class that they "had to do really really good or the school wouldn't get any money from the state."  Are you KIDDING me?

This teaching to the test thing is repulsive.  So is requiring Kindergarteners to be able to tie their shoes, know the alphabet, and be able to count to infinity before enrollment.  I could read before Kindergarten, but that's because Sesame Street was my babysitter.  I just think it's bullshit that preschool is becoming a prerequisite rather than an option.  We probably will do a year of preschool, just to ensure that I'm not raising a feral child (sometimes I wonder), but I just don't think it's NECESSARY.  Kindergarten is supposed to be about ABCs, 123s, paint smocks, snacks, and naps.  Fifth grade is about learning how to be a complete snot to your parents, insisting they're stupid, and doing math that your parents didn't do until college.

Ugh.  This was a rambly mess, but geezopete... It kind of makes me want to homeschool.  But then I'd never get to do THEBUSISHERE!!!!!!!!!!! happy dance.  And I live for that moment, yo.

Super Bowl Goodies Mean I Fast Until Sunday...

Oh my goodness, y'all - we're throwing a Super Bowl party this year, and I am so excited!  Not so much to scrub my house like the Queen is coming over, but to cook all sorts of deliciousness for our guests.  And there had better be leftovers, dammit.  You think I kid?  Don't think I won't hide something in the laundry room...

I don't have pictures to post, as I am not The Pioneer Woman, although if Ree were to invite me over to hang out, I'd probably have to change my pants I'd be so excited.  I love her to pieces, and well, she's just brilliant.  And I would love to have Charlie and Walter move in.  Basset Hounds make the world go 'round.  It's true.

Anyway...  I'm going to have big kids and little kids at this partay (hey, ho), so I needed to have my menu be somewhat little-kid friendly (there's always pb and j or mac and cheese should all else fail).  I asked The Preteen what she wanted to have, and her only request be that there be pickles available.  So I suppose I really can't screw this up too badly.

Appetizers:

Ugly Dip
Reuben Dip w/Rye Bread
Buffalo Chicken Dip
Beer Cheese Dip
A shit ton of tortilla chips
Veggie Tray
Cheese/Crackers

Real(?) Food:
Ham and Swiss sliders
BBQ meatballs and Lil' Smokies

Desserty Type Noms:
Red Velvet Gooey Butter Cookies (THAT'S WHAT'S UP!)
Football brownies

I think that pretty much covers it.  If you're dying to know the recipes, let me know.  I'm sure I stole them from someone sometime, but they've been in my kitchen for so long, eff the copyright. ;)

Maybe I should actually buy real food that only my family is going to eat too on this trip...

Direct deposited tax refunds complete me.

Okay, so since I didn't work this year (not by choice... well, kind of by choice, the only job I was granted an interview for wanted me to be on call 24/7 and with the kidlets and the Hubs' erratic work schedule, that's just not possible, so I had to decline), and with Hubs being deployed for half the year, our refund is enough to make me feel like I'm a kid and it's November and the JC Penney "Big Toy Book" just came out.  Yeah, I'm excited.

Of course, me being me - you know, practical and guilt-ridden - I'll pay off the little bit we have on the credit cards, the dogs need beds and shots, Violet needs new shoes, Quinn needs pants that actually cover his ankles, etc.  But THEN?  Oh, yes... it's all about frivolous retail therapy.  I'm shivering with anticipation.

Number 1 on the list - gym membership.  Paid a year in advance.  WUT?  Oh yes.  I know that I have exercise equipment upstairs that I'm learning to like (gasp!), but this way I'll actually get some adult interaction and not be forced to only use said equipment when Quinn is napping or down for the night, because they have daycare, yo!  ALSO?  They have this THEATER full of cardio equipment that you can use while you watch a fricking MOVIE.  Popcorn and soda not provided.  Sneak yours in at your own risk.  There may or may not be a pat down for smuggled-in Junior Mints.

TWO:  FINALLY (well not finally, it hasn't been that long, obviously since I'm not due for an upgrade yet), I'm getting a new phone!  One that won't get hot (as in battery melting hot) when I charge it or when it's just effing sitting there.  If I get cancer of the ear, let me tell you - I'm hiring Misty, and shit's going down.  So readers, I ask you, what phone can I not live without?  I currently run on Android, but I have mad love for Apple, I've never used a Windows phone - so educate me and tell me what phone you have, the pros and cons, and SELL IT.

C:  I think that Hubs and I are finally going to take a honeymoon this summer.  It will most likely be with the youngest in tow (Violet will be at her mom's), but still fun.  We're talking about going to Florida for a few days, get some sun, become bronzed, maybe Disney, not real sure yet.  What would be super great is if Quinn could go to my folks (or them here so I don't have to board the dogs, wink wink nudge nudge) so I can do nothing but sit in the sand with fruity concoctions for a few days.  Why Kelly, are you planning on spending your entire vacation shithoused if there are no children involved?  Yes, yes I am. Not only is it long overdue, it will helpfully let me forget that I'm not wearing much for clothes and I can enjoy myself.  Beach vacation + horrible body image = have to be drunk to relax.  Sad, but true.  Now where's that mai tai...

I'm so crafty, I invented a holiday.

Well, not really.  I'm letting Violet skip school today Violet has appointments all day.  We haven't seen Hubs since Sunday afternoon, and he finally made it home last night after a whole bunch of fuckery that required, well, I just get pissed when I think about it, so let's just say because of one person's fuck up, they all got punished.

Anyway, we decided that since she got straight A's (HOLLA!) that school wasn't necessary today.  And if the danged dogs didn't need to pee, I would have been able to sleep until 830!!!  Alas, I was up at 630.  At least I got to enjoy some coffee and TV that is NOT NickJr in relative silence.  I even got 30 minutes to ogle listen to Bill Hemmer this morning.  Yep, I watch Fox.  I'm moderately conservative, and well, really, I just can't stand the anchors on the other news channels, I hate GMA and Today, and don't get me started on our local channels.  This is where I'd talk about the wonderment that is KTLA and how much I miss the LA morning shows and how awesome it is to have weathermen with names like Dallas Raines and Lance Mountain, but I'd be digressing.

Wow.  Okay, so the whole point of this was to say that we're all home today, and feeling better, and are looking forward to a day of just hanging out with each other.  It's been a while.  I hope everyone has a great weekend - I'm hoping for some sun, since it's been a freaking week, and it's really wreaking havoc on my mood.

Also?  There's some red velvet cheesecake brownie swirl things on the agenda.  Yeah, I said it.

Wishes I wish that require a genie.

I wish my dogs' farts smelled like baked goods rather than rotten eggs.  I'm afraid the stench is being absorbed into every fiber in this house.  Permanently.

I wish The Jetsons' way of life was real.  Now.

I wish Merry Maids would show up.  For free.

I wish Mary Poppins would land in my backyard.  So I could shower whenever I felt like it, not just when the little one is caged asleep.

I wish I could snap my fingers and I'd be showered, coiffed, and presentable.  I desperately need a shower, but I don't have the energy.  And it's not even 8 am.  Sad.

I wish traveling by floo powder was an actual possibility.

I wish my Christmas decorations would take themselves down.  They'll be down by February.  I'm sure of it.  Maybe.

I wish it was time for an upgrade on my phone.

I wish I had something witty to share this morning.  Alas, I don't.  I'm kind of in a funk.  I wish I could find my funny.  It's probably hiding behind all the crap that needs cleaned in this house.  But no worries, I'm gonna make this place shiiiiiiiiiiiine like the top of the Chrysler Building!  And the sun will come out tomorrow, Amen.

Vagina = Virginia? It does in our house.

Last night, I had "THE TALK", and it didn't require pickling my liver afterwards!  Surprisingly, it went really well.  And, I found out that even though fifth graders sit in the back of the bus, there's no sexually inappropriate business (talk or actions) going on (prayer works, people!).  And I believe her, since A) she's a huge nark, and 2) she can't fake not knowing stuff like that.  I can read her like a book, which really pisses her off.  Heh.

Really, it was more about the girly business that is headed our way like a runaway freight train rather than the sex part, but since she FINALLY asked how babies are made, I told her.  And didn't even vomit in my mouth.  Not once.  Instead of giving a lecture, or reading off the Tampax website, I just answered her questions.

She did think that when I said "vagina" I said "Virginia", which led her to declare that her vag is now named after one of the 50 states.  It also led to a greatly needed laugh session, because a) who doesn't name their vagina, and II) nothing like busting up the potentially most awkward discussion of your life (besides telling your boyfriend you've got the herpies or the clap) with a good laugh.

DISCLAIMER:  My vagina does not have a name.  Nor will I be throwing any "WELCOME TO WOMANHOOD!" parties.  I do reserve the right to drink as though I'm throwing a frat house kegger once we're on the same cycle and PMSing at the same time.

My epitaph: She Was Fucking Tired.

Can you die from lack of sleep?  Because I think that's exactly what's going to happen today.  My insomnia is back (that's what happens when you run out of the good pills and your doctor recommends mela-fucking-tonin instead of a refill "just to see how it works") with a vengeance.  Okay, so I admit, I haven't exactly tried the melatonin yet, so I shouldn't rag on it.  Why haven't I tried it?  Well, I just got some yesterday (was kind of hoping the exercise would kick the not being able to fall asleep to the curb, but not so much), and when I was thinking about taking it, I remembered that we were to have severe weather late in the night.  Last thing I need is to be sleeping so soundly I don't hear Jim Cantone call me to tell me I'm about to be transported to Oz via tornado.  Turns out the phone did ring several times in the night due to various warnings and shit, but after watching the news, the hairy shit was southeast enough of us we'd thankfully be  missed.  (Keeping the families of the two who died in Alabama storms last night in our prayers.)

So bad weather over at about 0220 this morning, I crawl back in bed, get my covers back from the Hubs, and get into "my spot", and Captain Awesome lets out a blood-curdling scream.  Like "MOM I'M BEING ATTACKED BY MUTANT SCORPIONS" scream.  Turns out when you refuse to eat your dinner, you get a little hungry in the middle of the night. (NO WAY.) So a sippy cup of milk later, some snuggles, and it's back to bed for me, to realize in about 6 minutes THE FUCKING ALARM CLOCK is going to go off for Hubs to get to work at zero dark thirty.  Alarm goes off, he goes to work, cries ensue from Quinn's room, cries stop (molars are fucking KILLING me, y'all)... long story long, I fell asleep about 430.  To be up at 615 with a mastiff nose snuffling my face.

Such was my night.  All thoughts of being productive have gone out the window.  Bonus to all this malarkey is I finally got the hall closet cleaned out since it is our tornado shelter... but now I have to put all that shit back.  Balls.

I'd better take advantage of Quinn's naptime today and snooze myself because tonight?  I get to talk to The Preteen about periods and how babies are made.  I know you're insanely jealous.  Stay tuned, because the recap of tonight is sure to be full of embarrassing hilarity (read: I'm winging this shit.).

Eff today. Right in the ear.

I am so tired of us being sick!  As soon as one gets better, the other one gets it, and it is really wreaking havoc on my usual rainbows and unicorns shooting out of my ass mood.  Feverish little boys who don't sleep well but really want to play and get really ornery and their ears stop working require more coffee than I've consumed today so far.  Why haven't I had any coffee?  Because I've been busy cleaning up dumped out spit cups (THANK you, Hubs), cleaning up the above-mentioned feverish boy who thought "Oh lookie!  A puddle of goo for me to stomp, splatter, and sit in!", furiously mopping to keep said kid out of mess, pushing dogs aside rather unsuccessfully (since one got a mouthful), and then cleaning up dog barf from said mouthful.

THEN... Captain Not-So-Awesome, decided that it would be FUN to take off his diaper -which he had freshly filled with poop- and scatter it around the house.  Try keeping two dogs from eating turds, while getting a new diaper on the kid (cleaning up pee is NOT on my list of things I want to do today), trying to find all the poop, hoping none rolled into the heat vents, and eventually thinking "Well, we'll know when it starts to FUCKING REEK in here later..."

This sounds like I'm complaining.  I am.  I love being a mom and being able to stay at home with my kids, but mornings like this make me yearn for sitting in a boring-ass meeting with coffee that hasn't had a chance to get cold, or being on Facebook during work hours.  I know that soon this morning will be a hilarious memory, but right now it sucks.  And I'm out of booze.  AGAIN.

Here's to a calmer afternoon!  Have a great weekend!

I need minions. WHY DON'T I HAVE MINIONS???

Really, I don't neeeeeeeeeed minions.  I fricking WANT them.  Like right now, some of them would be folding the mountain of laundry and putting it away, some would be deep cleaning the kitchen (to include cleaning out the fridge - I haaaaaate that job), some would be scrubbing The Hubs' bathroom (because you can't pay me enough to clean that nasty ass germ factory - and no, I don't use it, therefore, I don't clean it), some would be going through all the shit in the garage that still needs gone through, some would be taking down the Christmas decorations that are still up, and most importantly...

SOME WOULD GO TO STARBUCKS FOR ME.  WHENEVER I WANTED THEM TO.  And they'd never need to ask what I wanted, because they're my fucking minions, so they already know.

Ahh... the thought is just so delicious.  And when I say "minion", I don't mean the little yellow-goggle-wearing things from Despicable Me (which I hated, and I think I'm the only person who didn't like that movie), but cabana boys.  Scantily clad cabana boys.  Foldin' up the laundry.  Mmm... mama likey.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

The First Amendment Rocks My Face Off.

Fuck censorship.  Even if I don't agree with what you say, you have the goddamned right to say it in my country.

Do something today - call a congressperson, sign an online petition, be heard.

That is all.

Haiku? I'm fine, how are you?

Because I'm an amazing poet?  No.  Because I'm inspired by the day that looks frigid yet is humid as fuck outside?  Uh, no.  Because I love the word haiku and imagine that Hello Kitty invented them?  Maayyybee...

Glorious coffee
I chugged and burnt my throat fuck
Nectar of the Gods

Oh darling Sampson
Your ass smells like rotten eggs
Good thing you are cute

I need to get up
Christmas stuff still on my walls
Blanket is too warm

Kid hit snooze alarm
Took thirty minutes to eat
Miss bus you will walk

Little would not sleep
Mama's sleeping pill kicked in
Did you sleep at all?

When do kids sleep in
I would like to sleep 'til ten
Not gonna happen

Oh bus please hurry
Cannot stand snotty preteen
Too early for wine

Dogs you fucking dogs
Are quickly driving me nuts
Run away please God

I think that pretty much sums up my current feelings in the form of ancient Hello Kitty poetry.  And Mrs. Friedrichs thought I wasn't paying attention in class.  Psshaw.

ZOMGSNOWPACOLYPSE!!!!!!

Okay.  I've determined in my 35 years on this planet that I *may* have more common sense than the average spider monkey, but sweet Jeebus, this takes the cake.

Our beloved school system cancelled school today, and cited this rationale (I'm quoting this from their FB post): "All schools are closed today, Friday, January 13, 2012. While main roads are passable, there are potentially dangerous conditions on side roads, subdivisions and on school campuses."  POTENTIALLY.  Not "This is the Superintendent, and I actually got my ass out of bed this morning to check shit out, and it sucks", but "there's the slightest chance that somewhere in the county, the roads suck, so have fun with your kids today, and hey, sorry that they're going to bitch all day because today was their pizza party for good behavior in the lunchroom, so have a great four-day weekend with your kids being complete dicks."

Now, it is possible that in some areas it might be a little slick, considering the four hours of rain we had before it started snowing, but it is certainly not a "OMG GET OUT OF MY WAY I NEED BOTTLED WATER AND CANDLES AND CANNED FOOD AND BLANKETS AND SPACE HEATERS!!!!!" kind of situation.  In fact, the grass isn't even covered with snow.  There's not enough to make a decent snowball, much less a snowman.  Oh, and did I mention the high for today is above freezing and the sun is out?

Yeah.

Welcome to Barnum and Bailey's! I mean, my house.

So as you all know, my little family consists of me and The Hubs, The Preteen, and Captain Awesome.  And a West Highland White Terrier, Roxie:

This is her "I can't believe you brought home another
fucking dog" face. She's probably also contemplating
how to kill me and/or Sampson in our sleep. 

And a Bull Mastiff, Sampson:

He looks very cute and calm in this picture.  It doesn't
last long.  And he's probably put on a good 10 lbs
and four inches since then.  He's going to be a hoss.
A big, dumb, hoss. Who army crawls because he's
that lazy.  And hates the outdoors.  "You want me to go
OUT? Whatev.  Carry me, human."

Let me describe to you exactly what is going on in my house at this exact moment.  The Preteen just walked out the door to get the bus, Captain Awesome is doing the coo-coo bird dance with Jack on Jack's Big Music Show (YES, the TV is on already.  Don't judge.)  Roxie is trying to show Sampson (who easily doubles her in size) that she rules his shit, and he ain't picking up on it too quickly.  So there's some snarling, and barking, and yipping, and whining, and oh, now Roxie is running down the hall and Sampson is galloping.  Seriously, he gallops.  And he tries to hump her constantly.  He's not fixed yet, but she is, so we won't have any mutant dumb galloping fuzzballs running around, but I really don't want to answer "Mom, WHY IS SAMPSON DOING THAT???"  Quinn just shoved three pieces of cereal bar in his mouth, turned on the light, the ceiling fan, and dumped the crumbs off his plate onto the floor, and is now licking the plate and going "ahhh", like it was a hugely refreshing drink.

I'm going to vacuum in about 3.5 minutes, and although I'm certainly not talented enough (yet) to blog and vac at the same time, this is what's going to happen. Quinn will chase me with the vacuum trying to sit on it, the dogs will chase me trying to attack the vacuum, because obviously it is this alien being trying to abduct me, or something.  The rest of the time will be me, yelling at all three to get the hell out of the way, and if "ALL Y'ALL DIDN'T LIVE HERE I WOULDN'T HAVE TO DO THIS 2174981 TIMES A DAY!"  Then, I'll nuke the coffee that has gotten cold, contemplate the meaning of life, and wish we had a bottle of Bailey's in the fridge.

Thank You, Captain Obvious.

I just received (like 15 minutes ago) an email from X employer, thanking me for applying, but the position has been filled.

I applied October 11, 2011.  Three months ago.  I kind of assumed I didn't get an interview.  Derp.

Facebook Conversations: The Storage Wars Edition

Someday, Barry, you'll hit the
motherlode. Besides, you rock
a bowling shirt much better
than Charlie Sheen, so that's
WINNING.

It all started with a seemingly harmless statement about how I want Barry from Storage Wars to come over for dinner and drinks. I absolutely love Barry.  He's an eccentric old perv who finds the most random shit, never makes money, and is just fantastic.  He also has these ridiculously awesome skeleton gloves he wears to go through the storage units.  Anyway, the conversation started about Barry, but it soon led to the other characters, namely...

Dickhead Dave.  YUUUP.  

Dave.  Whom I like to call "Dickhead Dave", because he's a raging asshole who will run up the price on a unit just because he can.  And his "YUUUUUUUUUUUP" that he says to bid?  Makes me want to poke my own eyes out with bamboo skewers, and poke him in the face with a cattle prod.  People who are asshats just because they can be should be put in the town square and have shit thrown at them.  And when I say shit, I don't mean stuff, I mean shit.  Great big balls of shit.  "LEARN SOME HUMILITY, ASSHOLE!" *splat*

Maybe you'll find a man-bra in a storage unit
one of these days, Darrell.  THAT's the wow
factor for ya.

The absolute best part of the conversation was about this guy. Darrell.  Darrell is an intense guy who - you know, I know nothing about Darrell except he NEVER wears sleeves, could really benefit from a good waxing, and as my friend Court pointed out, has a massive set of MOOBS. Please, tell me that I wasn't the only person who had never heard of man boobs referred to as moobs before!?  I thought I was going to pee - not only because Darrell totally has moobs - which are bigger than my boobs, just sayin' - but because moobs is my new favorite word.  Ever.  In fact, Storage Wars is now named "Moob Time" in our house.  It's never going to get old.


All joking aside, I fricking love this show.  If it weren't for A&E, I really don't think I'd feel any sort of normal.  Thank you, A&E, for airing Hoarders to make me clean my house, Storage Wars to remind me that I have enough shit of my own to go buying other people's crap, Billy the Exterminator to make me thankful I don't live in fucking Louisiana, and Beyond Scared Straight for parenting tips.