Being a mother was not my plan. Being a housewife was not my plan. Being "domestic" was not my idea of fun. Ive made some interesting discoveries about myself, I enjoy all of these things.
I had planned on eating chinese take out and delivery pizzas for the bulk of my lifetime.
In this domestic journey, Ive learned to cook things. It's cheap. It's easy.
Just a few of the things I've made. Tuna helper. Hamburger helper. Spaghetti.
Do you see a trend?
All of these dinner ideas are very easy, require very little effort, and are pretty fast.
The crock pot opened my world up to chili. Also easy. Put the shit in the crock pot. Turn it on. Let it cook all day. Dinner. Game over. I win.
Then came the chicken.
This chicken caused me nothing but grief. I shouldve known when the thousand year old lady in the grocery store fought me for it. I assumed she would want the larger chicken, I was wrong. She wanted the small chicken. She told me to repeat to myself "I will not fight old ladies for a roasting chicken".
Moving on. Who knew it took two days for a damn chicken to dethaw??? WTF!!! Over it.
What the fuck does a "gizzard" look like?? I guilt tripped my mother into pulling this little gem out of the chicken's ass. I didnt even know which end WAS the ass. Be serious. Explaining to your mother how she DID NOT prepare you for life is the best way to get her to baby-sit, perform chores in your home, AND pull "gizzards" out of a chicken's ass. Classic.
After enlisting the help of my FACEBOOK FAMILY, I picked up a MILLION tips for cooking a chicken. I USED THEM ALL. You say shove a lemon in the chicken's ass. I did it. Buy a chicken injector?? GOT IT!!
I shot my chicken up like a heroin addict. Butter, chicken broth, packets of chicken spices bought in the spice aisle, a lemon in his ass along with chopped onions.
F. U. food network.
I then placed my lucky bird in the crock pot. I let it cook for 8 hours.
Then I ate that mofo.
It. Was. Fantastic. The best chicken on this earth. The best in the world.
I hope my family enjoyed it.
I'm never roasting a chicken again.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
preschool
Three days a week, three hours per day. A total of nine hours weekly.
Needless to say, I have been STOKED for the girls to start preschool. My lazy blogging habits have been mostly due to this drama, getting everyone used to the schedule and preschool policies etc. Both my kids are supremely well adjusted so they just rolled with it, no tears (other than my own, which only lasted one day) All in all they are learning plenty of useful things, and I can ALWAYS use nine hours a week for cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, tanning, pedicures etc etc. (Ahhh!!!!) However, preschool is an interesting place for parents, and not always very nice.
It all started in orientation when I wore my fave hippie flowy skirt, chic flops and peasant top. I love this. It's comfortable and makes me feel confident. I get that I'm young and that I have twins. Please dont underestimate me. Meanwhile these geniuses decided to ENCOURAGE people to bring their kids. My kids had already met their teachers, they make waste of many things, destroy entire rooms and generally fuck shit up. I left my kids with my parents. Not to mention, it's next to impossible to retain any information from a meeting when my husband and I are chasing these little rugrats. So during the meeting (that was ridiculously rushed because all these kids were raising hell) the head three year old teacher says to me, "You look nervous, are you new? you look new." In front of the whole gaggle of onlooking parents (who could barely contain their curiosity as is) Hmm, so much for flying under the radar. Responding with "Yes I am, I have the twins in this classroom and I also have some questions" Bitchy? I didnt think so. Being the twenty five year old in a room of forty year olds CAN get become a little touchy though. I get insecurity, I get that my husband and I look young. But dammit, my kids are smart. My kids are sweet, sometimes they're messy but my kids require knowledge just like anyone else's kids do. Needless to say I've been a tad touchy with some of the teachers when they talk down to me or act like I'm a moron.
Yes, I read the newsletter, you're inappropriate grammar and syntax threw me for a loop since you have the education of the world's three year olds in your hands.
My children are not "the twins". They are Bug and Bear. They have totally different personalities, different loves, different dislikes. They LOOK DIFFERENT FOR GOD'S SAKE!!! They are each their own beautiful little personality with all kinds of bad habits, and cute aspects of themselves. Dont always refer to them as "THE TWINS" or "TWIN GIRLS". They are different people and one day they will be in different classes, different colleges, different sports and different careers. If they choose to do the same career or maybe go to the same college, so be it. If they do EVERYTHING THE SAME, forever, they are still different. Dont refer to them as two halves of a whole, or I'll be calling a parent-teacher conference, and it wont be over their behavior. It will be over YOURS.
What's more, ANOTHER FUCKING FUND RAISER?? Seriously? Why the fuck am I paying tuition on two kids every month? Honestly?? I just tapped my relatives out in the fund raiser department with the pancake breakfast for the new playground and you want me to sell PASTA, funny shaped PASTA?? What the fuck? I wont be selling shit.
How about we have a "Color day" that my children actually wear?? Like pink and purple?? I really dislike buying specific colored clothing for one damn day.
Snacks. Again. Where the fuck is my money going?? And how is it that my kids end up in the rotation every single month. Other kids dont. Convenient.
If show and tell is every damn Tuesday, why didn't you mention that in your sacred "newsletter"?
Oh yeah, and when you said the preschool drop off/pick up line would be "quick and convenient", I'm not sure you included the time allotted for you to jaw jack with your favorite class parents. I dont have time for this shit. I just raced here to get beat AGAIN by some old man in a white mini van and I WANT MY KIDS, so I can take them home and feed them LUNCH, since you guys dont do that........again, tuition??
Oh and by the way, I wont be a "class mom". I've got shit to do. And I'm not exactly sure I will be welcomed with open arms since all the "class moms", dont work, stay at home, discuss Oprah, and talk about their memebership to the YMCA (which they obviously arent using, since they're all ridiculously overweight and stuffing the snack I BOUGHT FOR THEIR KIDS into their mouths), not to mention they dont like me. It is truly juvenile bullshit all over again. If I try to strike up a conversation with you, please dont ask me how young I was when I had my daughters if they are already three years old. I was of consenting age, let's just say that much. And please dont act surprised when I talk about my husband. Yes!! Twenty five year olds ARE married nowadays. Thanks. Just because youre a tiny bit older, doesnt mean I wont bitch slap that grin right off you and your equally over-weight/ugly "bestie". And please dont act like I dont spend enough time with my daughters because I'm a working mom. I have a career!?!?!?! I really thought we'd left these stone-age ideas behind, but obviously I was mistaken. Officially, I believe I will proclaim this day, "Hug a working mommy day" .
Next time, I will be less shocked and more angry. Choke slam.
Needless to say, I have been STOKED for the girls to start preschool. My lazy blogging habits have been mostly due to this drama, getting everyone used to the schedule and preschool policies etc. Both my kids are supremely well adjusted so they just rolled with it, no tears (other than my own, which only lasted one day) All in all they are learning plenty of useful things, and I can ALWAYS use nine hours a week for cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, tanning, pedicures etc etc. (Ahhh!!!!) However, preschool is an interesting place for parents, and not always very nice.
It all started in orientation when I wore my fave hippie flowy skirt, chic flops and peasant top. I love this. It's comfortable and makes me feel confident. I get that I'm young and that I have twins. Please dont underestimate me. Meanwhile these geniuses decided to ENCOURAGE people to bring their kids. My kids had already met their teachers, they make waste of many things, destroy entire rooms and generally fuck shit up. I left my kids with my parents. Not to mention, it's next to impossible to retain any information from a meeting when my husband and I are chasing these little rugrats. So during the meeting (that was ridiculously rushed because all these kids were raising hell) the head three year old teacher says to me, "You look nervous, are you new? you look new." In front of the whole gaggle of onlooking parents (who could barely contain their curiosity as is) Hmm, so much for flying under the radar. Responding with "Yes I am, I have the twins in this classroom and I also have some questions" Bitchy? I didnt think so. Being the twenty five year old in a room of forty year olds CAN get become a little touchy though. I get insecurity, I get that my husband and I look young. But dammit, my kids are smart. My kids are sweet, sometimes they're messy but my kids require knowledge just like anyone else's kids do. Needless to say I've been a tad touchy with some of the teachers when they talk down to me or act like I'm a moron.
Yes, I read the newsletter, you're inappropriate grammar and syntax threw me for a loop since you have the education of the world's three year olds in your hands.
My children are not "the twins". They are Bug and Bear. They have totally different personalities, different loves, different dislikes. They LOOK DIFFERENT FOR GOD'S SAKE!!! They are each their own beautiful little personality with all kinds of bad habits, and cute aspects of themselves. Dont always refer to them as "THE TWINS" or "TWIN GIRLS". They are different people and one day they will be in different classes, different colleges, different sports and different careers. If they choose to do the same career or maybe go to the same college, so be it. If they do EVERYTHING THE SAME, forever, they are still different. Dont refer to them as two halves of a whole, or I'll be calling a parent-teacher conference, and it wont be over their behavior. It will be over YOURS.
What's more, ANOTHER FUCKING FUND RAISER?? Seriously? Why the fuck am I paying tuition on two kids every month? Honestly?? I just tapped my relatives out in the fund raiser department with the pancake breakfast for the new playground and you want me to sell PASTA, funny shaped PASTA?? What the fuck? I wont be selling shit.
How about we have a "Color day" that my children actually wear?? Like pink and purple?? I really dislike buying specific colored clothing for one damn day.
Snacks. Again. Where the fuck is my money going?? And how is it that my kids end up in the rotation every single month. Other kids dont. Convenient.
If show and tell is every damn Tuesday, why didn't you mention that in your sacred "newsletter"?
Oh yeah, and when you said the preschool drop off/pick up line would be "quick and convenient", I'm not sure you included the time allotted for you to jaw jack with your favorite class parents. I dont have time for this shit. I just raced here to get beat AGAIN by some old man in a white mini van and I WANT MY KIDS, so I can take them home and feed them LUNCH, since you guys dont do that........again, tuition??
Oh and by the way, I wont be a "class mom". I've got shit to do. And I'm not exactly sure I will be welcomed with open arms since all the "class moms", dont work, stay at home, discuss Oprah, and talk about their memebership to the YMCA (which they obviously arent using, since they're all ridiculously overweight and stuffing the snack I BOUGHT FOR THEIR KIDS into their mouths), not to mention they dont like me. It is truly juvenile bullshit all over again. If I try to strike up a conversation with you, please dont ask me how young I was when I had my daughters if they are already three years old. I was of consenting age, let's just say that much. And please dont act surprised when I talk about my husband. Yes!! Twenty five year olds ARE married nowadays. Thanks. Just because youre a tiny bit older, doesnt mean I wont bitch slap that grin right off you and your equally over-weight/ugly "bestie". And please dont act like I dont spend enough time with my daughters because I'm a working mom. I have a career!?!?!?! I really thought we'd left these stone-age ideas behind, but obviously I was mistaken. Officially, I believe I will proclaim this day, "Hug a working mommy day" .
Next time, I will be less shocked and more angry. Choke slam.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
the truth about pregnancy
this weekend while working, I came upon one of those people I really cant be around for long without opening my big mouth and offending them beyond reason. Fortunately, I didn't open my big mouth.
Pregnancy is an emotionally, physically, hormonally exhausting stage in a woman's life. You throw up repeatedly, battle nausea constantly, and begin retaining water. Not to mention, you get enormous. Like huge. No kidding.
So, while in nursing school, since I battled morning sickness for seven months. Seriously. Doctors lie. They LIE DAMMIT. First three months, my ASS!!! I apologize, tangent. I would sit in class with a trashcan nearby to avoid spewing vomit all over my neighboring classmates. Coincidentally, I also had about three or four class mates who were also expecting, (I lost count, all these bitches get knocked up in nursing school)
Anyway, so as I am vomiting up my spleen during a class break from lecture. One of these classmates corners me, explaining how she had NEVER felt better then when she was pregnant and what a BLESSING being pregnant is to her and how she would just be PREGNANT ALL THE TIME if she could!!!!
Barf.
I responded, none too kindly, what pregnancy safe antidepressants were on the market for women that dont cause horrible birth defects in the unborn fetus. I then asked for her doctor's name and number so I could perhaps have these lovely pharmaceuticals prescribed to myself and maybe they would help with the one HUNDRED pounds I had gained, the GIANT bowling ball tumor that had grown in my uterus, the HUGE tree trunks that replaced my adorable ankles and my otherwise filthy ass attitude.
fuck.off.
Please dont assume everyone has a lovely pregnancy. Some (as in myself) know that the tiny being inside their uterus is actually a little bitty parasite sucking the life out of their body for nine months. Causing them to vomit the first seven and then vomit the last month (simply because their stomach is compressed into nothingness and they cant HOLD real people food.) Hopefully you like peanut butter off the spoon and whole milk. Welcome to the real world "mommy".
Every time I looked at my pregnant body, or threw up my saltine crackers (or wedding cake, as it was, that's another story, for another day), or envisioned labor pains, all I wanted to do was shake Eve until her teeth rattled for eating that forbidden fruit!!! DAMMIT!!!
And be thankful you were pregnant, or I might would've mistaken YOU for Eve!!! And really, lets be honest!! Dont hound a pregnant woman. She can thrill kill you in a minute and get by any jury. Really.
Pregnancy is an emotionally, physically, hormonally exhausting stage in a woman's life. You throw up repeatedly, battle nausea constantly, and begin retaining water. Not to mention, you get enormous. Like huge. No kidding.
So, while in nursing school, since I battled morning sickness for seven months. Seriously. Doctors lie. They LIE DAMMIT. First three months, my ASS!!! I apologize, tangent. I would sit in class with a trashcan nearby to avoid spewing vomit all over my neighboring classmates. Coincidentally, I also had about three or four class mates who were also expecting, (I lost count, all these bitches get knocked up in nursing school)
Anyway, so as I am vomiting up my spleen during a class break from lecture. One of these classmates corners me, explaining how she had NEVER felt better then when she was pregnant and what a BLESSING being pregnant is to her and how she would just be PREGNANT ALL THE TIME if she could!!!!
Barf.
I responded, none too kindly, what pregnancy safe antidepressants were on the market for women that dont cause horrible birth defects in the unborn fetus. I then asked for her doctor's name and number so I could perhaps have these lovely pharmaceuticals prescribed to myself and maybe they would help with the one HUNDRED pounds I had gained, the GIANT bowling ball tumor that had grown in my uterus, the HUGE tree trunks that replaced my adorable ankles and my otherwise filthy ass attitude.
fuck.off.
Please dont assume everyone has a lovely pregnancy. Some (as in myself) know that the tiny being inside their uterus is actually a little bitty parasite sucking the life out of their body for nine months. Causing them to vomit the first seven and then vomit the last month (simply because their stomach is compressed into nothingness and they cant HOLD real people food.) Hopefully you like peanut butter off the spoon and whole milk. Welcome to the real world "mommy".
Every time I looked at my pregnant body, or threw up my saltine crackers (or wedding cake, as it was, that's another story, for another day), or envisioned labor pains, all I wanted to do was shake Eve until her teeth rattled for eating that forbidden fruit!!! DAMMIT!!!
And be thankful you were pregnant, or I might would've mistaken YOU for Eve!!! And really, lets be honest!! Dont hound a pregnant woman. She can thrill kill you in a minute and get by any jury. Really.
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