Insane convo with the Hubster

   Out of the blue the other day, the Hubster looks over at me and says smugly, "Your in trouble."

Me, deer in headlights, (crap he found out I bought shit and I'm busted-but totally playing it off on good defense.): "WTF did I do?", I respond, complete with accusatory raised eyebrow, and stink eye thrown in for good measure.

Hubster: looking at me askance for the defensive 'tude, continues, "I had a dream about my girlfriend Scarlett (johnassen) last night."

Me: Eye roll, "Do I really want to hear this?"

Hubster: (completely oblivious that I even spoke, excitedly launches into his dream sequence), "She approached me to become a team member for the Avengers."

Me: (completely skeptical that he could pull off a mask and super hero cape), gamely, yet cautiously, ask, "As what?!"

Hubster: "A decoy!" He says proudly. "I'm supposed to be the decoy planted in the middle of an attack, so the Avengers can take down the bad guys, but some girls saw me with Scarlett and were completely turned on by me, which made Scar  jealous, so she kicked their asses. Then I woke up." 

I couldn't even answer, I was doubled over in hysterical (i have to pee and am not gonna make it to the bathroom) laughter. 

I truly heart this man, even the little boy side of him.

And this, is a good example why men *never* grow up, not only do they dream of extremely hot chicks drooling over them, but they also have to incorporate super hero fantasies into the mix. OMG!  

What is it with men and yoga pants??

Recently, the Hubster asked me, who am I kidding(!?) he flat out told me, that it was time for me to invest in some newer sexier underwear! Oh! "and throw in some yoga pants while your at it!". Wtf?! Might I add that any time *other* than tax time, the Hubster would never suggest I spend money a small fortune on myself, for his visual enjoyment or otherwise.... Did I mention that the suggestion also included a trip to Victoria Secret? Now for those of you who follow my blog, you know that I find VS cringeworthy. Especially after our last visit, when the Hubster was caught shirking his parenting duties by ogling the employees and mannequins, while I shopped and he was *supposed* to be watching our 2 year old, who when left to his own devices, was found sifting through a drawer of thongs with a hot pink polka dot bra tied on top his head. Honestly, I haven't been back there since, it's been eight years.  Yes, I've gotten new underwear since then!!! They've just been from wallyworld. What?! Don't judge me, they have sexy(ish) undies too! Apparently the Hubster finds them lacking, since he insisted I get some new digs..... Sigh. I hate VS, and here's my reasoning.  1.) The employees are very accommodating, but they insist on comparing themselves to you. Almost like their commiserating with you, yet showing off their own assets at the same time. The one who *helped* me-translation tried to bully me into buying a new bra-actually ran her hands up and down her own frame while pushing her "girls" together to simulate a push-up bra. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I do not require a push-up, nor padded bras of any kind. I've got my own "girls" and they'd pop right out of any push-up bras. Duh! I need support, being a glorified underwear pusher you'd think she'd know this? Whatever. The Hubster enjoyed the display, while I was slightly revolted and may have thrown up a bit in my mouth. 2.) I almost always run into someone I know in there and I'd rather they *not* know what type of underpants I sport. Nor the size, color, print, sayings etc... If I want to wear bright orange zebra stripped panties that read hot and sexy in crystals across my ass, then I'd rather my acquaintances/coworkers/family/next door neighbor not know about it. *One* less thing to gossip about!   This is what would shortly follow, "Hehe, do you see that full figured, middle, aged chick with the graying hair over there (I prefer "full figured" to fat, plump or obese, semantics really.), she's wearing a thong with crystals that read hot and sexy, (snicker) as if!!".  I'd rather live in my delusional world without people judging my choice of underpants. This last trip to VS did land me into a stilted conversation with  a  fellow coworker. We did not make eye contact as we made our selections, but briefly commiserated on how both of our significant others suggested we buy new undergarments. Ugh. 3.) The only sizes they have in the bazillions is XXS. Wtf?! Last I people watched in the illinois valley, and correct me if I'm wrong, but there were hardly any that *truly* qualified as an XXS. That's not to say they don't wear them anyway, and look splendid in them. (cough). Trying to find your size is terribly disconcerting, depressing and down right insulting when confronted with only XXS's.  I could go on, but why bother, your no doubt catching my drift. So, your all probably on pins and needles wondering, did she purchase new undies?? Indeed I did, I had all of my items selected and ready for purchase by the time the Hubster and the D.S. arrived AND I bought a pair of yoga pants that I refuse to wear out of the house. The Hubs can enjoy that visual display while I lounge on the couch surfing the web, face booking and reading books on my iPad. What? Did you really think I'd be doing any actual yoga, let alone be caught dead out of the house in them?? Pfftttt!! Just for spite, I'm going to wallyworld later to buy a bra. Where there's no kittenish sales rep pushing padded bras at me, nor shoving her "girls" in mine, my husbster or 4 year olds face AND maybe, just maybe I'll wear my yoga pants. After all at wallyworld, I'd fit right in, where obscene clothing choices are perfectly acceptable, if not down right disgusting.  I just may end up earning a spot on one of those People of Walmart slide shows! For that threat of such a  shudderiffic display, I might just deserve one of my own coveted ninja kicks. Cheers!

I love you DMV, truly! Thank’s for the reality check.

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Why my daughter may very well be the Devil, oh! and Happy Birthday to her!

Audrey turns 7.      She can kick her brothers asses on any given day (truly, I've seen it happen, even while wearing a tutu and heels, (would that we could all be that whimsically fashion challenged, and not be judged!) She could totally dispense my dreamed about ninja kick to the head, which makes me proud and envious, all at the same time! Bottom line, She's tough, their wussies, what gives?! She has a knack for reeking havoc wherever she goes. Okay fine, I'm being a *tad* dramatic.... She reeks havoc at home, at school she's a veritable angel! Wtf?! Every Tuesday, for CCD classes, with fingers crossed, I watch her enter the building and am amazed each and every time, that she isn't immediately engulfed into the flames of Hell.  With relief in my voice, I can often be heard telling the Hubster, "It was a close one today, her heels smoked, but no combustion yet!". Woohoo! When the little *darling* was two, she went to bed early one night with a slight fever. When I went up at 9pm to check on them, the oldest monster was out cold, but not Audie. She’s in bed wide awake with a slightly panicked look on her face, which gets worse as I approach.  Upon closer inspection I become suspicious, that my little *angel* (cough), isn't moving, but is laying perfectly still, totally out of character for her.... Alarm bells sound in my head (or it's just the crazy talking, but let's not go there today!). One can't help but notice, given the evidence next to her, that she’s been busy.  Apparently, instead of resting as she was supposed to, she’d taken, and broken, a foam toy of Sam’s. As if that wasn't bad enough, she also stole Elmers glue from his room to try and fix it. The tip off, you ask?? The huge gouged out portion of the toy that had been bitten off AND the ginormous pile of dripping, oozing glue, with said bitten piece, glued on sideways. Which then lead me to rationalize (as only a mother can), hmmm, if there’s that much glues on the toy…. Our eyes meet as I glance over at her, again, she’s still AND silent, boldly holding my gaze. Is she panicked, playing dumb, or is she waiting me out, in the hopes that I’ll go away?! One never knows with the little devil.  I proceed to check her forehead, of which is sticky (wtf?!) I then attempt to tear down the top blanket away, but find it a bit resistant??? To my surprise, she has *literally* glued herself to the sheets! I had to *peel* her out of bed (seriously), and scrub her in a warm tub with a scrub brush to get the semi dried, very tacky, glue off of her. You just can't make this shit up! She's evil. This is just ONE of the *many* little angel's stories. I have loads of them, from being sewn into her footie pj's nightly (keeping her from stripping), to putting stickers on her nipples ( I don't think we need to elaborate on that one), to cutting her own hair and giving herself a cockscomb (like a roosters, come on people!!). Are you sensing a particular theme with this lil' Devil? Yeah... So are her parental units. Which is why she's gonna have a chastity belt fitted to her in a few years time AND why the Hubster insists we need to own a firearm (or two...). Fact: When she was just a few months old, we almost lost her due to sepsis, which as you can imagine was horrifyingly scary. Thankfully, we have an amazing pediatrician, whose quick thinking and relentless attentive nature, pulled her through the worst of it. Not only does he have my undying loyalty, but I'm proud to call him friend. We love him! So, even through all the grey hairs she's given me (believe me, there's many), I can honestly say that I am profoundly grateful for her and truly mean it! Not only is she beautiful inside and out, she's also funny, smart, creative, caring, spontaneous in her bursts of singing/dancing/laughter, she has an infectious giggle and is an all together amazing little bundle of energy.  Hopefully, someday when she's older (and the teenage angst has set in, which it will. *sigh*) she'll read this and realize how very much I love her, and always will.  Bella-boo, everyday joy bursts from within my heart at having you in my life. Here's wishing you the Happiest of Birthday's, now and always.   XO's Baby girl

Parenting, it's a conundrum

I don't think one is truly a good parent unless one routinely questions oneself and doubts their abilities, daily. Doubting your abilities means that you can take the arrogance out of the equation, and get down to the reality that is the human version of trial and error. Really, isn't that what parenting is? Taking the best and worst lessons learned as a kid and tweaking them to make a difference in your own children's lives?

No, I'm not judging anyone. Relax. I'm explaining my own crazy inner turmoil.

So, here's the thing, I question myself nightly/daily/hourly. I can't help it, I'm a chronic worrier. I worry about everything!!! I worry that my kids aren't getting what they need from me, I worry that I yell too much, I worry that they'll repeat the foul language I've a love affair with. I worry that they won't be able to break the cycle of chronic laziness *we've* (cough) seemed to develop... I worry that they don't eat the right things, I worry that they don't feel loved enough, content enough. When I drop them off at school I make sure they are in the building before I walk/drive away. I worry that their going to go out and get hurt or kidnapped. I insist the oldest spawn texts me his every move, just so I have an idea of timeframes, in the event something horrifying happens. During field trips, or going to friends houses, I take a mental picture of the clothes they're wearing,  just. In. Case. 

The cops daughter is never far from the surface...  

In my very first blog intro, I explained that I have an escape route detailed out, just in case the Hubster becomes a zombie (or more realistically, incase of a fire. What?! I'm not completely cracked! Geez) Well, I do, and it's intricately detailed right down to getting the kids in the car to make our escape. 
**side note** I truly hope that if the Hubster does indeed turn into a flesh/family eating zombie, that he doesn't chase the kids and I out the door and pound on our car like the beginning scene in Dawn of The Dead!! Yikes!! He's a really strong guy, and if zombies are anything like they are in The Walking Dead, my Hubs could do some serious damage!!! I'm embarrassingly obsessed, any cut he comes home with becomes suspicious to me. (I also worry, that in case there really is a fire, I remember to get the Hubster!! I'd hate to be in zombie plan mode and forget his ass!). I know, I know, I'm neurotic, but at this point there's no going back... Unless I gets meds, and as it so happens, I'm suspicious of those too. Go figure. *g*

Sorry, the very idea of zombies diverts me into various stages of panic.

I have a hard time understanding why some parents don't worry half as much as I do. That doesn't make them negligent parents, nor uncaring. I'm simply in awe of their ability to *not* worry quite as much as I do! I could learn a thing or two from them. Yet, then I'd most likely worry that I'm not worrying enough. It's a viscous circle, all this worrying.

Does my worrying make me a better parent than any of you? No, but it does allow me to take step back and realize that I'm far from perfect. Every night when I lay my head upon my pillow, I silently question my decisions throughout the day and pray for a better tomorrow. Not because I want to impress anyone, but because my kids are worth my best efforts, along with the agony of trying to achieve those efforts. Especially, if I've failed them that day. 

Not all days are good ones, just as not all are bad ones, but, a majority of them I'd love to be able to call "do over". Questioning myself allows me the wish that tomorrow will be a better day and that hopefully I'll be the mom I want to be, not the "thanks for participating" ribbon winning mom. I'm aiming for the mother of all ribbons (pardon the pun), the blue one, baby! Someday, I  hope to achieve that coveted ribbon, even if it happens to be cut up construction paper, that's been drowned in glue and drawn with a crayon-or in Audrey's case, sprinkled with an entire container of glitter-of which isn't just for whores and strippers you now, it's also for seriously craft minded 1st graders, with a propensity to use it on *everything*. Either way, I'd be honored.

I watch them sleep and I realize how lucky I am to have each and every one of them. Their contented sighs during slumber, that convey the happiness of their dreams, warms my heart. The soft "I love you's" they mumble, when their tired and drowsily cuddling into you, knowing their safe and cherished, is pure heaven. That's what makes parenting all worth while. 

For me, it's that tiny niggle of doubt in my parenting abilities, that keeps me striving to do even better for them the next day and everyday there after. I'm blessed to have them in my life.

Now if someone could just afford me the patience to deal with their idiosyncrasies when their awake, and my own neurosis, we'd be golden! 

All in all, I complain about my kids an awful lot, but *most* of it's all in good fun. My kids are the bombdidly, (as are yours!) and they deserve the best.

So, here's to a better tomorrow!

My love/hate affair with auto correct.

Listen, your trying too hard. 

If, now and then, I want to type a word that you don't approve of, it still doesn't constitute your intrusive insistence into my conversations. 
I meant what I said and said what I meant. When you change the word, or better yet, don't allow me my freedom of expression (i.e. When I say fucktard, I mean just that! Not some similarly sounding, less powerful, politically correct replacement.) you thereby take the umpf outta my thought. 

That's not to say I don't appreciate you, I do. I wouldn't appear half as intelligent as I do without you in my life. Yet, I feel that you try to refine me too much. At times, I admit I can abrasive and, yes, even down right naughty. Guess what? I like it that way. Ya, get what I'm saying? 

What it comes down to is this, I like me the way I am. You might *try* to (and this isn't a criticism, think of it as more of a suggestion), insert yourself into my life when I *require* assistance. 

Until then, I'd appreciate it if you sat back and enjoyed the ride, *occasionally* helping me navigate along the way. No one approves of a snarky backseat driver. So please, do us both a  favor and sit tight, hold on for the ride and let me plow through my own thoughts. I'll let you know when your expertise is required. 

I know your crushing on me right now, but don't take it so hard. Here's a little hint for your next endeavor: Though It's been said a little spontaneity is good, that's true, but your a tad over the top. Take it down a notch. Desperation does not make for a long term partnership.

I'm by no means breaking up with you, but I would like some distance. Some time, if you will, to reflect on our relationship with regards to one another... In other words, it's not me, it's you. 

Its become apparent that I'm just one of those people that has to have the last word (of my choosing) and clearly your more assertive than I would like. Let's agree to see each other only now and then. In other words, I'll look you up when I need you. Bottom line, don't pimp yourself out, your not a whore. 

Sincerely,
Your Badass grammatically/misspelling/politically challenged crush.
Xo's