So Don't Tell Me You Might Just Let it Go

Griffin's been home sick from school for three days thus far.

And I can't decide what's worse: losing track of how many times I clean out the vomit bucket or having a child who's taking advantage and faking once he's actually fine.

Parenting: way fucking more than you bargined for


So I've been having him read to me today because mwahahahaha, that'll teach you a lesson boy.

But I don't think it did.

Because now he loves reading.

I'm Taking it Back to the Old School 'Cause I'm an Old Fool Who's So Cool

The past few weeks have been a flurry of Aaron traveling, kids going to school, trying not to go bat shit crazy and planning Griffin's birthday party.

Initially, he wanted us to "rent a bus" (heh, yeah, right) and invite over 15 friends over which turned me into a puddle of tears because that's even more crazy than I am.

And then I pitched the idea of a sleepover party with a couple of friends and BAM, I got my way and it didn't require washing windows and steam cleaning the carpets.

Because the OCD kicks in HARD when strangers come over.


So we had a party with the necessities: playing with Legos, easy dinner, gluten-free cupcakes, strawberry sorbet (nom nom nom, food allergies), playing board games, watching movies and goodie bags.


And lots and lots of sleeping bags.


Damn, seven came fast.

I'm Me, Me Be, God Damn, I Am

Both boys had massive meltdowns at school today. Darwin because he couldn't find what he made (he put it in someone else's cubby), Griffin because a boy threw a stick at him and hit him in his face.

Which, you know, caused him to Officially Lose His Shit because we're all hypersensitive of Shit On Our Faces because of Darwin's Eye Accident.

And yes, as a matter of fact, those are official titles and require capitalization thankyouverymuch.

Add to it the compounding Emotional Issues the boys are having with Daddy Traveling So Damn Much, which yes - I agree - we are Grateful He Has A Job In This Fucking Economy but holyfuckingshit Give Me A Break.

Let's Get Into Physical

After four weeks of doing The Shred I was seriously ready to jump on a plane and fucking knock Jillian's lights out for her demonic torture, otherwise known as PLANK POSES.

Which, by the way, totally fucked up my right shoulder and had me wallowing like teenager who's crush totally doesn't know she exists.

So, in other words that shit fucked me up bad.

And besides, Jillian didn't fucking exercise anyway. She was all "oh yeah, this is a hard workout" but she didn't even do half the exercises. Bitch.

So one day I was IMing a couple of coworkers about how much we all fucking hate The Shred when Jenny mentioned that I should try one of these walking videos with Leslie.

The Jesus Freak.

So.... okay. Now I'm trying this walking thing (NO PLANK POSES) and it isn't bad. It doesn't make me want to punch kittens nor does it make me want to find a long-lost-cousin-Guido so I can put a hit out on somebody.

But, yeah. Jenny wasn't kidding about the Loving Christ part.


Here, Leslie is giving her daily Hallelujah.

No, I am not kidding.

She's counting her blessings. Apparently, that is what has been missing from my exercise my routines all my life. I haven't been count my blessings while doing "kick-backs."

And - the worst part - is that the token "fat" chick (hello, not really fat, but fatter than the rest) (I'm totally going to hell) got kinda miffed that Leslie (the chick in black) (as opposed to the token black chick) let the token old guy give the Hallelujah. She was hurt, poor token fat girl.

And yes, in case you are wondering they all have names.

From the back: token old prissy lady, token old guy, token overzealous sweating chick (seriously, five minutes in her boobs are sweating and ICK)

Middle row: token short-mom-haircut soccer-mom chick (two in one! score!) and token black chick

Front row: token lipstick lesbian, Leslie The Ultimate Jesus Freak and token fat chick, who has wayyyyyyy y too much of a sunny disposition. Honestly, I think Leslie wants to tell her fuck the back off, because the compete on a chippiness scale.

It's like the 700 club meets exercise meets Desperate Housewives

Nothing Else is Real

I went to go see Coraline this weekend and while the previews were playing a woman with her two young boys came in and sat in front of us.

About 30 minutes into the film her boys were crying, begging to leave the theatre. "No! I want to see this!"

Okay. I get it. You want to get the fuck out of the house. So you take your kids to go see a movie.

But you don't force your kids to sit during a scary movie. Hell, I took my 12-year old mentee from "church" (I still proclaim Unitarian Universalism is not real church and I've been going over a year) (also? someone chose me to mentor a kid? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, you're funny) (and deluded) (and obviously have not read my fucking blog) and she was rather scared through the whole thing.

And seriously, the boys were sobbing. Big fat crocodile tears. And they were calling her "Mommy," so it wasn't like a rogue babysitter or stepmother.

I just do. not. under. stand. people.

PS - Coraline was really good, and was closest to seeing an "art film" in the theatres in years. Not that there haven't been other art films, I just HAVEN'T SEEN THEM.

If Only I Was Sure That My Head On the Door Was a Dream

My neighbor called today, could I pick her kid up from school? Yeah, sure no problem. Great. My house got broken into.

Ah, fuck.

I live in a nice, safe little neighborhood. Fifties-style houses dotted along trim yards. "Grandma houses" I call them, because they're old. And safe.

So I get the low-down from my neighbor about her break-in and then we start talking about other neighbors on the street and swapping stories.

Now, when I say "other neighbors" I really mean "renters" which equates to the guy that lets his four dogs in the front yard to potty and them screams "I'M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING BIIIIIIIIITTTCCCCHHHHHHEESSSS" when they run into the street. And the other neighbor that has at least 20 cats and you can smell the smell from her driveway. And let us not forget the neighbor smoking a joint in his backyard screaming at the guy behind him that he was going to fucking kill him, you god damn asshole (isn't that suppose to mellow you?) and then a SWAT team came and carted him off less than an hour later.

Yes, I live in a lovely little family-oriented neighboorhood that gets some fucking crazy ass renters.

And it's Taking Us Somewhere

My friend Ashley tagged me to pick the fourth photo out of the fourth photo folder on my hard drive.

Yikes. Talk about a tongue twister.

August 2005

Awwwwwww, look at the baby pudge, the smooshy-wooshy pudgey wudgey. Almost makes me want another.

But not quite.

I was also tagged by Kerrie to pick eight random things about me.

1. I'm almost done working for today and am so looking forward to relaxing.

2. People who don't look over their shoulders when backing out of a parking space terrify me senseless.

3. Although my true love is alternative/indie rock, I do love the slide of a steel guitar. I also love the mo-whoa-whoan of an old blues harp.

4. I always park within three car links to a cart corral.

5. Months after our microwave caught on fire, we still don't have a working one in the house and have no intention of getting another one. And it's just fine.

6. It take me five minutes to unload and reload the dishwater. It takes Aaron at least 20.

7. I have my crafting supplies divided into different areas of the house and it makes NO SENSE, even to me.

8. Underboob is gross, even in fashion magazines. Get those girls some proper fitting garments, will ya?

As you may (or may not) know, I don't tag. But if you want to participate, considere yourself tagged and I'll come check out your photo and/or answers!

Meow, Meow, Meow-wow-wow-wow

So, surely by now you've heard about that batshit crazy lady who delivered EIGHT babies and had six at home, right? Right.

And she moved into her parents' two-bedroom house.

And she's not married.

And she filed bankruptcy and has no job.

And all babies are with IVF from one donor who supposedly doesn't know his spunk was used for all these kids.

And her mom is all IZ GONNA LEAVE TOWN, I AIN'T TAKIN' CARE OF NO 14 BABIES. And her dad is supposedly gonna go work in Iraq so he can help financially support his grandchildren.

Right? Right.

So, now, of course she wants to charge two million dollars for interviews. She wants to be on Oprah and the Today show. She also wants her own reality-show, something along the lines of how to be a good mom or daycare provider or some shit like that.

And to all this, I say fuck no.

Fuck no to having litters of children.

Fuck no to the medical profession implanting eight embroys in her womb.

Fuck no to her using her children for celebrity, fame and money.

And you have to wonder: was this her intention? Her "way" to become famous? And we, as a society, are falling into her trap?

Fuck no. If she's on anything and gets paid for it I'M NOT WATCHING. I will not support her batshit crazy behavior and as far as I'm concerned she needs some serious medicial councelling.

At least the Duggers have always taken care of their children, haven't relied on the government for supporthing their kids. Yes, they maybe crazy too but at least it's RESPONSIBLE crazy.