I’m Being Stalked!

If you’re looking for me today, head over to The Adventures of Goober Grape & Monkey Man, The Life of a Sippy Cup Mom, or Stash Mama where I’m the featured blog for Stalker Saturday!  A big thanks to Steph, Sippy, and Candice, so go give ‘em some clicky love, would ya?

 

I’ve officially hit the big time now, people. All the cool kids have stalkers. Next thing I know, I’ll have paparazzi lurking outside my  house waiting to snap pics of me road raging my way to Starbucks in my hella cool Mommy Mobile. To see if what I had to say was stalk-worthy, check it out HERE.

(Not So) Wordless Wednesday: Think before you paint

Nut has a favorite book called “Goodnight Beach”. We read it almost every evening before bed, to the point where I know the entire thing by heart. And so does my toddler. Every night without fail, she points out the mouse that’s trying to steal a hot dog from around the campfire, a balloon that is flying away, the color of the sailboats. I tell her how smart she is, ask her to count the animals she sees. I love reading it to her…until we get to page four that is. Every time we turn to this page:

Nut says without missing a beat, “Ew. Dat boy pooped. Da-custing,” while pointing to the giant brown ROCK that is poorly placed behind his arse. I can’t say I blame her though, it really does look like a floater. You would think somebody, the author, maybe the editor, the publisher, a test group, ANYBODY would have looked at this and thought, “hmmmm…maybe that isn’t the best placement of that boulder. Let’s nix it.” But no. So last night when Nut told me, “Dat poop’s ghoss”, I just agreed and laughed right along with her. If ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, I guess.

Misc Monday: It looks so big when cupped in my hands!

Link up HERE if you wanna join in the fun. Or be lame and don’t. It’s whatev.

 

1) I’m dedicating today’s string of randomness to this picture I took at lunch:

Is that not the biggest damn strawberry you’ve ever seen? Nut was all “Wow! Berry! Eat dat, peeeeaasseee Mama!” and I’m all “No way! I need to take a picture of that monster. And then show it to whoever comes over.” Luckily I don’t have many visitors. This may or may not be attributed to the fact that I would entertain said guests by showing off a mutant strawberry.

2) Looking at the picture, my first thought was What the frack is WRONG with my thumb??  It looks disjointed. And deformed. I’ve never spent much time looking at my thumbs, but now that I have, a complex is quickly developing. I took eleven different pictures trying to find a better angle, and while this is the best, it still looks jacked up.

3) See that thurrr tattoo on my wrist? That is what happens when you are young, dumb, 21, and drink a pitcher of margaritas. You think it’s like, a TOTALLY awesome idea to go get a permanent reminder of your drunken stupidity emblazoned across your body. Thank God it’s tiny and not somewhere really horrible, like my forehead. My friends all got piercings. That was the plan. They tricked me with their foolery by telling me I had a cute nose and that I should pay someone to jab a needle through it. I was convinced… until we got there and I decided it would look like a sparkly freckle. In hindsight, I should have took my chances with the nose piercing. I mean, a star?!? Really? It was a very unfortunate coincidence that about the time I started sporting that atrocity, great role models like Lindsay Lohen were pictured in US Weekly with something very similar. Because you know, who doesn’t want to follow that coke head hot mess of a trend setter? Sigh.

Her Mother’s Daughter

I think the time has come to potty train Nut. Queue the foreboding music… Duh duh duh duuuuuh. We’ve given it the ol’ college try a few times but with no success. She LOVES wearing the Gerber training underwear, LOVES sitting on her potty, but never quite grasped the concept of actually peeing in it. She’d sit on it for ten minutes, get up, and promptly urinate on my floor within 90 seconds.  Lately though she has been throwing a fit whenever her diaper gets wet. She takes my face in her hands, gets nose to nose with me, pinches my cheek and hisses “Change the diaperrrrrr!” It’s kind of creepy, really. We are going through tons of diapers now that she demands to be changed the minute she’s wet. And since only 60 diapers come in her giant size 6 box, it’s getting a little pricey. It is apparent she is having mixed feelings about the whole thing though, check out this video I made a few minutes ago:

She was more interested in watching Sponge Bob than answering my stupid questions but oh well. Did you hear the hissing about breaking the couch?? Creepy, right??  She uses that tone to tell off the baby: “NOOOOO Reeeeeiiiddd! You go pay wit Mama!” And the dog: “Noooo Mo! Get back in cage NOW!” For the life of me I could not figure out where she picked that up….. that is, until I stormed up to her bedroom for the 47th time last week to scold her for playing when she was supposed to be in her bed taking a nap. As I stood outside her gate and did the whole “You get your little rear back in that bed RIGHT NOW and DO NOT get out of it again or you are in BIG TROUBLE young lady, do you UNDERSTAND ME?”  thing, it hit me: She learned it from me.  Ya know, that Mommy whisper yell where you don’t really open your mouth or take a breath and just kind of hiss through your teeth? Yeah. Holy balls. I’ve created a monster.

Needless to say, when faced with the task of potty training her, just the thought exhausts me. She has a mind of her own and does whatever she wants, with no fear of consequence. Notice that she’s wearing a long sleeved Tinkerbell jammie shirt in that video? Not my idea. It’s 96 degrees out today and I dressed her in a cute tank. She added the PJ top herself and refuses to take it off. So this potty training thing? Wish me luck. I’m gonna need it.

Dr. No

Who knew trying to NOT have babies could be such a pain in the arse? About a month ago, I decided to call my  doctor and schedule an appointment to have an IUD put in. The hormones in birth control make me sick, sick, sick (hence how DH and I wound up with two Whoops Babies) so I wanted something hormone-free. I talked to a friend who had the Paragard and decided that’s what I wanted. Because it’s me and nothing can ever be easy, the doctor’s office required that I come into the office to talk to my GYN before they’d schedule the procedure. Basically I had to make an appointment to make an appointment. Dumb. But I did it. Went in, told him I wanted the Paragard, scheduled the appointment for a month later, and went on my merry way.

Fast forward to Monday. I line up a sitter, go the office, sit in the waiting room for twenty minutes past my appointment time, finally get called back, pee in a cup (and all over my hand), walk into the exam room….and see a Mirena sitting out on the table. Errrrrm, no. I explained to the nurse that I wasn’t having that one put in. She checked the notes and guess what? That’s what they had pre-certed with my insurance company. Really people? They had to do a new pre-cert so I had to make a new appointment for yesterday and do the whole line-up-a-sitter-get-in-the-zone-for-being-violated-pee-in-a-cup-and-on-my-hand thing again.

When the nurse asked me if I minded if a med student came in, I should have thought of my recent string of luck and said no. But I didn’t. I said yes, because let’s face it, I’ve given birth twice and I have no modesty any more. You wanna look at my va-jay-jay? Have at it, I don’t care. So who walks in? Dr. Young and Hot, which made me immediately regret my decision not to uh… touch up the pruning job I’d done for Monday’s appointment. I’m sure if you spend your days looking at lady bits you become immune, but I was still self-conscious of my womanly version of 5 o’clock shadow nonetheless. As if that wasn’t unpleasant enough, my doctor then begins whistling a tune  mid-way through the insertion. It sounded familiar but I couldn’t quite place it….. until he said, “Man, I just can’t get that song from that show outta my head.” Know what it was?? The camera song from Diego. Yeah, the “Say click! Take a pic!” one.  What.the.hell. As if I didn’t hate that show enough, now I will be reminded of being pretty much fisted every time I hear Rosie Perez start warbling about finding the “aneemal in trrruuble”.  As soon as he said what song it was, smart ass comments run through my head about the animal rescue being a beaver, but THANK GAWD my filter was in place and I kept my mouth shut.  For once.

(Not-so) Wordless Wednesday: Cack cack

My little Nut is starting part time preschool in September. Twice a week, she will leave the nest and spend two and half hours finger painting with twelve other 2.5 year olds. It’s enough to make me weepy just thinking about it. God help me when she goes to Kindergarten; I’ll need a support group to deal with the trauma. We were at Toys R Us the other night trying to find ideas for Bug’s 1st birthday (a little over a month away, *SOB*!!!) when Nut spotted the “cack cacks”. Since she’s going to need one anyways – and they were throwing in a free lunch box with it – I let her pick one out. She’s been wearing it ever since, along with this goofy ass hat I got on the clearance rack at The Children’s Place over the weekend. Contrary to how she looks, she will NOT be attending the Jason Mraz School for Toddlers:

Quality sucks, but I emailed them from my phone and didn’t adjust the size before saving.  I learned my lesson looking at these but am too lazy to sign into my email to adjust and resave.

Link up HERE for more Wordless Wednesday fun.

Walker is my middle name…

 

No really, his middle name is Walker. I’ve been waiting to use that line for almost 11 months now, glad I finally got to bust it out. He’s been getting better and better at the walking thing; I love to see him lumber around like some drunken dinosaur. Watch it over and over and pretend you do too. Oh and please excuse my high-pitched squealing; I sound like a douche and am well aware of the fact.

Five Q Friday: Tornadoes suck. Literally.

Who’s happy it’s Friday? Yeah, that’d be me! I look forward to this day every week, only to be disappointed when it actually gets here because oh wait, I have nothing to do. But this weekend I actually have plans! Tomorrow my friend is having a psychic party…. don’t laugh… okay, go ahead and laugh, I don’t care…. and Sunday evening I am getting together with the bestie from TN and her kiddos. I’m actually doing a happy dance. I know what you’re thinking – just who is this optimistic person and what in the sam hell has she done with Nic? Fear not, I’m just in a good mood today, I’m sure I’ll return to my usual cynical self in no time. 

That aside, it’s time for some Five Question Friday with Mama M. at My Little Life. 

1. Do you collect anything?

No. And here is why: When I was about 13 years old, there was a phenomenon known as Beanie Babies. Having received a few for Christmas before they became “hot”, I was the proud owner of some of the earliest, rarest, most coveted creatures. This fueled the fire and I became one of those morons standing in line at Hallmark all day long, making small talk with crazy old ladies and offering up trades of some of my doubles. About a year later, I went with my friend to a place at the mall that purchased Beanies for resale. We both took an itemized listing of our “collections” for a quote. My friend was offered $200. I was offered… are you ready for this shit? $1100. Yeah. Over a thousand fricking dollars. And do you think I took it? Oh Noooooo. I decided to be a greedy little twit and hold on to them, to wait until they even more valuable. Fast forward 14 years. I’m stuck with a bag full of bean filled animals, their once lovingly placed tag protectors ripped off so that my children have better access to slobber all over them. I tried to sell them at a garage sale last year for 25 cents a piece and do you think I had any takers? Hell no. So that? That is why I don’t collect a damn thing. Except maybe dirty laundry. I seem to have a large pile of clothes that need to be washed.

2. Name 3 celebrities that you find good looking.

Eric Dane aka McSteamy because hell.fucking.looooo, I would so play doctor with that man any day. Or night. Or both. Swoon.

Matthew McConaughey. I would  be more than willing to let him play the naked bongos at my house, rumored poor hygiene habits or not.

The last doesn’t really qualify as a celebrity, but there is only one other “public figure” so to speak, that makes my heart go a pitter patter like the above two: Skip Schumaker, 2nd baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals.  I don’t know if it’s the uniform or the scruffy facial hair or the fact that I spent many hours staring at his butt from the bleachers when he played outfield (although all those things definitely didn’t hurt), but I luuurve me some Skippy. Much to DH’s annoyance, I’ve even taught Nut to point at him on TV and say “step-daddy”. Bahahahaha. At least I amuse myself, right?

3. Do you have any scars? If so, what's the story behind it (them?)?

As clumsy as I am, you think I’d be covered in scars. The most noticeable one I have is on my shoulder, from a surgery I had a few years ago. It was done laproscopically so all I was left with was a semi-circular raised scar. I get asked a lot what it is, which baffles me because it’s literally maybe the size of a pencil eraser. A few weeks ago, Nut and I were eating lunch at the kitchen table. She wrinkled her nose up in confusion, ran her finger over the scar a few times and then loudly announced, “Mama’s booby!!!” Apparently she thinks I have a nipple – a nubbin for all the Friends fans -  on my shoulder. Fabulous.

4. What is a food that you like to eat, but others might think it's gross or weird?

I love pickles. If you open my fridge, you will find sweet, dill (both spears and chips), bread n’ butter, two jars of homemade, and a thing of relish. I am even one of those freaks of nature that drinks the juice.

 

5. Have you ever seen a tornado in real life?

Funnel clouds, yes, an actual on the ground tornado, no. I came close though once but luckily was convinced it was in my best interest to go to the basement since it was a) night time and b) headed towards my house.  I’m thankful DH (who was my boyfriend at that time) and his pleas of “Get in the fucking basement NOW, I’m serious! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE NOW!!!” was enough to take me off the back step where I was giving weather updates (“It’s SO still!”) and quoting Twister (“Hail! We’ve got hail!”) while the sirens were blaring. Less than three minutes later, here is what my backyard looked like, courtesy of a half-mile wide F2 tornader:

 
Looking back, my roomie and I never did find our lawn mower. But we did find that giant telephone pole that came from God knows where.

That wood was actually the frame to the french doors on the front of our house. They got sucked right off and wound up in the backyard. Random. I still love reading/watching anything about tornadoes, but as soon as it’s my county or my town mentioned, you will find my ass in the basement, with a heart rate near 250, crapping my pants because tornadoes? Well, they SUCK. Literally and figuratively.

 

Alright kids, that’s all I’ve got for today. If you want to join in – and really, who wouldn’t?? – click HERE to go link up. Happy Friday and Happy Weekend!

(Kind of) Wordless Wednesday: Erm…..

This is probably the closest I will ever come to a truly wordless Wednesday, mostly because this sight rendered me speechless. I came up from doing laundry not too long ago and found this:

Yes, that is my cat. And that is a giant Tinkerbell doll. Spread eagle. With the cat in a very compromising position. Poor Tink. She’s such a slut bag.

Notice: A small request

 

Dear Offspring,

As your mother, I do a lot of not-so-fun things and ask for little. I wipe your rears, make all your meals, scrub unknown crusted food from your hair, clean up vomit, have caused irreparable damage to my back from lugging you everywhere, use enough Shout on your clothes to warrant buying stock in the company, and am on 24/7 duty to make sure you don’t cause injury to yourself or others. And that’s just to name a few. I’m not even going to go in to the whole pregnancy and birthing thing.

You are both with me constantly and while I can get over never showering without an audience, lukewarm meals that have had tiny fingers digging through them before I’ve even lifted a fork, and even the backwash floating in every beverage I attempt to drink, there is one small request I would like honored: Let me poo in peace. Please. I’m begging you. I try to sneak off when you guys are occupied and have it down to an art: In and out in under three minutes. A stealth pooper if you will. But it is becoming increasingly annoying that you will not even allow me 180 seconds to myself. 

Mommy sitting on the potty does not equal brush your teeth time. Nor does it mean it’s time to hang on to my leg, unroll the entire roll of toilet paper, or crawl to the tub to knock all the shampoo off the side. I do not find it amusing. Suddenly my three minute activity has become a fifteen minute ordeal. Mommy puts the baby gate up for a reason, stop knocking it down. Please. Considering I grew you, I really think this is a reasonable demand, don’t you? Your cooperation in rectifying this matter would be greatly appreciated.

Love,

Mommy

 

ps: To clear up any confusion, the following photo is considered unacceptable behavior while Mommy is on the crapper:

Miscellany Monday: A small dose of random.

 

It’s that time again….

 

ONE.UNO.UN.  I was wasting passing time this afternoon watching some high-quality entertainment on TLC; anybody else think the husband from The Little Couple is cute? Look at him, he’s a good-looking dude, right?I don’t watch the show often (my DVR schedule won’t allow any more shows), but he always cracks me up when I do. I love the way he and his wife interact with each other, they’re sweet.  Yes, it’s definitely safe to say I have a little crush. No pun intended.

 

TWO.DOS.DEUX.  My 2 year old is obsessed with my boobs lately. I don’t like it. Maybe it’s because of the yelp of surprise I emit amuses her, but she’s taken to pretty much giving me a titty twister when I’m least expecting it.  Like when I’m perusing cheese at Super Wal-Mart and she’s sitting in the cart. Or when I’m carrying her at the water park. Or when I’m asleep.

 

THREE.TRES.TROIS.   I don’t know what I’m more excited about tonight, The Real Housewives of New Jersey (big fight episode!!!) or The Home Run Derby. It’s a toss up, really. What can I say, I’m a sucker for crazy bitches and baseball.

 

That’s all I have today. Babies are awaking and butts need wiping so that’s my queue. If you want to join in, head over HERE and let the randomness flow.

You like me, you REALLY like me!

Or at least Carol over at Knee Deep in Mommahood does. And since she’s pretty much awesome, we’ll just pretend every one shares her opinion and likes me too, okay? She bestowed a few awards on me over a week ago but since my head has been up my arse I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head lopped off lately, I didn’t see her post until I started to catch up on my blog reading today. And ps: still not done with the catching up. When I logged onto Google Reader, there were 533 new updates. Hi, laundry? Not happening today. But I digress. Moving on to my awards – because this post is all about me tonight, thankyouverymuch -the first is…. drumroll, please…

That’s right, this blog has substance. So for the man I married that tells me I’m wasting my time, stick that in your pipe and smoke it, pal. Substance. Ha. Wait… where was I? Oh yes, the award. There are rules to follow, that are as follows:

• Thank the blogger who awarded it to you.
• Sum up your blogging philosophy, motivation, and experience using five (5) words
• Pass it on to other blogs you feel have substance.

So here we go… to Carol, THANK YOU for the awards! Not just this one, but for every one you’ve ever been kind enough to grace me with. It makes me feel all warm n’ fuzzy inside that you thought of me. And while I am known for being a sarcastic a-hole, I really do mean that (did that last statement cheapen my gratitude? Hmmm, hope not). Your blog is one of the first I read when I log on and you crack me up every day. Keep it up, mama!

My motivation in five words?

I blog to preserve sanity.

And that’s no lie.

 

My next fabu award is the…..

It calls for ten things that are awesome about me. I’m going to go Carol’s route though and make it ten things that are random about me instead because right now I can’t think of only ten things about me that qualify as awesome. So here we go, in no particular order:

1)  I am 27 1/2 years old and still cut the crust off my bread when I make a sandwich.

2)  I am a human jukebox. It only takes me a few times to learn all the words to songs/jingles/commercials and I feel the need to sing along when I hear them.

3) I cannot sing. Think American Idol reject, cats howling. If I had a bunch of wishes that were being granted, I’d wish for a good voice. Not so I could be a singer, just so that I wouldn’t suck so hard at karaoke.

4) The three people I talk most regularly to do not live near me.

5) According to Verizon, I babbled for 4,862 minutes and sent/received over 3,400 text messages last month. I know, I know, it’s a miracle I’m a functioning member of society. Three cheers for mobile-to-mobile.

6) I have always dreamed of being a writer. It’s on my bucket list.

7) My New Year’s resolutions for 2010 were to finish my book and lose 50 lbs. I’m doing better on the weight loss (27 down!) than I am the book.

8) I regret not finishing college. That’s on my bucket list too, even if I’m 85 years old accepting my degree.

9) I take pictures all. the. time. Like almost to the point of being annoying. However, since the invention of the digital camera, I rarely print any out. I fear when my children ask to see photos of their childhood, I will have to ask them to gather around a computer.

10)  This one really isn’t about me, but it definitely qualifies as random. Nut is named after Ronald Reagan. Honestly. When DH and I were discussing names, he was insistent that if the baby were a boy, he be named Ronald Reagan. I vetoed that one (veto. hah.) and said I liked Reagan for a girl but that was as far as I would budge. He held me to it when our gender ultrasound revealed we were having a daughter.

So there you have it. I’m sure your day is complete now that you know I don’t like crust on my bread. I am going to pass these awards on to a new blog I just recently started reading, Crazy Ramblings of a Tired Mom, that seriously cracks my shit up. I love her lack of a filter, most likely because I share the same affliction. Go check her out!

Happy 4th – they look happy…right?

I’ve been neglecting my blog the last week. So much going on, I can't slow my mind down enough to sit and write. I’ll be back soon though, promise! In the meantime, here’s my favorite of all the (failed) attempts to get my kids together for a picture today:

 

Apparently “Look at Mommy and smile!” is code for both "look away” AND “hit your brother in the head with a stick.” Go figure.

I tried to get all fancy with it this evening to waste pass some time, but it still looks like my 2 year old whopping her infant brother in the head, only now it’s in red,white, and blue. A patriotic beating if you will.

Happy 4th of July!!