So, I got up the courage last night to show my blog to my hubby. In typical male fashion, he laughed the hardest at the Fart part in my exercise post. I could probably just do a whole post about farting and he'd think it was hysterical. In the course of his reading, I told him I was going to share the following story:
Once apon a time, there was a single girl who hadn't had sex in a LONG time. Let me stress, A LONG TIME. Like many other people (whether you admit it or not) she was used to, how to say, relieving the stress??? spanking the monkey?? (or does that only work for guys?). She then decided it would be a good idea to get some variety. In the form of toys. Lots of toys.
She discovered that she loved the toys so much. So much so that she used them religiously. No matter how tired.
Well, one night she went to bed and was using the toy. That's all she remembers. Until the next morning. When she woke up and thought "What the fuck is my alarm doing going off on a Saturday"? Followed quickly by "What the fuck is my alarm doing between my legs?" It was the buzzing you see. Once the sleep fog cleared, she realized what had happened. She fell asleep. Yes, asleep with it still going and still in *ahem* place.
Some people would be mortified. Not this girl. This girl with no shame. She found it hysterical.
So, in light of yesterdays rather downcast post, I thought it would be funny to tell one of mine, I mean her, strangest yet strangely funny stories of single life.
The Husband's comment on this story: "How the hell did it stay there all night???" Not so much mortified that she did it but more amazed that she did, and seemingly kinda intrigued. And that is why I love this man...
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Commentary On Society
I have recently found the show "Without A Trace" on TBS (yes, the rerun channel) and I've discovered that I love it. However, the one we were watching in bed last night got me all riled up - and not in the way my Hubby would have liked. You see, there was a kid who went missing, a boy in Jr. High. Through the course of the show, you find out he views himself a loser because of the treatment of his peers. The memories this resurrected....NOT good ones. In the end, you find out the boy went missing because a group of girls played a horrible trick on him. Public humiliation.
If you are squirming in your seat right now remembering some trama you went through in middle school, you know what I'm talking about. If you're not, you are either very lucky or perhaps you should be squirming thinking of what you may have done to the "geeky" kid in Jr. High. Folks, these memories last a life time.
A little history on why this is such a hot button issue for me. My beloved daddy was in the Air Force. We moved around but we were lucky because we didn't move a lot and my parents had some great assignments. We started in Texas, then my dad did a year in Turkey by himself to allow them their pick of duty stations. Well, that was a no brainer since we are from Rhode Island originally - they chose Pease AFB in Portsmouth, NH. While they were there, they were offered the opportunity to be stationed in England. Why did this excite my parents? Well, my paternal grandparents were from Ireland and then they immigrated to England where my father and his older sister were born. When my dad was 2, they loaded the family on a ship and set sail to the States. So, obviously, England was a homecoming. We were all raised (my sister, brother, and myself) with a strong love of our Irish heritage and England was as close as we could get. So, in 1984 we packed up, said goodbye to all our family (my mom is one of 10, her family could be the poor Kennedy's!) at Logan Airport and boarded a plane to our new life in England. I was 12. And NOT happy. And hormonal. And pretty much a miserable little bitch.
I had to leave all my friends and start a new school - a JR HIGH - at 12. It sucked. It sucked the big fat hairy one. I didn't dress the way the others did. I didn't wear make up (Thanks a bunch MOM! :D). I didn't have styled hair. In short, I was the geeky kid. To top it off, I was smart. So I was the teacher's pet smart nerdy geeky kid. Whatta combo! 7th Grade became a year of HELL for me. How? Let me explain:
* I got a top student award. When my name was announced, the student body booed.
* I was pushed down a set of concrete steps.
* I was slapped in the face.
Those are a few...but here is the one that STILL breaks my heart to this day:
We had math class as our last class of the day. English right before it. During English class, the "girls" managed to get me to tell them who I liked by pretending to be my friends. They in turn, told this boy - who happened to be one of the "popular ones". They came back to me and told me he liked me too. Before I knew it, we were going "out". I walked into math class on a high. The teacher wasn't it class - she was often late. This boy stood up in front of the whole class and said, "I said I'd go out with you but I didn't say how long. I am breaking up with you. You are a dog." The whole class errupted into laughter and cheers. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
You don't get over that kind of torture - EVER. It affects you for the rest of your life. It shapes the kind of person you will become. For me, I became overly empathic. I championed the losers. Does my story have a happy ending? Yes, it does. You see, I ended up staying there from 7th grade to Graduation and ended up being one of the "popular" ones. Did it change me? No - I was friends with everyone. I didn't tolerate anyone in my presence treating someone the way I had been treated.
Now, I'm a parent. That experience has affected me as a parent. If I ever heard my children say ONE unkind thing, there was hell to pay. I am proud to say, I have raised 2 very empathic and sympathetic children. They have many friends and they truly treat all humans with respect.
Now, I look at our newest. And I get sad. You see, she has a birthmark. She's one and its not going away. I know what she's in for. It breaks my heart for her. So, what's my point? Nothing other than, if you're not already, teach your children kindness and acceptance of all humans - no matter the race, looks, background, etc. Share with your children your experiences and how its affected you. In the words of the Beatles...All we need is love...dah dah da da dah...Love Love love is all we need.
**stepping off soapbox and admitting that this was also a good place to post what I think is one of the most beautiful pictures of Abby. Also, if Mastercard and the Sox are listening...I could be persuaded....nah!
If you are squirming in your seat right now remembering some trama you went through in middle school, you know what I'm talking about. If you're not, you are either very lucky or perhaps you should be squirming thinking of what you may have done to the "geeky" kid in Jr. High. Folks, these memories last a life time.
A little history on why this is such a hot button issue for me. My beloved daddy was in the Air Force. We moved around but we were lucky because we didn't move a lot and my parents had some great assignments. We started in Texas, then my dad did a year in Turkey by himself to allow them their pick of duty stations. Well, that was a no brainer since we are from Rhode Island originally - they chose Pease AFB in Portsmouth, NH. While they were there, they were offered the opportunity to be stationed in England. Why did this excite my parents? Well, my paternal grandparents were from Ireland and then they immigrated to England where my father and his older sister were born. When my dad was 2, they loaded the family on a ship and set sail to the States. So, obviously, England was a homecoming. We were all raised (my sister, brother, and myself) with a strong love of our Irish heritage and England was as close as we could get. So, in 1984 we packed up, said goodbye to all our family (my mom is one of 10, her family could be the poor Kennedy's!) at Logan Airport and boarded a plane to our new life in England. I was 12. And NOT happy. And hormonal. And pretty much a miserable little bitch.
I had to leave all my friends and start a new school - a JR HIGH - at 12. It sucked. It sucked the big fat hairy one. I didn't dress the way the others did. I didn't wear make up (Thanks a bunch MOM! :D). I didn't have styled hair. In short, I was the geeky kid. To top it off, I was smart. So I was the teacher's pet smart nerdy geeky kid. Whatta combo! 7th Grade became a year of HELL for me. How? Let me explain:
* I got a top student award. When my name was announced, the student body booed.
* I was pushed down a set of concrete steps.
* I was slapped in the face.
Those are a few...but here is the one that STILL breaks my heart to this day:
We had math class as our last class of the day. English right before it. During English class, the "girls" managed to get me to tell them who I liked by pretending to be my friends. They in turn, told this boy - who happened to be one of the "popular ones". They came back to me and told me he liked me too. Before I knew it, we were going "out". I walked into math class on a high. The teacher wasn't it class - she was often late. This boy stood up in front of the whole class and said, "I said I'd go out with you but I didn't say how long. I am breaking up with you. You are a dog." The whole class errupted into laughter and cheers. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
You don't get over that kind of torture - EVER. It affects you for the rest of your life. It shapes the kind of person you will become. For me, I became overly empathic. I championed the losers. Does my story have a happy ending? Yes, it does. You see, I ended up staying there from 7th grade to Graduation and ended up being one of the "popular" ones. Did it change me? No - I was friends with everyone. I didn't tolerate anyone in my presence treating someone the way I had been treated.
Now, I'm a parent. That experience has affected me as a parent. If I ever heard my children say ONE unkind thing, there was hell to pay. I am proud to say, I have raised 2 very empathic and sympathetic children. They have many friends and they truly treat all humans with respect.
Now, I look at our newest. And I get sad. You see, she has a birthmark. She's one and its not going away. I know what she's in for. It breaks my heart for her. So, what's my point? Nothing other than, if you're not already, teach your children kindness and acceptance of all humans - no matter the race, looks, background, etc. Share with your children your experiences and how its affected you. In the words of the Beatles...All we need is love...dah dah da da dah...Love Love love is all we need.
**stepping off soapbox and admitting that this was also a good place to post what I think is one of the most beautiful pictures of Abby. Also, if Mastercard and the Sox are listening...I could be persuaded....nah!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
GO SAWKS!
Since we are rapidly approaching post season play and my beloved Red Sox are tenously holding on to the AL East lead, I thought it appropriate to post a video of the last time they went all the way.
No matter how often I watch this it still makes me laugh my rather large fat white Irish ass off....Classic stuff.
PS - I owe a great big shout out to Ashley with love and kisses for helping this technology challenged over 35er learn how to post a freaking video...how is it that I can birth babies but it took me forever to learn to post a photo and/or a video. So, thank you Ashley for the help and also for my new addiction (blogging).
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Oh the Horror
Is it ironic that Fall starts just before Halloween? Its the time when you have to bust out the jeans. The jeans you haven't worn in months because you've been wearing the shorts you wore before you had the baby that were a larger size. The shorts that you refused to notice were getting.....snug. Now the weather is changing and its time to bring back all the old clothes. Including the torture device known as jeans. These are the brand new jeans you bought about last February. The ones you were so proud to fit into because they were the smallest size sold at Lane Bryant. The ones you spent over $40 on that you justified to Hubby were totally worth it because you weren't ever going to need a larger size again. Yes....those jeans...
The jeans that now feel like you are encasing your thighs in lycra instead of demin. The jeans that make you look like you are pregnant - in your ass! The jeans that show every lump, bump, roll, and wrinkle you've accumulated since the spring.
I might have mentioned that I'm overweight. I have been since my son was born in 1991. Before that, I had the metabolism of dreams. I could eat 2 Big Macs, Fries, and a Chocolate Shake and I still only weighed 99 lbs. Since I had never had a weight problem, I just assumed the pounds would melt away after birth. That I'd wake up and discover that not only had I lost the weight but this new saggy kangaroo pouch was just a nightmare. Sadly, I'm still waiting for that day.
Why don't I just diet? Let me enlighten you, I have. Several times. I've even exercised. Consistency and willpower...that is what I lack. Plus I seem to be on some strange frequency with chocolate as it truly does talk to me. After each of the girls were born, I weighed less than I did when I got pregnant. Somehow though, those pounds found me again. Except they brought friends. And relatives. I'm the queen of convincing myself that its not bad...that I don't look as bad as I imagine. Works great....until I see a mirror.
Now, I have a wedding to go to. In January. I've had over a year to lose this weight slowly and steadily but NOOOOO I like to wait til the heat is on and then have go into diet panic mode. Or deny it until reality slaps me in the ass in the form of jeans that appear to be giving me a reverse camel toe.
Starting Monday, I'm on a diet. There. I've said it publicly. I can't back out now. Its either stick to it or go as Jabba the Hut's girlfriend for Halloween.....
The jeans that now feel like you are encasing your thighs in lycra instead of demin. The jeans that make you look like you are pregnant - in your ass! The jeans that show every lump, bump, roll, and wrinkle you've accumulated since the spring.
I might have mentioned that I'm overweight. I have been since my son was born in 1991. Before that, I had the metabolism of dreams. I could eat 2 Big Macs, Fries, and a Chocolate Shake and I still only weighed 99 lbs. Since I had never had a weight problem, I just assumed the pounds would melt away after birth. That I'd wake up and discover that not only had I lost the weight but this new saggy kangaroo pouch was just a nightmare. Sadly, I'm still waiting for that day.
Why don't I just diet? Let me enlighten you, I have. Several times. I've even exercised. Consistency and willpower...that is what I lack. Plus I seem to be on some strange frequency with chocolate as it truly does talk to me. After each of the girls were born, I weighed less than I did when I got pregnant. Somehow though, those pounds found me again. Except they brought friends. And relatives. I'm the queen of convincing myself that its not bad...that I don't look as bad as I imagine. Works great....until I see a mirror.
Now, I have a wedding to go to. In January. I've had over a year to lose this weight slowly and steadily but NOOOOO I like to wait til the heat is on and then have go into diet panic mode. Or deny it until reality slaps me in the ass in the form of jeans that appear to be giving me a reverse camel toe.
Starting Monday, I'm on a diet. There. I've said it publicly. I can't back out now. Its either stick to it or go as Jabba the Hut's girlfriend for Halloween.....
Friday, September 14, 2007
Happy Early Birthday!
I'm writing this a day early because we have a busy weekend with Baby's party.
One Year Ago
One Year Ago, I held you in my arm
One Year Ago, I promised to protect you from harm
One Year Ago, I touched your tiny face
One Year Ago, I knew in my heart you had a place
One Year Ago, my heart so filled with pride
One Year Ago, its been such a wonderful ride
One Year Ago, our family got such a lift
One Year Ago, we received our magnificent gift
One Year Ago, our lives weren't yet complete
One Year Ago, the day was truly sweet
One Year Ago, looking at you in sweet repose
One Year Ago, we got our lovely Abby Rose
You know, sometimes the things you want most in life are the things you don't even realize. We certainly didn't expect to find ourselves parents again but there is a completeness to our lives. As if we finally found that long lost missing puzzle piece. While there are many times I wonder if we're certifiable (which we are), I can truly say I have a blessed life. Craziness and all. We may not have money, we may not have all the material possessions but what we do have is a life filled with love and the people we love. Its easy to forget that when your struggling through the day.
So, to my sweet and wonderful daughter, I can't promise you that Mommy will always be fair. I can't promise you that Mommy won't make you mad. I can't promise you that Mommy won't make mistakes. I can't promise there won't be times that Mommy is grumpy. What I can promise you is that Mommy will always love you with every ounce of her being. What I can promise is that Mommy will always be here for you. What I can promise you is that Mommy will always remember, every day of her life, what a blessing and a gift you are and will continue to be. Mommy's heart didn't run out of room to love her children, it seems to have grown with each gift she received and its continued to grow as each of you have made your way through life. You aren't the lucky ones because you have me for a Mommy, Mommy is the lucky one to have ALL of you for children. You taught Mommy the true meaning of love - selfless, unconditional, and sometimes thankless love. For that, Mommy thanks you because each of you have made Mommy a better person.
So from today, tomorrow, and always, I love you and I am honored to get to be your Mommy.
PS - just remember, Mommy also has the goods on you and is perfectly capable of embarrassing you for the rest of your life (just ask Sean and Kelly) so its always smart to stay on Mommy's good side and a little sucking up never hurts!!!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Cost of Children
There have been many studies done on the total cost of raising a child. I believe the most current numbers I have seen are in the neighborhood of $250K. Sure, it seems like a lot of money but what those studies don't tell you is that figure doesn't include extra cirricular activities. Here's my latest breakdown for Drama Queen:
9 Months of Dance Classes (Ballet, Pointe, Tap, and Jazz): $1125.00
Ballet Slippers: $30.00
Jazz Sneakers: $58.00
Pointe Shoes: $100.00
Tap Shoes: $60.00
Leotard: $20.00
Dance Bag: $20.00
Tights: $20.00
Costumes for Recital: $280.00
Recital Fee: $50.00
This gives us a grand total of $1763.00 for ONE freaking year of dance. ONE YEAR. We get to do this all over again each and every freaking year since the age of 3. Obviously, at 3, it was a tad cheaper.
Cost of seeing your child on stage dancing like she's a prima ballerina: PRICELESS
It is scary to see it all totalled up but, I'm a total dance mom. I love that she does it. I love the look on her face when she leaves class - her eyes shining with excitement. I love how she looks on stage. I wouldn't change it for all the money we could save. I do worry though, because she can't wait til Baby can dance too. Hmmmm, point to ponder, wonder if the 2nd child's free??
However, now you understand why I must continue to steal the Frappucino's. I can't afford to buy them after paying for dance class.
Number of Frappucino's stolen since blog started: 10
9 Months of Dance Classes (Ballet, Pointe, Tap, and Jazz): $1125.00
Ballet Slippers: $30.00
Jazz Sneakers: $58.00
Pointe Shoes: $100.00
Tap Shoes: $60.00
Leotard: $20.00
Dance Bag: $20.00
Tights: $20.00
Costumes for Recital: $280.00
Recital Fee: $50.00
This gives us a grand total of $1763.00 for ONE freaking year of dance. ONE YEAR. We get to do this all over again each and every freaking year since the age of 3. Obviously, at 3, it was a tad cheaper.
Cost of seeing your child on stage dancing like she's a prima ballerina: PRICELESS
It is scary to see it all totalled up but, I'm a total dance mom. I love that she does it. I love the look on her face when she leaves class - her eyes shining with excitement. I love how she looks on stage. I wouldn't change it for all the money we could save. I do worry though, because she can't wait til Baby can dance too. Hmmmm, point to ponder, wonder if the 2nd child's free??
However, now you understand why I must continue to steal the Frappucino's. I can't afford to buy them after paying for dance class.
Number of Frappucino's stolen since blog started: 10
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Exercise is an Instrument of Hell
I started exercising yesterday. I'm still trying to lose the baby weight. Did I mention that its the baby weight from my first born who is now 16? I don't just have a muffin top, I have a full blown jumbo sized coffee cake stuffed into my jeans. Every so often, I get inspired to try and whittle it down to just a muffin. Now is one of those times....
My boss, who is also a good friend and also Satan on Earth, has been wanting to lose some belly flub. On her, when I say Belly Flub, I mean, the mearest hint of a roll. The bitch is skinny, she has nice legs and boobs (truly, I'm feeling like all my lesbian tendencies come out on this blog). So, in my infinite wisdom, I tell her "Pilates - its the best". Meaning, during my one of many forays into the exercise world I did it and felt like it worked but didn't keep up with it. I loan her the video and she starts doing it EVERY NIGHT. (See what I mean about Satan???) About a month later, she comes to me and says, that one is now too easy, do you have a harder one I can borrow? Seeing my chance to break Satan, I rub my hands with glee and say, I have just the thing. Its a Yoga/Pilates combo which would kick my ass without taking it out of the case.
Then, the stupid part of me starts thinking, maybe I should start doing this. So, during one of my many trips to Wal-Mart (probably while drinking a stolen Frappucino) I buy a DVD. 10 Minute Pilates. 5 workouts - each to target a certain part of your body. 10 minutes? Piece of cake. I buy the said DVD. I proceed into work the next morning and tell Satan all about it.
A few days later, I determine I should actually try this thing out. Apparently the osmosis version of exercise isn't working with me. I pull it out, put it in the DVD player and pick my workout. Hmmmm...arms and shoulders. Sounds good. Should be low impact and I can attempt to eliminate the Turkey Legs that are my arms.
OH
MY
FUCKING
GOD
10 minutes later, I'm dripping sweat and my arms feel like spaghetti noodles. I calmly put the DVD back in its case and stow away the instrument of Hell in the drawer where the weeping Jesus used to reside.
Until this week. When Satan decided we should exercise at work. It sounded good (that should have been my first clue something was wrong with me). How bad could 10 minutes be (do I have short term memory loss). So, we start. It was bad enough I looked like a walrus flopping around but then - oh oh FART. Hey, at least it didn't stink!
Today, I feel like someone ripped my abs open. It hurts to laugh. It hurts to move. It hurts to freakin breath. Maybe I'm just more cut out to be one of those "rotund" women. Everything from the past comes back into style, why not the Botticelli style built women?
Thankfully, Satan was busy today so I managed to avoid more torture. I'm going to have to try and have the same happen tomorrow. I even tried bribing her this morning with a Frappucino. Ohhh, I know, I can just come in on crutches tomorrow. I wonder how long it is before my life insurance kicks in because I think she's going to kill me......
My boss, who is also a good friend and also Satan on Earth, has been wanting to lose some belly flub. On her, when I say Belly Flub, I mean, the mearest hint of a roll. The bitch is skinny, she has nice legs and boobs (truly, I'm feeling like all my lesbian tendencies come out on this blog). So, in my infinite wisdom, I tell her "Pilates - its the best". Meaning, during my one of many forays into the exercise world I did it and felt like it worked but didn't keep up with it. I loan her the video and she starts doing it EVERY NIGHT. (See what I mean about Satan???) About a month later, she comes to me and says, that one is now too easy, do you have a harder one I can borrow? Seeing my chance to break Satan, I rub my hands with glee and say, I have just the thing. Its a Yoga/Pilates combo which would kick my ass without taking it out of the case.
Then, the stupid part of me starts thinking, maybe I should start doing this. So, during one of my many trips to Wal-Mart (probably while drinking a stolen Frappucino) I buy a DVD. 10 Minute Pilates. 5 workouts - each to target a certain part of your body. 10 minutes? Piece of cake. I buy the said DVD. I proceed into work the next morning and tell Satan all about it.
A few days later, I determine I should actually try this thing out. Apparently the osmosis version of exercise isn't working with me. I pull it out, put it in the DVD player and pick my workout. Hmmmm...arms and shoulders. Sounds good. Should be low impact and I can attempt to eliminate the Turkey Legs that are my arms.
OH
MY
FUCKING
GOD
10 minutes later, I'm dripping sweat and my arms feel like spaghetti noodles. I calmly put the DVD back in its case and stow away the instrument of Hell in the drawer where the weeping Jesus used to reside.
Until this week. When Satan decided we should exercise at work. It sounded good (that should have been my first clue something was wrong with me). How bad could 10 minutes be (do I have short term memory loss). So, we start. It was bad enough I looked like a walrus flopping around but then - oh oh FART. Hey, at least it didn't stink!
Today, I feel like someone ripped my abs open. It hurts to laugh. It hurts to move. It hurts to freakin breath. Maybe I'm just more cut out to be one of those "rotund" women. Everything from the past comes back into style, why not the Botticelli style built women?
Thankfully, Satan was busy today so I managed to avoid more torture. I'm going to have to try and have the same happen tomorrow. I even tried bribing her this morning with a Frappucino. Ohhh, I know, I can just come in on crutches tomorrow. I wonder how long it is before my life insurance kicks in because I think she's going to kill me......
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
What The.....
I read a few blogs that detail their conversations with their little kids (which are hilarious and make me miss those days and dread the ones coming up). I thought I'd share a conversation I had with my older two, Igor (16) and Drama Queen (12) to entertain and possibly scare the shit out of anyone reading who doesn't have kids this age!
Let me set the scene. I come home from work on Thursday. As my previous post have mention, we have to keep the bathroom door closed due to the fact that Baby thinks the tiolet is her own personal birdbath. I get a sweet greeting from Drama Queen and Igor is no where to be found (that in itseslf is not unusual). I proceed to the bathroom. Get nice and comfy on the pot with my latest reading material, look up and notice a lovely hole in the bathroom wall. I leave the comfort of the bathroom to this conversation:
Me: Drama Queen!! (in a loud high pitched yell)
Drama Queen (hereafter known as DQ for short): Yes Mom? (in a totally innocent I have no idea why you might be yelling at me tone of voice)
Me: Would you like to explain the hole in the bathroom wall? (I picked her first for a reason even though I suspected they were both involved. She's the weak link!)
DQ: **monkey wails** I'm sure there was some sort of explanation in all of that but I'll be damned if I know what it was
Me: **Looks around - is 5 pm too early to start drinking**
Me: Igor!!! (again, in the loud high pitched your shit is in some trouble yell)
DQ: **sobbing**
Igor: Yes?
Me: Would you like to explain the hole in the bathroom wall?
Igor: Why yes, yes I would! (in the emphatic tones of someone convinced of their innocence) You see, DQ was watching TV and I kindly reminded her that she needed to put her dishes away. She went to the kitchen to do so and took the remote with her. I went into the kitchen and told her nicely that she didn't need to take the remote because I wasn't going to change the channel.
DQ: **Monkey wails and more sobbing** BLAH BLAH BLAH Igor thats not true
Me: **Holds head in hands and works on convincing myself that 5:10 isn't too early to drink, feels headache brewing**
Now, I'll give you my translation to this point: Igor decided to boss DQ around and tell her to do her jobs. She retaliated by removing the remote control from his vicinity. His response was to go and retrieve said remote by whatever means possible
Me: Ok, that still doesn't explain the bathroom and DQ, the remote belongs in the living room not the kitchen.
DQ: **monkey wails and sobbing** But he was bossing me and he was going to chaaaaange the channnnnnnell and I was waaaaatching that!
Me: **looks around for advil**
Igor: So, I proceeded into the kitchen and then DQ threw all the plastic tupperware containers at me. I mean, Mom, the whole cabinet was empty!! She even through your metal collander at me and bent it! (in the now indignant tones of someone who knows they haven't done wrong)
Me: **Looks at DQ**
DQ: Heeeeee just maaaaade me sooooo mad! (still monkey wailing and sobbing but at least coherent now)
Me: Ok...I still don't get the bathroom wall??
Igor: DQ went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Then while I was so nicely picking up all the dishes she threw, I heard some loud banging on the bathroom door so I went to investigate. I thought maybe she was hurt and calling for help in Morse Code.
Me: **Fuck it - wine at 5:30 is totally acceptable. Besides I need something to wash down these Advil**
DQ: **Monkey Wails** I wasssssss going to the battttttttthroooooom and he just busted right in
Igor: I didn't know you were going to bathroom and besides, when I came in you were laying on the floor.
DQ: (starting to realize she isn't looking good in all this) HHEEEEEEEEE hurt my shoooooooulder!!! **sobs**
DQ: **Looks around for sympathy**
DQ: **Yelling** I told you I was going to the bathroom!!
Igor: No you didn't, DQ!!
Igor: Mom, she was kicking the bathroom door and when I opened the door, she was just laying there!
DQ: I did too tell you, Igor, you are lying!!!
DQ: I might have slammed the door too hard because he made me mad.
Me: Really, we only have one bottle of wine in the house??? Guess I picked the wrong day to stop drinking.
Me: *Yelling at almost a monkey wail level** Igor, you aren't her parent. If she doesn't do her jobs, you tell us and we'll handle it. DQ, the remote belongs in the living room and you are expected to do your jobs! If you two can't leave each other alone, I'll just take the damn remote to work with me!
Sad part of this, they each have cable in their rooms.....
Me: **Flops on couch and thinks about crying**
Hubby: Ummmmm what was that????
So, for those of you who have little kids, be afraid, be very very afraid. For those of you who have older children, I feel your pain. For those of you who haven't had children yet, Lucky Fucking Bastards!
Let me set the scene. I come home from work on Thursday. As my previous post have mention, we have to keep the bathroom door closed due to the fact that Baby thinks the tiolet is her own personal birdbath. I get a sweet greeting from Drama Queen and Igor is no where to be found (that in itseslf is not unusual). I proceed to the bathroom. Get nice and comfy on the pot with my latest reading material, look up and notice a lovely hole in the bathroom wall. I leave the comfort of the bathroom to this conversation:
Me: Drama Queen!! (in a loud high pitched yell)
Drama Queen (hereafter known as DQ for short): Yes Mom? (in a totally innocent I have no idea why you might be yelling at me tone of voice)
Me: Would you like to explain the hole in the bathroom wall? (I picked her first for a reason even though I suspected they were both involved. She's the weak link!)
DQ: **monkey wails** I'm sure there was some sort of explanation in all of that but I'll be damned if I know what it was
Me: **Looks around - is 5 pm too early to start drinking**
Me: Igor!!! (again, in the loud high pitched your shit is in some trouble yell)
DQ: **sobbing**
Igor: Yes?
Me: Would you like to explain the hole in the bathroom wall?
Igor: Why yes, yes I would! (in the emphatic tones of someone convinced of their innocence) You see, DQ was watching TV and I kindly reminded her that she needed to put her dishes away. She went to the kitchen to do so and took the remote with her. I went into the kitchen and told her nicely that she didn't need to take the remote because I wasn't going to change the channel.
DQ: **Monkey wails and more sobbing** BLAH BLAH BLAH Igor thats not true
Me: **Holds head in hands and works on convincing myself that 5:10 isn't too early to drink, feels headache brewing**
Now, I'll give you my translation to this point: Igor decided to boss DQ around and tell her to do her jobs. She retaliated by removing the remote control from his vicinity. His response was to go and retrieve said remote by whatever means possible
Me: Ok, that still doesn't explain the bathroom and DQ, the remote belongs in the living room not the kitchen.
DQ: **monkey wails and sobbing** But he was bossing me and he was going to chaaaaange the channnnnnnell and I was waaaaatching that!
Me: **looks around for advil**
Igor: So, I proceeded into the kitchen and then DQ threw all the plastic tupperware containers at me. I mean, Mom, the whole cabinet was empty!! She even through your metal collander at me and bent it! (in the now indignant tones of someone who knows they haven't done wrong)
Me: **Looks at DQ**
DQ: Heeeeee just maaaaade me sooooo mad! (still monkey wailing and sobbing but at least coherent now)
Me: Ok...I still don't get the bathroom wall??
Igor: DQ went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Then while I was so nicely picking up all the dishes she threw, I heard some loud banging on the bathroom door so I went to investigate. I thought maybe she was hurt and calling for help in Morse Code.
Me: **Fuck it - wine at 5:30 is totally acceptable. Besides I need something to wash down these Advil**
DQ: **Monkey Wails** I wasssssss going to the battttttttthroooooom and he just busted right in
Igor: I didn't know you were going to bathroom and besides, when I came in you were laying on the floor.
DQ: (starting to realize she isn't looking good in all this) HHEEEEEEEEE hurt my shoooooooulder!!! **sobs**
DQ: **Looks around for sympathy**
DQ: **Yelling** I told you I was going to the bathroom!!
Igor: No you didn't, DQ!!
Igor: Mom, she was kicking the bathroom door and when I opened the door, she was just laying there!
DQ: I did too tell you, Igor, you are lying!!!
DQ: I might have slammed the door too hard because he made me mad.
Me: Really, we only have one bottle of wine in the house??? Guess I picked the wrong day to stop drinking.
Me: *Yelling at almost a monkey wail level** Igor, you aren't her parent. If she doesn't do her jobs, you tell us and we'll handle it. DQ, the remote belongs in the living room and you are expected to do your jobs! If you two can't leave each other alone, I'll just take the damn remote to work with me!
Sad part of this, they each have cable in their rooms.....
Me: **Flops on couch and thinks about crying**
Hubby: Ummmmm what was that????
So, for those of you who have little kids, be afraid, be very very afraid. For those of you who have older children, I feel your pain. For those of you who haven't had children yet, Lucky Fucking Bastards!
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