my children have been feeling very yucky since friday night.
fortunately for them, i have a very large store of compassion which should last them their entire lives if they dont use it up on stupid shit.
they've both had colds and fevers since friday and unfortunately this means our weekend was far from fun. we had big plans. lots of fun. and those plans got cancelled.
so instead, we watched the windup for shark week (its this week), and ate mass amounts of junk food. during these lazy times, this conversation happened, i posted an short version on facebook.
Bear: Mama, those sharks is biting people.
Bug: Dont worry Bear!!! Mama wont let those sharks get you!! Mama will STAB those sharks in the HEAD
(at this time, im gaping at the conversation, im having trouble following because im laughing so hard, as they are both very animated and the thought of actually stabbing a shark in my lifetime is a little scary but very realistic, as im always getting into fucked up situations. now back to the conversation)
Bear: Mama, if those sharks try to bite me, you will stab them!! and then you can cook them because they look TASTY!!!
Bug: YES!! We will eat that shark cause our mommy will stab it and cook it!!
finally....
Me: Yes Bear and Bug, I would gladly save you from the hypothetical shark, I would stab the hypothetical shark in the head and then cook the hypothetical shark for our dinner, simply because you think it looks tasty. Oh, and by the way, YOU ARE WELCOME. for the said stabbing and cooking of hypothetical sharks.
(Mind you, I doubt my shark stabbing abilities after watching four hours of shark week)
BEAR AND BUG: CHEERS, HIGH FIVES, DANCING AND JUMPING ON THE COUCH while screaming "MY MAMA IS GREAT!!!"
Damn, sometimes being a mom is hard........and other times, its really easy. :)
Cue Jaws theme music......
Monday, August 1, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
working third shift.
Working third shift is not for vaginas.
I've worked third shift in various jobs since I was 19. I guess I love punishing myself.
Because I have kids and I like spending time with them without looking like a drooling sleepless zombie, Im the type that rather than prolong the torture, I just do about five or six shifts in a row. BAM BAM BAM. Like rippin off a bandaid baby.
Night one: Having taken a sleeping pill the previous night. I have not taken a nap before this shift. I'm happy. I spend time with Bear and Bug, coloring or outside. I cook dinner and I am generally a pleasant person. I eat. Because it's the natural thing to do. My scrubs are pressed (just kidding, they've been thrown in the dryer), my socks perfectly match my scrubs, my shoes are clean. I drive my one hour commute and all my favorite songs come on the radio. I am dancing and singing. I smoke only about two cigarettes. The night at work is ok but not great because I have an entire group of patients that I need to get to know and fawn over. I answer emails and text messages in a timely manner. I also check my voicemail when I receive a missed call. This all makes me a trooper.
Night two: I have slept approximately 5 hours, I woke up only once during this extended nap. I take a shower, I very vaguely remember taking this shower,I eat a pack of crackers and a cup of hot tea, I pack my lunch, I play with Bug and Bear for about twenty minutes and make small talk with my sitter, who is also my grandmother. (The grandmother Im named after, and also the grandmother I frequently mirror in actions and words) Some of my favorite songs are on the radio but I either catch them in the middle of the song or my sirius is being a bastard and starts cutting out. Fuck you sirius. I stop at my gas station to obtain the nectar of the Gods, Sundrop. Tonight I buy two. My night is better but my patients expect me to spoil them again. This is not so. When I drive home from work in the morning, I am sleepy but not overly so. I answer texts and emails when I get in bed, at home. I do not check my voicemails.
Night three: I wake up after five hours. I dont know my name or where I am. I stare at my alarm clock and wish it evil. I close my eyes. Five minutes later, my grandmother opens the door and tells me it's time for me to get up. I give her the Vulcan death stare. I bury my head in my pillow and scream obscenities until she screams in my ear that she has heard all these words before and to stop because St. Peter will NOT allow me in heaven if I continue. I get up. I think I shower. I think I eat. I remember none of this. I kiss both my kids because even in my sleepless state, I think they are the cutest tiny humans ever hatched from an alien pod (Seriously, this is what Im thinking). I get in my car. At this stage every song on the radio is agitating me. I deal with it. If you are bum asking for change. Make sure you dont ask me, because I still have bad words I need to use before I get to heaven. I smoke approximately four cigs steady on this commute to work. My socks match, my scrubs are wrinkled. I'm ok when it comes to outer appearances, but I possess an angry ball of rage. Do not be a fool. Do not speak to me. I either completely ignore texts and emails or I delete them on site. I realize that it is unsafe for me to respond to these messages, because I will be hateful in my response. I stop at the gas station, I buy four Sundrops. I quickly chug an entire 20 oz before I leave the parking lot of the gas station. This will be all I eat til 2 in the morning. The night at work is mediocre. On the way home I turn the AC ALLLLLL the way up and keep all the windows down to discourage sleepy driving. The rumble strip only surprises me once.
Night four (last night unless I do overtime this week): My alarm wakes me up. Im not sure how long Ive been sleeping but my brain is telling me to trust no one, I kick my door down and stomp to the bathroom. My grandmother stares at me in horror OR already has both the children outdoors and away from me. I am speaking unintelligible gibberish, it makes sense to me, but I cant form appropriate vowel and consonant sounds. It's scary, even to myself. I may or may not have taken a shower. I know my hair is wet. I eat nothing because I'm nauseated. Obviously my grandmother tried to poison me while I was sleeping. I will get her. I refuse to pack my lunch because all food is contaminated. I stare at my children and try to telepathically explain that I will be home in the morning and to kill the old lady. My socks dont match, my shoes are dirty, and my hair is in a messy bun on the top of my head. I get in my car and every song enrages me. Meanwhile everyone driving on the road is attempting to kill me and I scream curse words and give obscene gestures. I stop at the gas station. I buy six Sundrops. A bum asks me for change. I cut his throat and hide his body in a back alley. I chug one Sundrop, while chain smoking cigarettes. I turn the radio off because the songs are taunting me. I answer all texts and emails with nonsensical dr. seuss and alice in wonderland quotes. I refuse to respond intelligently. I refuse to listen to voicemails. It is a good night at work but I spend much of it on careerbuilder.com and faxing resumes. When it's time to leave in the morning, I throw my report papers at the oncoming nurses, while screaming "SEE YA LATER BITCHES", and laughing hysterically. I call my nurse manager and tell her to expect my two weeks notice when I wake up that evening (she refuses to take me seriously, she is used to these idle threats). On the way home, the rumble strips save my life no less than three times. The AC is turned all the way up and all the windows are down. I dont care. Im fucking tired. I pull in my garage and take a five minute nap. I wake up and realize I need to go grocery shopping. I do this. I come home and sleep for a ridiculous amount of time. Approximately 13 hours. I wake up and my husband brings me food in bed, my children jump in my bed and share my food. I go to sleep again. I wake up at five am. I have 18 voicemails. I check them all and wonder why everyone is asking me if I'm "ok". My mother texts me at six am asking me if I'm awake and why I was tripping acid the previous day.
:)
I've worked third shift in various jobs since I was 19. I guess I love punishing myself.
Because I have kids and I like spending time with them without looking like a drooling sleepless zombie, Im the type that rather than prolong the torture, I just do about five or six shifts in a row. BAM BAM BAM. Like rippin off a bandaid baby.
Night one: Having taken a sleeping pill the previous night. I have not taken a nap before this shift. I'm happy. I spend time with Bear and Bug, coloring or outside. I cook dinner and I am generally a pleasant person. I eat. Because it's the natural thing to do. My scrubs are pressed (just kidding, they've been thrown in the dryer), my socks perfectly match my scrubs, my shoes are clean. I drive my one hour commute and all my favorite songs come on the radio. I am dancing and singing. I smoke only about two cigarettes. The night at work is ok but not great because I have an entire group of patients that I need to get to know and fawn over. I answer emails and text messages in a timely manner. I also check my voicemail when I receive a missed call. This all makes me a trooper.
Night two: I have slept approximately 5 hours, I woke up only once during this extended nap. I take a shower, I very vaguely remember taking this shower,I eat a pack of crackers and a cup of hot tea, I pack my lunch, I play with Bug and Bear for about twenty minutes and make small talk with my sitter, who is also my grandmother. (The grandmother Im named after, and also the grandmother I frequently mirror in actions and words) Some of my favorite songs are on the radio but I either catch them in the middle of the song or my sirius is being a bastard and starts cutting out. Fuck you sirius. I stop at my gas station to obtain the nectar of the Gods, Sundrop. Tonight I buy two. My night is better but my patients expect me to spoil them again. This is not so. When I drive home from work in the morning, I am sleepy but not overly so. I answer texts and emails when I get in bed, at home. I do not check my voicemails.
Night three: I wake up after five hours. I dont know my name or where I am. I stare at my alarm clock and wish it evil. I close my eyes. Five minutes later, my grandmother opens the door and tells me it's time for me to get up. I give her the Vulcan death stare. I bury my head in my pillow and scream obscenities until she screams in my ear that she has heard all these words before and to stop because St. Peter will NOT allow me in heaven if I continue. I get up. I think I shower. I think I eat. I remember none of this. I kiss both my kids because even in my sleepless state, I think they are the cutest tiny humans ever hatched from an alien pod (Seriously, this is what Im thinking). I get in my car. At this stage every song on the radio is agitating me. I deal with it. If you are bum asking for change. Make sure you dont ask me, because I still have bad words I need to use before I get to heaven. I smoke approximately four cigs steady on this commute to work. My socks match, my scrubs are wrinkled. I'm ok when it comes to outer appearances, but I possess an angry ball of rage. Do not be a fool. Do not speak to me. I either completely ignore texts and emails or I delete them on site. I realize that it is unsafe for me to respond to these messages, because I will be hateful in my response. I stop at the gas station, I buy four Sundrops. I quickly chug an entire 20 oz before I leave the parking lot of the gas station. This will be all I eat til 2 in the morning. The night at work is mediocre. On the way home I turn the AC ALLLLLL the way up and keep all the windows down to discourage sleepy driving. The rumble strip only surprises me once.
Night four (last night unless I do overtime this week): My alarm wakes me up. Im not sure how long Ive been sleeping but my brain is telling me to trust no one, I kick my door down and stomp to the bathroom. My grandmother stares at me in horror OR already has both the children outdoors and away from me. I am speaking unintelligible gibberish, it makes sense to me, but I cant form appropriate vowel and consonant sounds. It's scary, even to myself. I may or may not have taken a shower. I know my hair is wet. I eat nothing because I'm nauseated. Obviously my grandmother tried to poison me while I was sleeping. I will get her. I refuse to pack my lunch because all food is contaminated. I stare at my children and try to telepathically explain that I will be home in the morning and to kill the old lady. My socks dont match, my shoes are dirty, and my hair is in a messy bun on the top of my head. I get in my car and every song enrages me. Meanwhile everyone driving on the road is attempting to kill me and I scream curse words and give obscene gestures. I stop at the gas station. I buy six Sundrops. A bum asks me for change. I cut his throat and hide his body in a back alley. I chug one Sundrop, while chain smoking cigarettes. I turn the radio off because the songs are taunting me. I answer all texts and emails with nonsensical dr. seuss and alice in wonderland quotes. I refuse to respond intelligently. I refuse to listen to voicemails. It is a good night at work but I spend much of it on careerbuilder.com and faxing resumes. When it's time to leave in the morning, I throw my report papers at the oncoming nurses, while screaming "SEE YA LATER BITCHES", and laughing hysterically. I call my nurse manager and tell her to expect my two weeks notice when I wake up that evening (she refuses to take me seriously, she is used to these idle threats). On the way home, the rumble strips save my life no less than three times. The AC is turned all the way up and all the windows are down. I dont care. Im fucking tired. I pull in my garage and take a five minute nap. I wake up and realize I need to go grocery shopping. I do this. I come home and sleep for a ridiculous amount of time. Approximately 13 hours. I wake up and my husband brings me food in bed, my children jump in my bed and share my food. I go to sleep again. I wake up at five am. I have 18 voicemails. I check them all and wonder why everyone is asking me if I'm "ok". My mother texts me at six am asking me if I'm awake and why I was tripping acid the previous day.
:)
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
a day in the life
since ive been such a phenomenally shitty blogger lately, it's a two for one bitches!!! today is two post day because I love all you sorry hoes!!! bahahaha
as much as I envy individuals without emotional hangups etc, i love my daughters and they ARE my emotional hangup. They create the most love, purpose, tension, heartache, frustration etc in my life. Sometimes I assume I have at least four seperate personalities fighting for supremacy in my fucked up head.
here. is a day in the life. actually its a real day that happened last week.
500-I wake up, I check my phone to see if I received any fun/interesting text and/or facebook posts. I curse my life because I have such a fucked up sleep schedule and I hate myself and third shift for doing this to me on my day off. I attempt to punch myself in the face but it doesnt work because I'm a coward and I dislike pain.
530- I roll my sorry ass out of bed. I walk into the kitchen and immediately begin making a cup of hot tea and wrestle my nook from it's charger. fuck that charger. I look at the beer in the fridge. I pull it out. I look at my two dogs and cat. They are staring at me. Judging me. I put the beer back. I take my tea, my nook, and my cigarettes and go outside for blessed peace and to let my dogs take a shit.
535- I hear a knock on the back door. It is my child. She assumes it's ok to get up because I am up. She is wrong. I need at least one hour of peace before I face this day. I make angry faces at her and point in the direction of her bedroom. Which is hard. Because I'm outside. She makes an angry face back at me. Then she licks the glass window on the back door. This is unacceptable. I go indoors and tell her to sleep until her daddy gets up.
615- My child is staring at me again. I accept that I will lose this battle. I go indoors and turn on cartoons and give her a poptart. Dammit.
645- My second three year old wakes up. MAY THE BATTLE BEGIN!!!!!
800- Somehow, Ive managed to convince my kids to eat yogurt, poptarts and little debbie cakes for breakfast. It works but what they really want is eggs, which I dont have in my house at this time. Note to self- by two dozen eggs next time.
1000- Up until this point, my daughters have fought. Not terribly. But small skirmishes. And then the shot heard round the world. Bear takes Bug's toy. I see the "awwww fuck no" look in Bug's eyes. She wants to throw down. I see this for what it is. A declaration of war.
*fight*
1100- Both Bug and Bear are in time out. They keep snarling things like "Im gonna beat you", and "Im gonna kick you in the head". Its mildly humorous. I laugh. Then I go outside for a cigarette. I come back in and open the fridge, I stare at the beer. I look at my kids in time out. Bug has a slightly bloody nose and Bear has a bloody eyebrow. Blood inflicted by three year olds. They judge me anyway. I reach for a Sundrop. Fuck tea at this point. I need the big guns. I begin the preschool registration paperwork.
1300- Bug and Bear eat PB&J's while I finish off a healthy choice microwave meal. What I really want is a PB&J. I eat one. Ahh. That's better. Bug and Bear immediately begin throwing cheez its which the two dogs and cat begin fighting over. Dammit. All animals go outside. Kids are placed on the couch. Bear finds a pen. She begins writing on mommy's new revised budget for household finances. Then the kitchen floor. Bear goes into time out. Bug begins taunting her. Bug goes in time out as well.
1400- Mommy, Bug and Bear go outside. This is very nice. They catch bugs and mommy reads her book.
1500- Nap time. Which is a war. Bear and Bug immediately begin accusing me of not loving them. I carefully explain that I need this time while they sleep so I dont kill them (just kidding, maybe) I read a book. They sleep. Life is good. I finish preschool paperwork and think about how nice preschool will be three days a week.
1630- I hear screaming from my daughters' room. I walk to the door and listen. Bug is accusing Bear of stealing her pony while she was sleeping. I hear a grunt, I open the door. I find Bear with Bug in a head lock. Again. I find this humorous. Sometimes I think I lose my mind a little. Fortunately Bug is not blue and I seperate the screaming children. I think, again, how nice preschool will be in august. Blessed Mary, mother of Jesus.
2 fights, 3 snacks and 4 timouts later.
1800- HURRAY!! Daddy is home. We are an evenly matched team now, WE WILL WIN. I open the beer. I drink it. I dont care who judges me. My husband laughs. I laugh. Then we begin terrorizing my children in an effort to get them back for terrorizing me all day. PUNISHMENT!!! BAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAA
2000-Mommy is passed out on the couch. She is impossible to wake up and she loves this. Daddy puts the girls to bed. They get angry and accuse him of not loving them. He laughs. He is invincible to their taunts. They get louder and wake mommy up, against all odds. Mommy becomes the incredible hulk. Both children are silent after seven minutes of the incredible hulk.
2100-Mommy and Daddy watch fun reality shows and adult shows, shows that dont include colors, numbers or other educational tools because that shit is played out and we wanna see a bunch of forty something women, living in new york, with jailbird husbands, BATTLE. Because its fun.
2200- Mommy and Daddy hit the sack. Only to wake up in the morning and do the whole damn thing again.
the.end.
as much as I envy individuals without emotional hangups etc, i love my daughters and they ARE my emotional hangup. They create the most love, purpose, tension, heartache, frustration etc in my life. Sometimes I assume I have at least four seperate personalities fighting for supremacy in my fucked up head.
here. is a day in the life. actually its a real day that happened last week.
500-I wake up, I check my phone to see if I received any fun/interesting text and/or facebook posts. I curse my life because I have such a fucked up sleep schedule and I hate myself and third shift for doing this to me on my day off. I attempt to punch myself in the face but it doesnt work because I'm a coward and I dislike pain.
530- I roll my sorry ass out of bed. I walk into the kitchen and immediately begin making a cup of hot tea and wrestle my nook from it's charger. fuck that charger. I look at the beer in the fridge. I pull it out. I look at my two dogs and cat. They are staring at me. Judging me. I put the beer back. I take my tea, my nook, and my cigarettes and go outside for blessed peace and to let my dogs take a shit.
535- I hear a knock on the back door. It is my child. She assumes it's ok to get up because I am up. She is wrong. I need at least one hour of peace before I face this day. I make angry faces at her and point in the direction of her bedroom. Which is hard. Because I'm outside. She makes an angry face back at me. Then she licks the glass window on the back door. This is unacceptable. I go indoors and tell her to sleep until her daddy gets up.
615- My child is staring at me again. I accept that I will lose this battle. I go indoors and turn on cartoons and give her a poptart. Dammit.
645- My second three year old wakes up. MAY THE BATTLE BEGIN!!!!!
800- Somehow, Ive managed to convince my kids to eat yogurt, poptarts and little debbie cakes for breakfast. It works but what they really want is eggs, which I dont have in my house at this time. Note to self- by two dozen eggs next time.
1000- Up until this point, my daughters have fought. Not terribly. But small skirmishes. And then the shot heard round the world. Bear takes Bug's toy. I see the "awwww fuck no" look in Bug's eyes. She wants to throw down. I see this for what it is. A declaration of war.
*fight*
1100- Both Bug and Bear are in time out. They keep snarling things like "Im gonna beat you", and "Im gonna kick you in the head". Its mildly humorous. I laugh. Then I go outside for a cigarette. I come back in and open the fridge, I stare at the beer. I look at my kids in time out. Bug has a slightly bloody nose and Bear has a bloody eyebrow. Blood inflicted by three year olds. They judge me anyway. I reach for a Sundrop. Fuck tea at this point. I need the big guns. I begin the preschool registration paperwork.
1300- Bug and Bear eat PB&J's while I finish off a healthy choice microwave meal. What I really want is a PB&J. I eat one. Ahh. That's better. Bug and Bear immediately begin throwing cheez its which the two dogs and cat begin fighting over. Dammit. All animals go outside. Kids are placed on the couch. Bear finds a pen. She begins writing on mommy's new revised budget for household finances. Then the kitchen floor. Bear goes into time out. Bug begins taunting her. Bug goes in time out as well.
1400- Mommy, Bug and Bear go outside. This is very nice. They catch bugs and mommy reads her book.
1500- Nap time. Which is a war. Bear and Bug immediately begin accusing me of not loving them. I carefully explain that I need this time while they sleep so I dont kill them (just kidding, maybe) I read a book. They sleep. Life is good. I finish preschool paperwork and think about how nice preschool will be three days a week.
1630- I hear screaming from my daughters' room. I walk to the door and listen. Bug is accusing Bear of stealing her pony while she was sleeping. I hear a grunt, I open the door. I find Bear with Bug in a head lock. Again. I find this humorous. Sometimes I think I lose my mind a little. Fortunately Bug is not blue and I seperate the screaming children. I think, again, how nice preschool will be in august. Blessed Mary, mother of Jesus.
2 fights, 3 snacks and 4 timouts later.
1800- HURRAY!! Daddy is home. We are an evenly matched team now, WE WILL WIN. I open the beer. I drink it. I dont care who judges me. My husband laughs. I laugh. Then we begin terrorizing my children in an effort to get them back for terrorizing me all day. PUNISHMENT!!! BAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAA
2000-Mommy is passed out on the couch. She is impossible to wake up and she loves this. Daddy puts the girls to bed. They get angry and accuse him of not loving them. He laughs. He is invincible to their taunts. They get louder and wake mommy up, against all odds. Mommy becomes the incredible hulk. Both children are silent after seven minutes of the incredible hulk.
2100-Mommy and Daddy watch fun reality shows and adult shows, shows that dont include colors, numbers or other educational tools because that shit is played out and we wanna see a bunch of forty something women, living in new york, with jailbird husbands, BATTLE. Because its fun.
2200- Mommy and Daddy hit the sack. Only to wake up in the morning and do the whole damn thing again.
the.end.
rainy day....
rain, rain, go away. never come back again.
on this fabulous rainy day. i find time to blog. oh joy!
happy belated fourth of july.
after a FABULOUS kid free weekend, I begin my week with the yuckiest day ever. not because i hate rain. false. i love rain. its the perfect weather to nap to, read to, watch hours of reality tv to........i could go on.
unfortunately my children arent old enough to read, they actively hate naps, and they are a tiny bit too young to appreciate a good reality cluster fuck on the television.
break out the crayons and playdoh. ugh.
i much prefer to play outdoors, its fun, easy, very little mess to clean up (other than a nice bath afterwards) and my kids can entertain themselves outdoors. They catch bugs, chase the cat, dig holes etc.
play doh ruins my day. so does fucking "moon sand" or whatever the fuck it is. crayons end up on my walls, markers (dont even talk about it).
playing inside expends very little energy as well. kids need to get rid of this energy or they become hypersensitive, whiney, unhappy little shits.
this does not make a happy mommy.
they morph into this..........
![]()
on this fabulous rainy day. i find time to blog. oh joy!
happy belated fourth of july.
after a FABULOUS kid free weekend, I begin my week with the yuckiest day ever. not because i hate rain. false. i love rain. its the perfect weather to nap to, read to, watch hours of reality tv to........i could go on.
unfortunately my children arent old enough to read, they actively hate naps, and they are a tiny bit too young to appreciate a good reality cluster fuck on the television.
break out the crayons and playdoh. ugh.
i much prefer to play outdoors, its fun, easy, very little mess to clean up (other than a nice bath afterwards) and my kids can entertain themselves outdoors. They catch bugs, chase the cat, dig holes etc.
play doh ruins my day. so does fucking "moon sand" or whatever the fuck it is. crayons end up on my walls, markers (dont even talk about it).
playing inside expends very little energy as well. kids need to get rid of this energy or they become hypersensitive, whiney, unhappy little shits.
this does not make a happy mommy.
they morph into this..........
small, hypersensitive, questionably rabid dogs.
god help me.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
the three phases of profanity
I love it. Allow me to elaborate.
Nothing takes the sting out of a stubbed toe like a nice healthy "FUCK!!!"
Nothing can express the words coming out of most individual's mouths like "BULLSHIT"
In short, absolutely no other words, "replacement" curse words, etc can express my melodramatic, and sometimes ridiculous feelings and thoughts.
I just love it. My first love. I remember clearly being reprimanded throughout grade school for tutoring my fellow students in the complexity of proper expletives.
Unfortunately. Throughout my journey in motherhood (the good, the bad, and the ugly). I have had to curb my profane enthusiasm. Oy. Doubly unfortunately, I was not always successful. So unsuccesful was I, that my children know how to identify multiple curse words. My husband and I are forced to leave the room, it is hilarious and wrong, but occasionally, we find ourselves laying in bed after a long day, belly laughing at the odd phrases leaving our tiny beautiful baby girls' mouths.
In honor of all the dirty mouthed mommies out there. I will outline the three phases of profanity as follows:
1. Too Young To Care- this stage of life is a delicate balance between good and evil. Experts believe a child can hear and udnerstand before leaving the womb, so it's safe to say my children have been screaming "DAMMIT!! Get your elbow out of my ear!!!" since before their little lungs took first air. Cute. At this time between 4 weeks pregnant and about 1 year, many mommies (myself included) believe they are safe from the backlash of sitting in church and a child screaming "Mommy, this SHIT is BORING"....point proven. You are never safe. Never. However since many children can barely say bottle appropriately, and it leaves their tiny vocal cords as a fucked up assortment of vowels. You can become comfortable.
2. Repeat Repeat and Repeat Again!! Until You Get It Just Right!!! - While patiently waiting in the grocery store line, my daughter looked calmly at me from her spot in the "buggy" as we southerners prefer to refer the shopping cart, and says "Mommy, remember when Gunnerdog played in the trash and you got angry?" At this point the cashier thinks my daughter is cute, we can refer to baby A as Bug. Baby B then speaks up, we will refer to her as Bear, and states "Oh oh oh oh!! I do! I do!!" In the annoying manner that children sometimes speak (you can agree with me, kids are annoying as fuck, dont be ashamed) Baby B then continues "Mommy said 'Dammit!! You hairy mother puck!!'" At this point Im giving my child the Vulcan death stare and batting my eyes as though I have stabbed myself multiple times in the eyeball with a mascara wand. I'm telling her quietly and nicely "ENOUGH BEAR!! DO NOT REPEAT WHAT MOMMY SAID TO GUNNERDOG!!!!" In the undercover fashion that moms use when they really wanna throw their child across the grocery store (to comfortably land in the fresh, soft veggies of course). Bear then continues on (at this point, she knows I'm vulnerable, she also knows that I'm not gonna take her to the bathroom when I'm so close to the finish line of this cluster fuck grocery store run. Kids are smart as fuck. Smarter then adults) anyway, Bear continues on, "Oh riiiiiight!! Mommy said mother FUUUUUUUUCK". Yes, this is the stage that will kill you all. Get excited for Sunday school, vacation bible school, and visiting the old folks home. That's when they whip this shit out.
3. MOMMY!! THAT'S A BAD BAD BAD WORD!!- My children are currently in this phase. I have successfully punished them into obedience but they refuse to let me off the hook. It's interesting and it makes my mother giggle like a sixteen year old flirting with the star quarterback. She thinks its funny, it makes me blush. To have your three year olds condemn you is interesting, and surprisingly, has been the most successful form of punishment for me, I no longer curse loudly in front them, and most the time, not at all. I will reiterate my earlier point, kids are smart as fuck, waaaaayyyy smarter then adults. Sometimes I dont even have to say a bad word, the grocery store has become a guillotine of embarassment for me. For no reason they will scream "MOMMMY! THATS A BAD WORD!! WHY YOU SAY BAD WORDS MOMMY!!" I immediately begin looking over my shoulder for social services and vindictive old ladies.
And finally, a little plus for those who cant get enough. The phase I have experienced only once and expect to reappear in the teenage years.
4. Under the Breath, Shit Talking- This morning, Bear surprised me. I told her she absolutely couldnt have a lunchable for breakfast. She said nothing. She gave me the signature Bear and Bug look, which without words, can force grown men to their knees in tears. Fortunately, I am impervious. I taught them that fucking look. It does nothing to me. I proceeded to make Bear some cereal, a regular June Cleaver am I, and I hear whispered words to the tune of "Shit mommy lunchable dammit" I then asked Bear to repeat what she said, "Nothing" she said, with a SHIT EATING GRIN.
HOT DAMN!! Ive birthed two baby master minds.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
the meanest bitch on the planet!! OH NO!! IT'S ME!!!!
I wont give out names. But a family member came to me today and decided to have a "sit down" talk with me about how I treat my husband.
Fuck that. She told me I treat him poorly.
And that the rest of the family feels the same way.
Now. Normally I would sit quietly, allow that person to say their piece and move on, today, I didnt want to do that.
Allow me to explain something to all the fuck ups out there who think their husbands sole duty is to work, bring home the bacon, recline in the lazy boy and watch a game.
What the fuck is wrong with you? You think that because my husband KNOWS that shit doesnt fly in our family makes him a better father. You are damn right. Wanna know why he KNOWS that shit doesnt fly? Because I fucking told him so. That's why.
Just because you were raised in a family with no paternal figure, or a shitty paternal figure who refused to participate in the actual RAISING of your family, doesnt mean that my husband is any better or worse. My husband simply understands that in our tiny world, there are standards. Anything less than those standards, no more wife. If I wanted to raise my kids by my damn self, then I would. Without a husband. I dont need a third child to pick up after, feed and clothe. No thanks. Not me.
Which is why my husband rocks. We reached an agreement early on about what we wanted from this life, and we roll with it. Together. If I actually told him what went down today, he would be highly pissed off. Not at me. At the family member who approached me and decided it would be a good idea to make me feel like shit by explaining how my entire busybody southern family is talkin' trash. Since I dont allow my husband to sit around watching tv and eating cheese fries, I must be such a MEAN BITCHY WIFE! AHHHHHH! Poor husband!!
SO. My family, who were largely single parents, are raising kids that ARENT theirs, and generally dont normally have great family lives, decided that I TREAT MY HUSBAND POORLY??? Not jiving. My husband and I are both active participants in what our children are doing, we play with our kids, we both clean, we both work. We DONT need a pat on the back. Because what we do in our daily lives is what every parent SHOULD be doing. Just because others have poor examples doesnt mean anybody needs a pat on the back.
After all, we're just doing our jobs. ;)
Fuck that. She told me I treat him poorly.
And that the rest of the family feels the same way.
Now. Normally I would sit quietly, allow that person to say their piece and move on, today, I didnt want to do that.
Allow me to explain something to all the fuck ups out there who think their husbands sole duty is to work, bring home the bacon, recline in the lazy boy and watch a game.
What the fuck is wrong with you? You think that because my husband KNOWS that shit doesnt fly in our family makes him a better father. You are damn right. Wanna know why he KNOWS that shit doesnt fly? Because I fucking told him so. That's why.
Just because you were raised in a family with no paternal figure, or a shitty paternal figure who refused to participate in the actual RAISING of your family, doesnt mean that my husband is any better or worse. My husband simply understands that in our tiny world, there are standards. Anything less than those standards, no more wife. If I wanted to raise my kids by my damn self, then I would. Without a husband. I dont need a third child to pick up after, feed and clothe. No thanks. Not me.
Which is why my husband rocks. We reached an agreement early on about what we wanted from this life, and we roll with it. Together. If I actually told him what went down today, he would be highly pissed off. Not at me. At the family member who approached me and decided it would be a good idea to make me feel like shit by explaining how my entire busybody southern family is talkin' trash. Since I dont allow my husband to sit around watching tv and eating cheese fries, I must be such a MEAN BITCHY WIFE! AHHHHHH! Poor husband!!
SO. My family, who were largely single parents, are raising kids that ARENT theirs, and generally dont normally have great family lives, decided that I TREAT MY HUSBAND POORLY??? Not jiving. My husband and I are both active participants in what our children are doing, we play with our kids, we both clean, we both work. We DONT need a pat on the back. Because what we do in our daily lives is what every parent SHOULD be doing. Just because others have poor examples doesnt mean anybody needs a pat on the back.
After all, we're just doing our jobs. ;)
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
mommies and working
Working.
Kinda like vacation from my real job.
Just kidding.
I'm a nurse, so my whole existence is taking care of other poeple's needs. Wether it be my husband's dinner, my children's potty-training, or caring for six to seven patient's per night on a twelve hour shift.
And guess what? I LOVE IT.
For me, being a working mommy is kinda like pulling two to three jobs when your single. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Looking at it from some views I've heard over the years, I've been viewed as insane, negligent (this from the stay at home mommies), too busy (this from my own mother) and generally "money hungry" as a co-worker pointed out this weekend.
I just came off a four day in a row stretch. Nights. Happy Memorial weekend to my dumb ass.
Which is why Im posting two blog entries this afternoon. Because I have been UBER SLACK.
While I was working and sleeping for four days, my husband took my lovelies to the yacht club and camped all weekend. They had a blast. I came home Tuesday morning pale and exhausted. Both my kids had sunburns and stories to tell. And I love that.
Now for the fuck you portion of my message.
*Insane- Yes. Thats my answer. In all kinds of ways. I like it.
*Negligent- If you consider paying the bills and not sitting on my fucking ass watching oprah every fucking day. Yeah, I guess I am. But let me tell you, if we compared all the amazing experiences my kids have had, compared to yours, mine win. Hands down. Every time. I spend quality time with my kids because I know how much I miss them. I know they need it. You sit on your ass and watch them play barbies without actually PLAYING with your kids. Or you take a thousand pictures of them so it looks as though you do all kinds of fun stuff with them, when you dont. I have few pictures of my kids doing fun stuff. Sorry, I cant hold a camera when I'm in the thick of the fun. It's hard to take pictures of your kids fingerpainting when you are covered in fingerpaint yourself. Get real, bitch. My girls wont grow up with the idea that their one purpose in life is to get married and sprout a thousand damn kids that they wont be able to spend QUALITY time with because they're too fucked up on zoloft to notice them. Oh I'm sorry, but postpartem depression should have ended with you long before your child turned six. Fuck you and your views. Every day I go to work, my children saying "Mommy dont go to work, we will miss you", melts my heart. In the same breath, they'll tell you "My mommy goes to work and makes people feel better, she's a good woman" If that's not living by example, I dont know what is.
*Too busy- dont go there mom.
*Money hungry- Hmmm, where can I go with this. I work part-time. I used to work full time. Full time was tough. With the amount of unemployed in this country, I consider myself very lucky to have a job. I also consider myself very lucky to provide tuition for my kids to go to college one day. That's not money hungry. Thats smart. I also dont buy new cars or nifty new gadgets just to keep up with the Jones'. Now, if you live beyond your means, you have to live with that decision. I dont. My family is frugal. We dont need the riches the world offers because we made our own. Our little family. Priceless. So you can take that Lexus you own, co-worker with too many opinions, and shove it straight up your ass.
Has anyone else noticed that mommies are becoming gossip insane, organic food insane, child activity insane etc. It's because they dont have enough shit to do. If your coming off a 7p to 7a night shift, and hitting the grocery store because it's the only time you can go without having two rugrats hindering your every move and throwing six (yes, six, true story) ICING containers in your cart, without your knowledge. Sorry, tangent. If your hitting the grocery store after working your shifts that week, and you happen to notice that I'm NOT buying ORGANIC fucking bananas. Now you know why. My kids eat dirt. Is that organic enough for you? Get a damn job then tell me where your priorities lie. You wont give a SHIT that your mac n' cheese isnt organic. You'll just be happy that you have dinner on the table that cooks in 12 minutes flat. That gives me time to read one chapter of my book, burn a cig, drink a beer AND paint the side of my house in fucking red fingerpaint. Beat that stay at home mommy.
Unconventional. Yes. Insane. Yes.
But I love this crazy beautiful life of mine.
Kinda like vacation from my real job.
Just kidding.
I'm a nurse, so my whole existence is taking care of other poeple's needs. Wether it be my husband's dinner, my children's potty-training, or caring for six to seven patient's per night on a twelve hour shift.
And guess what? I LOVE IT.
For me, being a working mommy is kinda like pulling two to three jobs when your single. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Looking at it from some views I've heard over the years, I've been viewed as insane, negligent (this from the stay at home mommies), too busy (this from my own mother) and generally "money hungry" as a co-worker pointed out this weekend.
I just came off a four day in a row stretch. Nights. Happy Memorial weekend to my dumb ass.
Which is why Im posting two blog entries this afternoon. Because I have been UBER SLACK.
While I was working and sleeping for four days, my husband took my lovelies to the yacht club and camped all weekend. They had a blast. I came home Tuesday morning pale and exhausted. Both my kids had sunburns and stories to tell. And I love that.
Now for the fuck you portion of my message.
*Insane- Yes. Thats my answer. In all kinds of ways. I like it.
*Negligent- If you consider paying the bills and not sitting on my fucking ass watching oprah every fucking day. Yeah, I guess I am. But let me tell you, if we compared all the amazing experiences my kids have had, compared to yours, mine win. Hands down. Every time. I spend quality time with my kids because I know how much I miss them. I know they need it. You sit on your ass and watch them play barbies without actually PLAYING with your kids. Or you take a thousand pictures of them so it looks as though you do all kinds of fun stuff with them, when you dont. I have few pictures of my kids doing fun stuff. Sorry, I cant hold a camera when I'm in the thick of the fun. It's hard to take pictures of your kids fingerpainting when you are covered in fingerpaint yourself. Get real, bitch. My girls wont grow up with the idea that their one purpose in life is to get married and sprout a thousand damn kids that they wont be able to spend QUALITY time with because they're too fucked up on zoloft to notice them. Oh I'm sorry, but postpartem depression should have ended with you long before your child turned six. Fuck you and your views. Every day I go to work, my children saying "Mommy dont go to work, we will miss you", melts my heart. In the same breath, they'll tell you "My mommy goes to work and makes people feel better, she's a good woman" If that's not living by example, I dont know what is.
*Too busy- dont go there mom.
*Money hungry- Hmmm, where can I go with this. I work part-time. I used to work full time. Full time was tough. With the amount of unemployed in this country, I consider myself very lucky to have a job. I also consider myself very lucky to provide tuition for my kids to go to college one day. That's not money hungry. Thats smart. I also dont buy new cars or nifty new gadgets just to keep up with the Jones'. Now, if you live beyond your means, you have to live with that decision. I dont. My family is frugal. We dont need the riches the world offers because we made our own. Our little family. Priceless. So you can take that Lexus you own, co-worker with too many opinions, and shove it straight up your ass.
Has anyone else noticed that mommies are becoming gossip insane, organic food insane, child activity insane etc. It's because they dont have enough shit to do. If your coming off a 7p to 7a night shift, and hitting the grocery store because it's the only time you can go without having two rugrats hindering your every move and throwing six (yes, six, true story) ICING containers in your cart, without your knowledge. Sorry, tangent. If your hitting the grocery store after working your shifts that week, and you happen to notice that I'm NOT buying ORGANIC fucking bananas. Now you know why. My kids eat dirt. Is that organic enough for you? Get a damn job then tell me where your priorities lie. You wont give a SHIT that your mac n' cheese isnt organic. You'll just be happy that you have dinner on the table that cooks in 12 minutes flat. That gives me time to read one chapter of my book, burn a cig, drink a beer AND paint the side of my house in fucking red fingerpaint. Beat that stay at home mommy.
Unconventional. Yes. Insane. Yes.
But I love this crazy beautiful life of mine.
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