I Don't Get No Respect.
Adoring wife: Honey, here's your coffee. Time to get up.
Jackass husband: Thanks. (rolls over) You have a 69 on your arm?
Adoring wife: Do not, pig. It is the sign of Cancer. My brother's a Cancer, remember?
Jackass husband: Hmmpft.
Adoring wife: You mean to tell me you're just now noticing that? I've had this tattoo for years.
Jackass husband: I try not to look at it.
Adoring and slightly peeved wife: Doesn't much bode well for you that there are parts of your wife you try to not look at.
Jackass and deep in the hole husband: You're telling me.
Later on today:
Dutiful son: Mom, I can't remember what you look like without your glasses on.
Loving mother: Here you go. See? I look the same.
Dutiful and likely well-paid son: Mom, I wish you didn't have that earring in your nose.
Loving and slightly peeved mother: Why is that?
Dutiful and deep in the hole son: I think you look silly with it.
The post where I blatantly out myself as the worlds biggest hypocritical lying liar, Little Ms I Am Too Smart For Baby Monitors. Read the rest. Well worth it.
In my resistance to vie nouveau, I have come across something I thought sounded like maybe it had some merit. So, we are trying this brand spankin’ new thing we heard about. The idea is that you lay your kid down when they are tired, walk away and let them work out the going to sleep details on their own.
This is a brand new concept to me. I have always subscribed to the cuddle/bounce/sing-to/recite-dirty-limericks-to/nurse-’til-it-hurts school of putting kids to bed. But I have to say, this is kind of nice. We have a little routine going. We have ni-night cuddles all the way up to the room, then say ni-night to all the babies, then lay down and turn on the baby giraffe’s lullaby, then cover up with the blankie, then say ni-night to each other at which point I walk away and shut the door.
Now, sometimes this works beautifully. Like naptime today. She just went to sleep. Sometimes, however, this does not work so well. Sometimes it sounds like I have ripped out all of her toenails. Sometimes she comes very close to actually saying, “Get your ass back in here and pick me up, bitch.” And I know this because I have more baby monitors than you could shake a stick at. There is one in every available outlet. It’s screaming, in stereo.
Once, I got myself in a little too deep with some crazy blog trolls. While I was moving. TO ANOTHER COUNTRY. And I had no internet access. After that, the Rulz of the Blog came to be.
Things that will get your hand slapped:
- Posting the name of a child on this blog. I'll delete faster than you could ever imagine.
- Using my comments section as a place to justify your very, very naughty behavior
- Calling nasty names
- Acting like a 5 year old
- Behaving so badly that my friend has to call me all the way from Denver to tell me what's going on and then hack into my blog to delete your little temper tantrums because I'm moving and have no internet access.
Things that will get a big old bar of soap in your mouth
- Using the C word. Honestly, c*#k kinda makes me chuckle a little bit, but c*%t is just crude. We are grown-ups here, people. Vulgar names do not become us.
- Using fuck as a verb. The only acceptable usage of fuck is as an adjective or noun. And I'm touchy on the noun usage. Example 1: The fucking fuckers who decided it would be ok to plaster the name of a toddler all over my blog are fucking twisted fucks--perfectly ok. Example 2: Someone really needs to flip over that woman and fuck her properly--maybe not appropriate for a family site. I'll delete it. I promise you, I will.
- Saying that my kid is ugly. Or dumb. Just in case you were thinking about doing it.
I swear to Jesus on high and all that is holy, if you cannot play nicely with each other I will send you to your rooms and by the time I let you out your underwear will be out of style. I'm not kidding. Just try me.
And then the bottom fell directly out of my world. I hesitate to put this link here, because my husband's going to be pissed about it, but I'll say up front that strides of gargantuan proportion have been taken, and we are just fine and happy and gooey in love again, but this is an important part of my life, and it's my blog. Bygones. I love you, Donor. This is a rather large read the rest.
So, me. I have this, well, addiction to people who treat me badly. Alcoholics treat me really badly. Turns out it doesn’t much matter if they are sober, dry, clean or otherwise non-drinking drunks. They find a way to get their punches in, and I find a way to justify, blame myself, or ignore it.
I have been ignoring it for a while now. And then, a few weeks ago….
I love this post. Gigi said once it was her favourite, too. I am not sure if I love the post as much as I loved the coffee date that inspired it, which was seriously my favorite hour every with, quite possibly, my favorite boy ever, but still. Read the rest...
Something just clicks after thirty and you get things. You see them more clearly. I can't explain it better than that, but those of you in the 30+ club will agree with me, I know you will. My friend Sheryl says that the shift at 60 is even better than the one at thirty. This fact makes me very excited to hit 60, 'cause I am totally digging the mindset that has come along with my new decade of age. It's just, well, quieter. Calmer. Even when it crazy fucking madness because you spent your twenties acquiring some debt, a job, a litter of kids that all have to be at different places at the same time, a bunch of friends with various neurosis and a dog you can never find the time to walk, it is still all easier because after thirty you master the art of taking shit in stride. Diapers aren't as expensive at 30 as they were at 22; even though the price hasn't changed, your perspective has.
Early Morning Philosophy.
1of3: "Mom, do you think anything is possible?"
Mom: "No, I think some things are flat out impossible."
1of3: "Like what?"
Mom: "Can you fly?"
1of3: "Not yet."
Mom: "OK. Can a pig fly? You can tape all the wings you want to a pig. It will never achieve flight. Or sing. Ain't no way a pig's ever gonna sing."
1of3: "Mom, I can invent a flying machine. And maybe pigs can sing. How do you know?"
Mom: "Good point. You quitting picking your nose? Impossible!"
1of3: "I did quit, maaaawm!"
Mom: "Dude, I saw you pick your nose yesterday."
1of3: "Maaawm, I quit today!"
Mom: "Sure you did, B, sure you did."
1of3: "See, mom, nothing's impossible."
Mom: "2of3 listening to him mom for once? Huh? What about that one?"
1of3: "OK, almost nothing is impossible."
My resume. You know, in case you're looking to hire someone. With no skill sets. Click through and prepared to be let down.
Why I am going straight to hell, aka my Ash Wednesday post. The whole post.
I gave up religion for Lent.
I think I'm raising them wrong.
2of3: Mom, is Cupid real?
Mom: I think so, honey.
2of3: No he’s not, mom!
Mom: Oh yeah, well then how do people fall in love?
2of3: Maaawm, you just meet a girl who you think is pretty and…
Mom: So you have to be pretty for a boy to fall in love with you?
Mom: What if I was ugly? You’re saying dad wouldn’t have fallen in love with me?
2of3: Noooooo. But someone would have thought you were pretty.
Mom: Thanks. It’s a good thing he thought I was, huh?
Chauvinist pig. Good thing he’s cute.
The night before I turned 32, I took inventory. And saw that my cup was, indeed, full.
Tonight I sat outside and watched my children play. L & B were wrestling in the grass and T was trying desperately to master the pogo-stick. I got to thinking about this past year; this year that has arguably been the hardest of my life. I got to thinking about all the choices I’ve made, all the things I’ve lost that lead to this, this point in my life. I get stuck a little sometimes in how hard this is, and how much harder it’s going to get before it’s all over, and how tiring it is and how frustrating it is and tonight as I watched my children play I thought through all of that again and I came to one conclusion.
I have the three most wonderful children in the history of birth-control gone awry. I have a home and a family and friends and everything that has happened up until this point has just been steering me in this direction.
I watched them play tonight and as L squealed and ran from B, as B tackled her and nibbled her tummy and she laughed harder than I have ever seen her, as T finally achieved his life-long goal of 5 whole consecutive jumps on the pogo-stick, I realized that this year had to suck so badly to get me where I am right this very second…and I wouldn’t trade a second of it for the world.
This is my entire submission for Lunanik and Jill's Deadly Sins a Thon:
Happy Easter! Today, nearly two thousand years after one man had been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice to people for a change, we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. The anniversary of, which, if you actually look at a calendar, happened on Monday. Which happened to a man who may or may not have existed. Which happened in order to save man from his sins, and yet we just keep right on with the sinning. In new and sometimes creative forms. Like Girl Scout cookies. Betcha Jesus never saw those little boxes of evil coming.
Every single one of the seven deadly sins is personified in any random box of Girl Scout cookies, with the possible exemption of those gross new low-fat ones. Think about it:
- Pride: You bought 7 boxes.? Oh yeah, I bought 2 cases! Top that!
- Greed: Self explanatory. Do you share yours? That's right, no one does.
- Gluttony: I can eat a whole box in under 5 minutes. Easy.
- Sloth: I will do all of nothing but sit on the couch until every box is empty.
- Lust: How many times have I caught myself gazing at them, praying for dessert time?
- Envy: About a week after I run about, but my neighbor hasn't, this one kicks in.
- Wrath: About 5 minutes after I run out, this one shows it's ugly head. I should've ordered more. See Greed.
Anyway, Jesus, nails, resurrection, sins, bunnies, eggs, new dresses.....
And that wraps up #401-600. Stay tuned for the rest