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. 

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! 

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.

My house smells like cake.

Mmmm.... cake.  I love cake.  Any kind you want to throw at me, chances are, I'll like it.  Really, if you want to throw some cake at me, that's fine.  Five second rule, and all that.

I realized today that I had done zero holiday baking, and I only have half the crap I need to start making candy (mmmm.....candy), so I'd make do with what I had, and that manifested in a red velvet cake.  Which I put in a really pretty bundt pan.  And if that motherfucker doesn't come out pretty.... well, fuck it.  We're just going to eat it anyway.  It's not like it's for a cake walk or a school function or potluck or whatever.  I EVEN MADE HOMEMADE FROSTING.  Well, because I was out of canned, and I had a box of powdered sugar in the cabinet.  I also swept and mopped.  Miss Suzy Homemaker, what?!

There's a few more things on my list that need to get done before the Hubs gets home tonight, but for now, I'm taking a break.  The divine Ms. Johi said to only get three things done a day (or something like that, I don't exactly remember, but I loved that post so so much), so I'm doing pretty good today.  Besides, The Preteen will be home within the hour, and I can't let her learning responsibility go by the wayside just because I got everything on my list done, now can I?

PS - I think my meds are working.  I feel eleventy billion percent better today, even with a temp of 100.7.

PPS - Anyone want some cake?  Coffee?  Leftover pizza?  Because that's what's for dinner, kids.

I was my biggest pet peeve today.

Rumor has it in March, we're getting a Publix (which I can't help but call PUBIX in my mind) grocery store. Do you know what this MEANS?!?!?  NO MORE WALMART!  (Sorry Kroger, but you suck donkey balls.  Except when you have 10 for 10.  That's cool.  But your 10/10 stuff blows ass.  Someone had to say it.)

I'm sitting here with a cup of tea (green, if you please - Tazo Zen - is there any other kind?!) snuggling with Sampson (who insists on farting in his sleep, disgusting, but not as bad as it could be since my nose is plugged beyond belief), and thinking about the day.  Which pretty much sucked as much as Kroger does.  I'll not go into details, because it was a combination of things that resulted in a shitball day, but we ended up making a FAMILY trip to Walmart.  And not just any Walmart.  THE ghettoy of the ghetto Walmarts in town.  Why?  Because The Hubs was along "and the lines would be too long".  Oy.  Anyway.

Well, Captain Awesome was wearing his pissy pants, and The Preteen forgot her ears, and taking The Hubs to anywhere that has an electronics area is just stupid if you want to get in and out relatively quickly.  Add on the fact that I've been out of my "take one and the chance of a anxiety attack goes down a little" pills for a couple of days (because my doctor's office scheduling staff are EVIL and hate me) - this trip was doomed by the time we realized we weren't going to find a parking spot within 1/4 mile of the store.

I was one of THOSE people today, you guys.  I yelled at my kids in public.  I did.  I did it willingly and without shame (well, until now).  I might have even said fuck.  Twice.  In the Walmart Subway.  And I was still the least offensive person in there.  So I cried about it, hugged my kids 1000 bajillion infinity times since then, and cleaned up a massive pile of dog poop in repentance.  And I bought swiss cake rolls (why are they swiss?) for The Preteen's lunch tomorrow and Spaghettio's with sliced franks for Captain Awesome (nothing like some fat and MSG for my kids as a reward.  Shut up already.)

Can someone say something to make me feel better?  Please?  Because if you don't, I might be forced to eat a pint of ice cream that I may have bought and hid from everyone.  (It's Phish Food.  That shit is like currency around here.  And it's MINE.)

CAFFEINE MAKES ME PRODUCTIVE!!! *twitch*

Ah yes, the day is here.... the day before a major holiday.  My to-do list actually has shit crossed off (AND IT'S NOT EVEN NOON!), but I keep adding more shit to it, completely negating the fact that I've already accomplished anything.  Depressing, no?

Usually, this is a common theme around our house:

Don't fuck with the mom-person.

But when I have people over, I want to IMPRESS, dammit, so I'm kind of going all-out.  Yes, I need praise. Yes, I need my ego stroked.  Admitting you have a problem is the first step.

I went to Walmart last night, sans kids, at 8:00 pm, to pick up everything I forgot the other day when I was trying to be super shopper extraordinaire.  Usually, my view on WM is this:

BUT!  Last night, it was almost a pleasure!  There was no one there!  (This is where I pat myself on the back going grocery shopping TWO days before the holiday instead of today, where most likely people are shanking each other with shit they made over in the personal hygiene department with a lighter to get the last can of crescent rolls.  I might watch too much Lockdown for my own good.) 

I'm not gonna lie, I'm still in a twist over hosting people that I've never seen before.  You know, good first impression and all that.  I mean, I swear in front of my parents (my dad haaaaaates the fuck word, so I try to not use that one) but I am seriously going to have to gorilla glue my face shut tomorrow because I doubt my colorful everyday language isn't even on the appropriate spectrum until we bust out the booze at about 11 am.  THERE'S A LOT OF HOURS BEFORE THEN, PEOPLE!

Doesn't everyone?  Just me?  Oh.  Well, then.

I say this a lot more than I probably should.  Hey, at least I apologize, right?

So I'm baking up a storm this morning, with the plans to clean this afternoon.  The house isn't dirty. per se, but cluttered and I've already dropped an egg and some oil on the floor (I never said I wasn't a klutz), so there's some cleaning and de-doghairing that needs to happen around here.  Usually, I have this attitude:

I motherfucking wish.

Regardless, I'm sure tomorrow will be a good time.  And if not, well, the fridge in the garage is full of booze, and there's pie, so we really can't go wrong, can we?  I just need to remember this:

Wouldn't that be something to put on a resume?

Mostly, I just hope that no one finds me in the bathroom, curled up in the fetal position, muttering this:

Amen.

And if all goes to hell in a handbasket, then you'll probably overhear this conversation between my mom and I at the nail salon sometime this weekend:

WORD.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

Parenting my...parents?

Seriously folks, you'd think that after years of drilling into my head that it is common courtesy to call someone when you're running late, or plans change, etc. that my parents would call me for important family events. Examples of past family events where I wasn't immediately notified include the death of my favorite grandmother and the birth of my first niece. You're kidding me! you say??? So not kidding. My parents had what seemed to them amazing reasons for not letting me know right away, but the fact remains is that they didn't call me. Obviously, this pisses me off beyond belief, and being the petty bitch that I can be sometimes when my mom and I are at each other's throats, I throw it in her face. Which I did today, when no one answered the damned phone at their house this morning. Usually not a big deal, except today was the day that my dad was having his heart looked at to see what is wrong with it. As in being cut open. As in could be not a big deal but could be huge. All I wanted to do was tell my dad that it was going to be okay and that I wish I could have been there, and I love you. Fast forward to cell phones finally being turned on, my dad in his hospital gown waiting to be taken to the meat locker of the operating room, and he answers his cell phone. I told him what I wanted to tell him, and also told him that I wished that I could have told him while he was still at home. My dad is either the most oblivious man alive or the coolest cucumber, I can't tell which, and he was fine. Then............my mom called. FANTASTIC. At this point, I don't even want to talk to her. Of course, I started crying and read her the riot act about not answering the phone, bla bla bla...and I realized that I was talking to her like she was my child. And then it hit me that I do this often. Am I transitioning into that time of life where my parents start to need to be taken care of, at least emotionally? I'm so not ready for that. I think that's why this relatively routine procedure freaked me out so bad - I'M still supposed to be the kid, not the other way around. Sure, I'm in my 30s. Sure, I have a husband and kids of my own. But to have my parents need me like that? No... it's just not possible. Is it?

In other news, Quinn brought me a book to read while I was in the bathroom today. How considerate! See, he's taking care of me already. Lord have mercy. He also had his first pizza tonight and proceeded to run around the house like the spawn of the Tasmanian Devil. He came to a screeching halt when he noticed that I was putting the guards on the cable box, DVD player, and the tv buttons. Just wait until he sees the toilet lock. Mom - 1, toddler - 0. I love winning.