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
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
How the Hubster and I fell in love.
One of my favorite bloggers wrote an extremely funny recollection on how her and the Hubs met, in honor of Valentines Day.
http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2012/02/how-i-met-hubs.html
I felt inspired enough to relate the story of how my own Hubster and I met (and our first impressions of each other), also in honor of the big heart day.
Flash back to the year 1991, we were all still struggling out of the fashion nightmare that defined the 80's. The hold was strong, especially for certain people (ehm, Hubster).
Some of us, however, were more than ready to bypass the era of the 80's. For instance, I was the only girl at my prom that sported a pixie cut. Ghost had come out the year before starring Demi Moore and I was a huge fan (She was the shit!). Everyone else (that I can remember), still had the long/big poof/curly/sprayed/teased/frosted, "do". I felt refreshingly free and different. Though, I must admit, I did not "wow" anyone in particular, especially not my date. Douchbag, that he was... What? I'm not bitter that he spent my prom (he was older) mooning after his future wife. Humpf.
I had been single for some time, I dunno, maybe it was because I was a bitch, or perhaps it was that I was a cops daughter and a "good" girl (why are boys so terrified of cops??), most likely it was that they found me uninteresting. Who knows. Either way, I was *surprisingly* free from any commitment, when I started community college that fall.
Ahhhhhh, Fundamentals of Art 101, where one is allowed to be creative and unique! A few of my pals from high school art class were in my new class, so there was some familiarity, as well as a world of new expressions.
One of our first projects was a repetitive pattern, I cannot for the life of me remember what any of them were. I DO remember that we had to stand up, individually in front of the class and explain our piece of crap, umm, I mean "art". I was bored, let's face it, two hours of people rambling trying to impress each other with their artsy talk can be down right annoying.
**That's what I love about the Hubster, he didn't care to impress (still doesn't), he just "is".
So it's been hours now, that we've sat listening to each other drone on about our projects. When this skinny, unbelievably tall guy gets up to discuss his work. I take one look at him and dismissed him. His hair was thick, untamed and really wavy (the kind a girl would kill for. That in and of itself made me dislike him.), his face had what can only be described as a scruff to it (since hair was only sparsely coming in). He wore a thermal shirt (I know!! Again with the thermal shirts... *sigh*) under a shrunken flannel, of which the sleeves barely reached his wrists. Compound that look with too tight jeans, tied with some sort of woven string like material (think Jed Clampett on Beverly Hillbillies) and rolled. Yep, he was still wearing rolled jeans! On his feet were mangy high tops, with apparently no socks.
Man, he had a killer grin though, but he appeared smug, definitely not my type. Plus, he also was known to sport leather pants with multi colored Suede patches AND snakeskin boots complete with chains around the heel(eye roll).
In the weeks that followed we had formed definite opinions of one another. I thought he was quiet, far too smug/smart/sure of himself and had no sense of humor. He found me to be loud/obnoxious/uptight and bitchy. Imagine that?!
We steered clear of each other, except for the assigned seat thing. ugh.
Then one night, while nannying (that was my job, I was a Nanny and worked at the local root beer stand. Fun times!). I awoke from an awful dream, that the little girl I was responsible for and myself were stuck in her burning apartment. Who should come to the rescue, you ask? You got it, the annoying, fashionably challenged guy from my art class. He swooped in and saved us, my hero! Instincts are amazing things...
The next few days I was secretly crushing on him, but didn't let on. *snort*
During drawing time, when the class was supposed to be quiet, (my good friend Jeanna and I would always try to make each other laugh. We proudly and consistently annoyed the fuck outta our teacher, who was rather uptight herself), so when no one was looking (or so I thought), I threw her a tragically funny face. I crossed my eyes, stretched my mouth and stuck out my tongue. Basically, I resembled a deranged frog. I heard a snicker in the opposite direction, apprehensively I looked over and there was the annoying guy, my now crush, beet red trying his damnedest NOT to crack up during class.
Needless to say, I was mortified (incidentally, years later, this is the moment the Hubster said he fell in love with me. Told ya our sense of humor was warped).
After that, moment we lived for nothing more than to antagonize each other. Yet, neither one of us was going to bring up the dreaded "D" (date) word. Instead he bet me that I couldn't go a week without picking on him, if I lost I had to make him dinner and we'd see a movie. If I won, he was supposed to buy me a tiny toons key chain. I lost on purpose and we've been together ever sense.
To this day when people meet the Hubster they say, "He's not at all who I envisioned you with". I guess it's because he's well over 6' ft and I'm barely 5'ft, he wears small hoop earrings and seems anti social-until you get him going, then he's funny as shit. Either way, it always comes as a surprise. To me, he's completely hilarious, still has that killer grin, will always be dreamy and however fashionably challenged he may have been, he'll forever be my hero.
Happy Valentine's Day Babe!
http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2012/02/how-i-met-hubs.html
I felt inspired enough to relate the story of how my own Hubster and I met (and our first impressions of each other), also in honor of the big heart day.
Flash back to the year 1991, we were all still struggling out of the fashion nightmare that defined the 80's. The hold was strong, especially for certain people (ehm, Hubster).
Some of us, however, were more than ready to bypass the era of the 80's. For instance, I was the only girl at my prom that sported a pixie cut. Ghost had come out the year before starring Demi Moore and I was a huge fan (She was the shit!). Everyone else (that I can remember), still had the long/big poof/curly/sprayed/teased/frosted, "do". I felt refreshingly free and different. Though, I must admit, I did not "wow" anyone in particular, especially not my date. Douchbag, that he was... What? I'm not bitter that he spent my prom (he was older) mooning after his future wife. Humpf.
I had been single for some time, I dunno, maybe it was because I was a bitch, or perhaps it was that I was a cops daughter and a "good" girl (why are boys so terrified of cops??), most likely it was that they found me uninteresting. Who knows. Either way, I was *surprisingly* free from any commitment, when I started community college that fall.
Ahhhhhh, Fundamentals of Art 101, where one is allowed to be creative and unique! A few of my pals from high school art class were in my new class, so there was some familiarity, as well as a world of new expressions.
One of our first projects was a repetitive pattern, I cannot for the life of me remember what any of them were. I DO remember that we had to stand up, individually in front of the class and explain our piece of crap, umm, I mean "art". I was bored, let's face it, two hours of people rambling trying to impress each other with their artsy talk can be down right annoying.
**That's what I love about the Hubster, he didn't care to impress (still doesn't), he just "is".
So it's been hours now, that we've sat listening to each other drone on about our projects. When this skinny, unbelievably tall guy gets up to discuss his work. I take one look at him and dismissed him. His hair was thick, untamed and really wavy (the kind a girl would kill for. That in and of itself made me dislike him.), his face had what can only be described as a scruff to it (since hair was only sparsely coming in). He wore a thermal shirt (I know!! Again with the thermal shirts... *sigh*) under a shrunken flannel, of which the sleeves barely reached his wrists. Compound that look with too tight jeans, tied with some sort of woven string like material (think Jed Clampett on Beverly Hillbillies) and rolled. Yep, he was still wearing rolled jeans! On his feet were mangy high tops, with apparently no socks.
Man, he had a killer grin though, but he appeared smug, definitely not my type. Plus, he also was known to sport leather pants with multi colored Suede patches AND snakeskin boots complete with chains around the heel(eye roll).
In the weeks that followed we had formed definite opinions of one another. I thought he was quiet, far too smug/smart/sure of himself and had no sense of humor. He found me to be loud/obnoxious/uptight and bitchy. Imagine that?!
We steered clear of each other, except for the assigned seat thing. ugh.
Then one night, while nannying (that was my job, I was a Nanny and worked at the local root beer stand. Fun times!). I awoke from an awful dream, that the little girl I was responsible for and myself were stuck in her burning apartment. Who should come to the rescue, you ask? You got it, the annoying, fashionably challenged guy from my art class. He swooped in and saved us, my hero! Instincts are amazing things...
The next few days I was secretly crushing on him, but didn't let on. *snort*
During drawing time, when the class was supposed to be quiet, (my good friend Jeanna and I would always try to make each other laugh. We proudly and consistently annoyed the fuck outta our teacher, who was rather uptight herself), so when no one was looking (or so I thought), I threw her a tragically funny face. I crossed my eyes, stretched my mouth and stuck out my tongue. Basically, I resembled a deranged frog. I heard a snicker in the opposite direction, apprehensively I looked over and there was the annoying guy, my now crush, beet red trying his damnedest NOT to crack up during class.
Needless to say, I was mortified (incidentally, years later, this is the moment the Hubster said he fell in love with me. Told ya our sense of humor was warped).
After that, moment we lived for nothing more than to antagonize each other. Yet, neither one of us was going to bring up the dreaded "D" (date) word. Instead he bet me that I couldn't go a week without picking on him, if I lost I had to make him dinner and we'd see a movie. If I won, he was supposed to buy me a tiny toons key chain. I lost on purpose and we've been together ever sense.
To this day when people meet the Hubster they say, "He's not at all who I envisioned you with". I guess it's because he's well over 6' ft and I'm barely 5'ft, he wears small hoop earrings and seems anti social-until you get him going, then he's funny as shit. Either way, it always comes as a surprise. To me, he's completely hilarious, still has that killer grin, will always be dreamy and however fashionably challenged he may have been, he'll forever be my hero.
Happy Valentine's Day Babe!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Shopping with the family can be somewhat embarrassing. Especially if it's my family...
You'd think I would've figured this out a loooong time ago and just cut my loses but, it appears I'm a glutton for punishment. Or lack common sense. I'm going with the former...
Each family member has a Moment that stands out, as their *worst* shopping moment ever. Here's a few of the monsters golden moments, before I entertain you with the Hubsters.
The oldest, Sam was about three years old and we decided to head to the local mall for the day. While the Hubs and Sam are in GameStop, I make a quick run into Victoria's Secret for some "me" time. I'm rummaging through some items, when I notice the famdamily enter the store.*sigh* I'm making some final decisions, completely unaware that the Hubs is beyond distracted by all of the glory that is VS, when I glance down and see my child happily rummaging intently through a drawer of thongs with a pink polka dot bra tied (by tied, I mean knotted.) to his head. Yep! It's as craptastic as you've just pictured it. The cups are up like bunny ears on the top of his head, and the straps are *tied* under his chin. I smack the Hubsters arm (very hard! HE was suppose to be watching the monster, instead of oogling merchandise/people/mannequins etc...). Mortified, I quickly glance around to survey the situation of being observed and untie said bra from my sons head, drop my potential purchases on a random table and beat a hasty retreat! Looking back, I Soooo wish we'd gotten a picture!!
Audrey, my middle monster, while shopping at Walmart, was asked to keep her hands in the cart at all times. She choose to forgo my advice and knocked quite a few canned goods off a shelf, by "a few" I mean almost an entire shelf. Which in and of itself isn't that offensive. Except that when I tried to decrease the damage or impact of the cans hitting the floor, one fell awkwardly on my thumb and sliced it right open. Not, Fun! Try finding a bandage in Walmart, FAST, without having to buy one?! I ended up standing in line, with toilet paper holding my bleeding digit intent on purchasing a package of band aides, while an elderly lady paid for her purchases by check. Rock the Walmart experience.
Then there was the D.S., aka Charlie at the local Target.... Truly, cringe worthy.
Never go shopping with the D.S., his blase' attitude completely lacks discretion. A warning label should accompany him at all times, or a muzzle. The latter sounds better everyday. While shopping in Target and waiting for Sam by the changing room counter, Auds observed the carts contents and was wondering why we needed baby powder. Charlie was helpful enough to point out (loudly) to one and all, “It’s for Dad’s butt.” To which the Target employee standing in front of us, couldn’t stop laughing as poor Hubs just stood there completely dumbfounded, unable to defend himself. What can one really say to defuse an observation like that, that *doesn't* make you look as if you're trying to down play a child's comment-however erroneous it may be?!
Ahhhhhh, the Hubsters golden moment.
The other day, with the older kids off to school, the Hubster decided to take the D.S. and I to breakfast at Cracker Bees.
Side note: When my oldest was a tot, he used to get Cracker Barrel and Apple Bees mixed up, referring to them as "Apple Barrel" and "Cracker Bee's". Eight years later we still refer to them as such, because, well, it's funny.
Anyway, we settled into eating a hearty breakfast and upon our return home, decided to stop at Farm n Fleet to pick up dog food. You can't gorge yourself full of food and return home to a poor dog with less than a bowl full of dog food.... So, the Hubs is fighting with me the entire way across a very short intersection (the restaurant and fleet are directly across the street from each other), about being obnoxiously full/still drunk from the night before/too tired from pulling a video game all nighter. Being the loving wife that I am, I make him go in regardless of his pleas.
Big mistake!
Upon finding the dog food isle, the Hubster then bends down hauls a huge 50lb bag *onto* his shoulder. Only, he'd (drunkenly) miscalculated and the bag goes flying over his shoulder, landing with a very loud crash upon the floor behind him. It still hadn't registered that the bag has sailed past his shoulder, his hands in mid air holding where the bag *should* be. I watch (from my vantage point, laughingly crouched on the floor trying not to pee myself) as his face registers, first shock as his eyes go wide, then bewilderment as he looks for the bag, then embarrassment as his face-starting from the neck up-turns bright red. Hilarious, and embarrassing all at once. I would've walked away and pretended not to even know him, but I just couldn't stop laughing. You know what I'm talking about? The silent laugh that shakes your whole body, to where you can't breathe or even stand up right, nor see through the tears of mirth?? Yeah, that was me.
I'm sure one of our BFF's, who works in the office there, would have a field day with the surveillance tape, if she was smart enough to get a cut of it?! Hint, hint, Laura!!! Call and I'll give ya the date and time!lol
After picking up the pieces, and our fallen bag of df, we continued on our walk of shame to the register and then drive home. Laughing hysterically the entire way!!
Now here's where the D.S. gets commended. Usually, he's the one that does this particular walk of shame, but today, sadly it was the parental units...
Moral to the story, shop online where there's less potential for embarrassment. Or, fly solo, if you end up in an embarrassing situation, then you've only yourself to blame, but under no circumstances should one *ever* shop with my famdamily! Each one has earned a Ninja kick.
Each family member has a Moment that stands out, as their *worst* shopping moment ever. Here's a few of the monsters golden moments, before I entertain you with the Hubsters.
The oldest, Sam was about three years old and we decided to head to the local mall for the day. While the Hubs and Sam are in GameStop, I make a quick run into Victoria's Secret for some "me" time. I'm rummaging through some items, when I notice the famdamily enter the store.*sigh* I'm making some final decisions, completely unaware that the Hubs is beyond distracted by all of the glory that is VS, when I glance down and see my child happily rummaging intently through a drawer of thongs with a pink polka dot bra tied (by tied, I mean knotted.) to his head. Yep! It's as craptastic as you've just pictured it. The cups are up like bunny ears on the top of his head, and the straps are *tied* under his chin. I smack the Hubsters arm (very hard! HE was suppose to be watching the monster, instead of oogling merchandise/people/mannequins etc...). Mortified, I quickly glance around to survey the situation of being observed and untie said bra from my sons head, drop my potential purchases on a random table and beat a hasty retreat! Looking back, I Soooo wish we'd gotten a picture!!
Audrey, my middle monster, while shopping at Walmart, was asked to keep her hands in the cart at all times. She choose to forgo my advice and knocked quite a few canned goods off a shelf, by "a few" I mean almost an entire shelf. Which in and of itself isn't that offensive. Except that when I tried to decrease the damage or impact of the cans hitting the floor, one fell awkwardly on my thumb and sliced it right open. Not, Fun! Try finding a bandage in Walmart, FAST, without having to buy one?! I ended up standing in line, with toilet paper holding my bleeding digit intent on purchasing a package of band aides, while an elderly lady paid for her purchases by check. Rock the Walmart experience.
Then there was the D.S., aka Charlie at the local Target.... Truly, cringe worthy.
Never go shopping with the D.S., his blase' attitude completely lacks discretion. A warning label should accompany him at all times, or a muzzle. The latter sounds better everyday. While shopping in Target and waiting for Sam by the changing room counter, Auds observed the carts contents and was wondering why we needed baby powder. Charlie was helpful enough to point out (loudly) to one and all, “It’s for Dad’s butt.” To which the Target employee standing in front of us, couldn’t stop laughing as poor Hubs just stood there completely dumbfounded, unable to defend himself. What can one really say to defuse an observation like that, that *doesn't* make you look as if you're trying to down play a child's comment-however erroneous it may be?!
Ahhhhhh, the Hubsters golden moment.
The other day, with the older kids off to school, the Hubster decided to take the D.S. and I to breakfast at Cracker Bees.
Side note: When my oldest was a tot, he used to get Cracker Barrel and Apple Bees mixed up, referring to them as "Apple Barrel" and "Cracker Bee's". Eight years later we still refer to them as such, because, well, it's funny.
Anyway, we settled into eating a hearty breakfast and upon our return home, decided to stop at Farm n Fleet to pick up dog food. You can't gorge yourself full of food and return home to a poor dog with less than a bowl full of dog food.... So, the Hubs is fighting with me the entire way across a very short intersection (the restaurant and fleet are directly across the street from each other), about being obnoxiously full/still drunk from the night before/too tired from pulling a video game all nighter. Being the loving wife that I am, I make him go in regardless of his pleas.
Big mistake!
Upon finding the dog food isle, the Hubster then bends down hauls a huge 50lb bag *onto* his shoulder. Only, he'd (drunkenly) miscalculated and the bag goes flying over his shoulder, landing with a very loud crash upon the floor behind him. It still hadn't registered that the bag has sailed past his shoulder, his hands in mid air holding where the bag *should* be. I watch (from my vantage point, laughingly crouched on the floor trying not to pee myself) as his face registers, first shock as his eyes go wide, then bewilderment as he looks for the bag, then embarrassment as his face-starting from the neck up-turns bright red. Hilarious, and embarrassing all at once. I would've walked away and pretended not to even know him, but I just couldn't stop laughing. You know what I'm talking about? The silent laugh that shakes your whole body, to where you can't breathe or even stand up right, nor see through the tears of mirth?? Yeah, that was me.
I'm sure one of our BFF's, who works in the office there, would have a field day with the surveillance tape, if she was smart enough to get a cut of it?! Hint, hint, Laura!!! Call and I'll give ya the date and time!lol
After picking up the pieces, and our fallen bag of df, we continued on our walk of shame to the register and then drive home. Laughing hysterically the entire way!!
Now here's where the D.S. gets commended. Usually, he's the one that does this particular walk of shame, but today, sadly it was the parental units...
Moral to the story, shop online where there's less potential for embarrassment. Or, fly solo, if you end up in an embarrassing situation, then you've only yourself to blame, but under no circumstances should one *ever* shop with my famdamily! Each one has earned a Ninja kick.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Might as well chase my own tail, it'd be more effective...
Help me out here, does anyone else feel like they go above and beyond for their kids only to be disregarded??
I give them the opportunity to make me proud and clean their own rooms, when that doesn't happen, I give in and clean their rooms. Then, occasionally, leave a small spot for them to finish.
Yeah, it never gets done.
They either choose to lie to me " Of course I cleaned my room!" or ignore the request altogether, hoping to fly low under the radar. Bluffing their way through the inquiry, " Did you put everything in it's place? You didn't throw it all the closet/under your bed/rolled up in a blanket, did you?".
This is where I could implode, they look me straight in the eye and say, "no, I cleaned it all.". Straight. In. The. Eye. They lie, oblivious or just down right in denial that I'm gonna go up there and investigate. They know how I roll, they've lived with me all their lives. They KNOW I'm gonna check *everywhere*, and yet they still do it.
Where the fucks the defect?!?! Is it me, or them??? I'm at a loss!
I so want to put my trust in them and believe that they respect me enough to WANT to impress/please or make me proud. It's become apparent that they don't give a shit. Perhaps the Hubsters "I don't give a shit box" has morphed into the monster's own special type of "I don't give a shit"?
Now, I have to be honest, this is somewhat of the only area where we have trouble-aside from sibling bickering, which drives me CRAZY! Their fabulous students, polite, hard working, thoughtful of others... The oldest makes the honor roll, the middle kid has multiple citizenship awards and the lil' D.S. (demon spawn), well.... He hasn't gotten expelled from preschool yet! Hmmmm....Let's just concentrate on the other two for now...
Their good kids, they just refuse to keep their room from looking like a bomb went off and the casualties are forever lost within the disaster zone.
I know Sam (the 10yr old) is gonna have a gig on Hoarders someday, he cannot let go of anything. EVER! Be it a scrap of paper, candy wrapper or obscure rock. He can't part with it! He packs his pockets full of the shit he finds throughout his day.
Seriously!
Here's a for instance: Sam had a Dr's appointment/yearly check up a few months back. The nurse wanted to weigh him after having checked his height, eyes etc.. He's about to step on the scale when I hold out my hand and say, "hand 'em over pal.". The nurse looks at both myself and Sam strange and says, "he doesn't have to strip or anything.". My hand still out towards Sam, eyeing him with the promise of a slow and painful death if he doesn't hand his "finds" over. I say to the nurse, "there's undoubtedly rocks in his pockets." she shoots me a skeptical look. When all of a sudden Sam sighs, digs in both pockets and says, "Here. I can have 'em back, right?". UGH!! God love her, the stunned nurse looks at me and laughs incredulous, as Sam hands me not one, but THREE of the largest rocks one could possibly carry in ones pocket, plus various odds and ends (twist ties from the grocery store, soda tabs, beers caps, bent paper clips, a broken pen lid. The list goes on..). The rocks?? Easily totaling a weight of 5-6lbs. "I thought you were kidding!!!", the nurse says.
Sadly, no.... That's just how Sam rolls.
Since you now know what his pockets look like, you can only imagine what his ROOM looks like! His isn't even as bad as Audrey's! His is packed tight with stuff, hers is a hurricane of shit everywhere. Truly depressing to walk into. Which is why, I insist they clean or at least attempt to clean. That would be why I *help* them. I keep hoping they'll, eventually, watch and learn. No such luck.
So, tonight I tried something different. I used the age old guilt, telling them how disappointed I am in them and how I give up my weekends so they can have sleep overs, play dates and that I deserve so much more from them than what their willing to give me. Blah, blah, blah. (which, incidentally, is what I think they heard). Yep, I pulled the oldest parent trick in the book. I made them feel ashamed of themselves-at least I think I did?! Last I checked, they were sleeping peacefully...
They'll retaliate, I know they will, because I used to! Come the morning they'll undoubtedly send me the big tear brimmed puppy eyes and promise to never let their rooms get filthy again. And I'll buy it. Why? Because their giving me puppy eyes, damnit! Who can resist puppy eyes!!!
For buying their ploys in the morning, I'll deserve a kick to the head. Ninja style.
I give them the opportunity to make me proud and clean their own rooms, when that doesn't happen, I give in and clean their rooms. Then, occasionally, leave a small spot for them to finish.
Yeah, it never gets done.
They either choose to lie to me " Of course I cleaned my room!" or ignore the request altogether, hoping to fly low under the radar. Bluffing their way through the inquiry, " Did you put everything in it's place? You didn't throw it all the closet/under your bed/rolled up in a blanket, did you?".
This is where I could implode, they look me straight in the eye and say, "no, I cleaned it all.". Straight. In. The. Eye. They lie, oblivious or just down right in denial that I'm gonna go up there and investigate. They know how I roll, they've lived with me all their lives. They KNOW I'm gonna check *everywhere*, and yet they still do it.
Where the fucks the defect?!?! Is it me, or them??? I'm at a loss!
I so want to put my trust in them and believe that they respect me enough to WANT to impress/please or make me proud. It's become apparent that they don't give a shit. Perhaps the Hubsters "I don't give a shit box" has morphed into the monster's own special type of "I don't give a shit"?
Now, I have to be honest, this is somewhat of the only area where we have trouble-aside from sibling bickering, which drives me CRAZY! Their fabulous students, polite, hard working, thoughtful of others... The oldest makes the honor roll, the middle kid has multiple citizenship awards and the lil' D.S. (demon spawn), well.... He hasn't gotten expelled from preschool yet! Hmmmm....Let's just concentrate on the other two for now...
Their good kids, they just refuse to keep their room from looking like a bomb went off and the casualties are forever lost within the disaster zone.
I know Sam (the 10yr old) is gonna have a gig on Hoarders someday, he cannot let go of anything. EVER! Be it a scrap of paper, candy wrapper or obscure rock. He can't part with it! He packs his pockets full of the shit he finds throughout his day.
Seriously!
Here's a for instance: Sam had a Dr's appointment/yearly check up a few months back. The nurse wanted to weigh him after having checked his height, eyes etc.. He's about to step on the scale when I hold out my hand and say, "hand 'em over pal.". The nurse looks at both myself and Sam strange and says, "he doesn't have to strip or anything.". My hand still out towards Sam, eyeing him with the promise of a slow and painful death if he doesn't hand his "finds" over. I say to the nurse, "there's undoubtedly rocks in his pockets." she shoots me a skeptical look. When all of a sudden Sam sighs, digs in both pockets and says, "Here. I can have 'em back, right?". UGH!! God love her, the stunned nurse looks at me and laughs incredulous, as Sam hands me not one, but THREE of the largest rocks one could possibly carry in ones pocket, plus various odds and ends (twist ties from the grocery store, soda tabs, beers caps, bent paper clips, a broken pen lid. The list goes on..). The rocks?? Easily totaling a weight of 5-6lbs. "I thought you were kidding!!!", the nurse says.
Sadly, no.... That's just how Sam rolls.
Since you now know what his pockets look like, you can only imagine what his ROOM looks like! His isn't even as bad as Audrey's! His is packed tight with stuff, hers is a hurricane of shit everywhere. Truly depressing to walk into. Which is why, I insist they clean or at least attempt to clean. That would be why I *help* them. I keep hoping they'll, eventually, watch and learn. No such luck.
So, tonight I tried something different. I used the age old guilt, telling them how disappointed I am in them and how I give up my weekends so they can have sleep overs, play dates and that I deserve so much more from them than what their willing to give me. Blah, blah, blah. (which, incidentally, is what I think they heard). Yep, I pulled the oldest parent trick in the book. I made them feel ashamed of themselves-at least I think I did?! Last I checked, they were sleeping peacefully...
They'll retaliate, I know they will, because I used to! Come the morning they'll undoubtedly send me the big tear brimmed puppy eyes and promise to never let their rooms get filthy again. And I'll buy it. Why? Because their giving me puppy eyes, damnit! Who can resist puppy eyes!!!
For buying their ploys in the morning, I'll deserve a kick to the head. Ninja style.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
The "I don't give a shit box".
I don't know about yours, but, my Hubster comes fully equipped with an "I don't give a shit box".
Do any of you ladies know what I'm talking about??
It's where you give him detailed information that he doesn't "remember" when quizzed on later i.e. Driving directions, cooking times/degrees for pre baked frozen meals, kids doctor appointments, extended family get togethers, or (gasp) fill him in on family/friend gossip etc...
The signs that any of this information is being "filed" away is strangely conflicting, because he looks at you as if it's registering, even nods his head in agreement or makes the appropriate facial expressions indicating he's paying attention. Yet, if asked to repeat said info at a later date, he's at a loss. Even more aggravating is when confronted or reminded of said plans/info, he *feigns*(cough) ignorance and says "Why didn't you tell me this beforehand?!" or (better yet!), mine will sputter, "What are you talking about?!", looking at me as if I'm the crazy one. Hmpf.... As if!
This is the male defensive strategy, that quite frankly, is equivalent to nails on a chalk board.
I can't tell you how many times throughout the years this has happened. One of my very close BFF's and I had an in depth conversation one day, with regards to the Hubbies and the fact that they don't pay attention to a word we say. It's also not just us, it goes along with their mothers, fathers, friends... The list goes on. She said that if the info doesn't interest her Hubs in the least, he won't retain said info, At. All. Like when a mutual friend of theirs told her Hubs that his sister was seriously ill, my BFF found out weeks later. When confronted, her Hubs said, "Oh yeah, guess I forgot to tell ya", ummm, ya think??!?! Let's clarify, it's not that he didn't care, it's just that it didn't effect him *directly*, so thereby, it got "filed".
To be fair, let's put ourselves in their shoes, shall we? You have a wife, kids, boss, parents etc... All of which are sending useless information your way. Be it, (again) family gossip, dinner instructions, Hunny do recommendations, ridiculous jokes that don't make sense or get butchered badly (by the kids of course!) or worse yet, a funny episode on Phinious and Ferb thats repeated over, and over and over again. All of this info is thrown at them, literally bouncing off their ears. They require, scratch that, they NEED a defense mechanism to survive the daily "noise" thrown at them. This is their way of coping, unfortunately, in most cases, its morphed into tuning out the old ball and chain, completely. That's why they can't remember that their supposed to take Freddy to the doctor and are outraged that we *sprung* it on them the night before!
I even threw my theory at the Hubster one day, when he was being particularly annoying, asking if whatever it was we were discussing was going to be be filed in his "I don't give a shit box". He looked at me kinda funny, to which I explained my theory. He laughed. Laughed!
Now, whenever I tell him something or mention something that doesn't interest him in the least, he walks away tossing over his shoulder, "you know what box that's going into.". Arrrgghhhhhhh!! Men are SO aggravating!
Now, all this means is that I'm missing my manual on how to reprogram the Hubster, and was hoping that one of you still had yours???
Do any of you ladies know what I'm talking about??
It's where you give him detailed information that he doesn't "remember" when quizzed on later i.e. Driving directions, cooking times/degrees for pre baked frozen meals, kids doctor appointments, extended family get togethers, or (gasp) fill him in on family/friend gossip etc...
The signs that any of this information is being "filed" away is strangely conflicting, because he looks at you as if it's registering, even nods his head in agreement or makes the appropriate facial expressions indicating he's paying attention. Yet, if asked to repeat said info at a later date, he's at a loss. Even more aggravating is when confronted or reminded of said plans/info, he *feigns*(cough) ignorance and says "Why didn't you tell me this beforehand?!" or (better yet!), mine will sputter, "What are you talking about?!", looking at me as if I'm the crazy one. Hmpf.... As if!
This is the male defensive strategy, that quite frankly, is equivalent to nails on a chalk board.
I can't tell you how many times throughout the years this has happened. One of my very close BFF's and I had an in depth conversation one day, with regards to the Hubbies and the fact that they don't pay attention to a word we say. It's also not just us, it goes along with their mothers, fathers, friends... The list goes on. She said that if the info doesn't interest her Hubs in the least, he won't retain said info, At. All. Like when a mutual friend of theirs told her Hubs that his sister was seriously ill, my BFF found out weeks later. When confronted, her Hubs said, "Oh yeah, guess I forgot to tell ya", ummm, ya think??!?! Let's clarify, it's not that he didn't care, it's just that it didn't effect him *directly*, so thereby, it got "filed".
To be fair, let's put ourselves in their shoes, shall we? You have a wife, kids, boss, parents etc... All of which are sending useless information your way. Be it, (again) family gossip, dinner instructions, Hunny do recommendations, ridiculous jokes that don't make sense or get butchered badly (by the kids of course!) or worse yet, a funny episode on Phinious and Ferb thats repeated over, and over and over again. All of this info is thrown at them, literally bouncing off their ears. They require, scratch that, they NEED a defense mechanism to survive the daily "noise" thrown at them. This is their way of coping, unfortunately, in most cases, its morphed into tuning out the old ball and chain, completely. That's why they can't remember that their supposed to take Freddy to the doctor and are outraged that we *sprung* it on them the night before!
I even threw my theory at the Hubster one day, when he was being particularly annoying, asking if whatever it was we were discussing was going to be be filed in his "I don't give a shit box". He looked at me kinda funny, to which I explained my theory. He laughed. Laughed!
Now, whenever I tell him something or mention something that doesn't interest him in the least, he walks away tossing over his shoulder, "you know what box that's going into.". Arrrgghhhhhhh!! Men are SO aggravating!
Now, all this means is that I'm missing my manual on how to reprogram the Hubster, and was hoping that one of you still had yours???
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The family bike ride, good intentions can go (bleep) themselves.
Last summer, I had brilliantly decided to take the kids on a bike ride. Mind you, I hadn't been on a bike in, oh, let's say... 5 years?! But! I had decided to buy a trailer for my bike (translation, bribed the Hubster into buying and installing one), so the little ones could come along on the adventure that Sam and I had planned.
Ha! "adventure", key word here peeps.
First we had to find everyone's helmets, that took *forever* and with much searching and whining (mostly on my part and on both accounts), we realized too late that we had neglected to buy Charlie one. No problem, with much coaxing and compliments of admiration, he gamely wore Audie's old toddler helmet, complete with princess stickers and pink bunnies. Next, we had to get the bike out of the shed. Dear God, what an experience! It was buried under everything you could ever imagine being in a shed. I dusted it off, having been full of cobwebs-hello?! I said I hadn't ridden in YEARS!! Hubster did his job, he attached the trailer. C'mon, If he doesn't dust the house, he isn't about to dust my bike!
That being said, we were well on our way, until I looked down and realized the tires we flat. So, I walk my ass into the garage, which by the way could qualify us for a gig on Hoarders. Here, I spend what feels like hours looking for my tire pump... Once found, I start going about the business of inflating my tires, with various calls to he Hubs (at work) regarding the amount of air one should pump into their tires. I'm pretty sure he would've liked to strangle me, but then, let's be honest, when doesn't he?!lol
Since the tires are all set, the bike is dusted, the trailer's hitched, helmets are on, waters bottle are in place, fruits snacks in each kids pockets and kids are buckled in (whew!) we're ready to roll! Except that I parked my car too close to the back entrance and have, unwittingly, blocked us in. Not only that, but I realized this fact too late, and now have the bike trailer tire jammed into the car's front tire and neither will give...
This is craptastic.
So, I'm out there pulling and swearing and kicking at the tires, while the kids are still precariously perched inside the trailer swaying to and fro, as I try to jimmy them loose. I know, I should've just backed the car out a bit, but, clearly, I was in the thick of things sorta speak and well, really, where were any of you with this brilliant idea when I needed it?!
Finally!!! Bike and car give way, kids hearts are racing from the upheaval and for whatever reason, I cannot get the stupid bike to ride. At all. I'm scratching my head inspecting this bike up and down for the defect, nothing looks outta place to my *untrained* eye. I give it a kick for good measure outta frustration. I get back on the bike and try peddling, nope, the handle bars still look crooked. At this point Sam is sitting on the curb waiting, somewhat patiently, for us to be on our way and the little ones are squirming in their seats in anticipation. All the while, I'm still struggling with those damn handle bars!! Why won't my bike work?! It looks bent, but I have no idea how to fix it.
This is where my kindly neighbor (whose been talking on his cell phone watching me the. Whole. Time.) comes over to offer his assistance. "You look like you could use some help." he says not unkindly, but almost apprehensive, as if he's dealing with a lunatic. Which as I said, he'd been attaching me this while time and is probably convinced I'm an escapee.
I look up flustered, "I think my bike's jammed, the handle bars won't budge an inch and the tire won't turn." he gently takes the bike from my grasp and deftly turns the handle bars around to face the *proper* direction. "Here you go ma'am, your handle bars were just backwards." His smile indicates he feels sorry or me and is still (as yet) unsure of my sanity. Now, I don't know about you all, but if I were Sam sitting on that curb, I would have driven my bike away as fast as possible so no one knew we were related. The little ones were stuck with me, but Sam at least had an out!! He stayed, loyal to a fault. Poor kid.
I was mortified as I thanked him for his assistance and mumbled that it'd been a while since I'd been on a bike. Then as swift as one can with a trailer and two toddlers hooked to the end of ones bike, I wobbly took off. With my *helpful* neighbor chuckling while calling out, "I'll just watch ya'll to make sure you make it down the street okay!"
Wow! I can honestly say, I've never been more mortified in my life. If anyone deserved a kick to he head, it would've been me that day, ninja style! This is also why my Dad is clearly precise in saying, that "to know me is to love me".
Ha! "adventure", key word here peeps.
First we had to find everyone's helmets, that took *forever* and with much searching and whining (mostly on my part and on both accounts), we realized too late that we had neglected to buy Charlie one. No problem, with much coaxing and compliments of admiration, he gamely wore Audie's old toddler helmet, complete with princess stickers and pink bunnies. Next, we had to get the bike out of the shed. Dear God, what an experience! It was buried under everything you could ever imagine being in a shed. I dusted it off, having been full of cobwebs-hello?! I said I hadn't ridden in YEARS!! Hubster did his job, he attached the trailer. C'mon, If he doesn't dust the house, he isn't about to dust my bike!
That being said, we were well on our way, until I looked down and realized the tires we flat. So, I walk my ass into the garage, which by the way could qualify us for a gig on Hoarders. Here, I spend what feels like hours looking for my tire pump... Once found, I start going about the business of inflating my tires, with various calls to he Hubs (at work) regarding the amount of air one should pump into their tires. I'm pretty sure he would've liked to strangle me, but then, let's be honest, when doesn't he?!lol
Since the tires are all set, the bike is dusted, the trailer's hitched, helmets are on, waters bottle are in place, fruits snacks in each kids pockets and kids are buckled in (whew!) we're ready to roll! Except that I parked my car too close to the back entrance and have, unwittingly, blocked us in. Not only that, but I realized this fact too late, and now have the bike trailer tire jammed into the car's front tire and neither will give...
This is craptastic.
So, I'm out there pulling and swearing and kicking at the tires, while the kids are still precariously perched inside the trailer swaying to and fro, as I try to jimmy them loose. I know, I should've just backed the car out a bit, but, clearly, I was in the thick of things sorta speak and well, really, where were any of you with this brilliant idea when I needed it?!
Finally!!! Bike and car give way, kids hearts are racing from the upheaval and for whatever reason, I cannot get the stupid bike to ride. At all. I'm scratching my head inspecting this bike up and down for the defect, nothing looks outta place to my *untrained* eye. I give it a kick for good measure outta frustration. I get back on the bike and try peddling, nope, the handle bars still look crooked. At this point Sam is sitting on the curb waiting, somewhat patiently, for us to be on our way and the little ones are squirming in their seats in anticipation. All the while, I'm still struggling with those damn handle bars!! Why won't my bike work?! It looks bent, but I have no idea how to fix it.
This is where my kindly neighbor (whose been talking on his cell phone watching me the. Whole. Time.) comes over to offer his assistance. "You look like you could use some help." he says not unkindly, but almost apprehensive, as if he's dealing with a lunatic. Which as I said, he'd been attaching me this while time and is probably convinced I'm an escapee.
I look up flustered, "I think my bike's jammed, the handle bars won't budge an inch and the tire won't turn." he gently takes the bike from my grasp and deftly turns the handle bars around to face the *proper* direction. "Here you go ma'am, your handle bars were just backwards." His smile indicates he feels sorry or me and is still (as yet) unsure of my sanity. Now, I don't know about you all, but if I were Sam sitting on that curb, I would have driven my bike away as fast as possible so no one knew we were related. The little ones were stuck with me, but Sam at least had an out!! He stayed, loyal to a fault. Poor kid.
I was mortified as I thanked him for his assistance and mumbled that it'd been a while since I'd been on a bike. Then as swift as one can with a trailer and two toddlers hooked to the end of ones bike, I wobbly took off. With my *helpful* neighbor chuckling while calling out, "I'll just watch ya'll to make sure you make it down the street okay!"
Wow! I can honestly say, I've never been more mortified in my life. If anyone deserved a kick to he head, it would've been me that day, ninja style! This is also why my Dad is clearly precise in saying, that "to know me is to love me".
Friday, January 13, 2012
My dog must truly *love* me, and here's why:
The dog in my life, insane x4.
He has an uncanny ability to crap the house at the most disturbing times i.e. Like when I'm late running the kids to school (today!!), when the unsuspecting house guest is over or (may particular fav), when he has just been outside. Wtf?! He must enjoy the fufilling feeling of humiliating me.
He also, absolutely, refuses to stay in his yard unless threatened before hand. Literally! If I lecture him before I open the door, he'll stay put. If I forgo the lecture, he must assume "game on" and disappears. Which is really fun when your neighbors bring him back to your yard, knock on the door and lecture YOU on the dangers of leaving your pets unattended. Ugh!
Now, I know, your all thinking Lisa, he's a dog' they don't understand "lectures". I say, "nuts to you!" non believers, mine must, because he lives to torture me. He knows to trot the neighborhood when, oh let's see.... I'm in my pj's, or one of the kid's are home sick, or I'm sick, when there's a snow/hail/wind/rain storm or I'm cooking dinner and lost track of time etc... Usually, he gives me one chance to let him in. If I miss that open window of opportunity, where he's standing at the back door looking in at me and I haven't hauled ass to get there (can animals count seconds?! Mine must...), he disappears.
Game on.
Then he has the balls (yep, balls!), to make me hunt his ass down and *guide* him home. Now this is where I'm sure the neighbors think I'm a lunatic (much like the Hubsters already figured out...). here I am, in my polar bear pj's and house slippers (don't judge me) pulling on his collar and he's not budging. NOT... BUDGING!!! He's 90+ lbs peeps!! He has a narrow head (and mind, but, whose judging?) and thick neck, so when you pull on his collar, it slips right off his head. He knows this, he lives for this moment. He even gamely bows his head when I come close, taunting me into making the eventual pull for it, which almost always knocks me off balance when it comes free. Stupid dog!
Thus, it becomes a battle of the wills, his will to torture me and stay outside, my will to kill him (ummm, I mean love him to pieces) and bring the brat home. Where much coaxing, threatening and *soft* nudges to the rear are implemented. Home folks, home! To his err, my(?!), warm comfy couch, that he gets the majority of, while I'm squeezed into a tiny corner! He gets waited on for meals, treats, bedtime, baths, he even gets to sleep the day away, mostly on my blanket and pillow (bastard) and go for the occasional car ride.
I want his life!
I'm totally convinced he wakes up an thinks, hmmmm, what can I do to mess with the bitch today... He hates me, and this is why he deserves a kick to the head. Because really, a kick to the rear end just isn't satisfying enough
He has an uncanny ability to crap the house at the most disturbing times i.e. Like when I'm late running the kids to school (today!!), when the unsuspecting house guest is over or (may particular fav), when he has just been outside. Wtf?! He must enjoy the fufilling feeling of humiliating me.
He also, absolutely, refuses to stay in his yard unless threatened before hand. Literally! If I lecture him before I open the door, he'll stay put. If I forgo the lecture, he must assume "game on" and disappears. Which is really fun when your neighbors bring him back to your yard, knock on the door and lecture YOU on the dangers of leaving your pets unattended. Ugh!
Now, I know, your all thinking Lisa, he's a dog' they don't understand "lectures". I say, "nuts to you!" non believers, mine must, because he lives to torture me. He knows to trot the neighborhood when, oh let's see.... I'm in my pj's, or one of the kid's are home sick, or I'm sick, when there's a snow/hail/wind/rain storm or I'm cooking dinner and lost track of time etc... Usually, he gives me one chance to let him in. If I miss that open window of opportunity, where he's standing at the back door looking in at me and I haven't hauled ass to get there (can animals count seconds?! Mine must...), he disappears.
Game on.
Then he has the balls (yep, balls!), to make me hunt his ass down and *guide* him home. Now this is where I'm sure the neighbors think I'm a lunatic (much like the Hubsters already figured out...). here I am, in my polar bear pj's and house slippers (don't judge me) pulling on his collar and he's not budging. NOT... BUDGING!!! He's 90+ lbs peeps!! He has a narrow head (and mind, but, whose judging?) and thick neck, so when you pull on his collar, it slips right off his head. He knows this, he lives for this moment. He even gamely bows his head when I come close, taunting me into making the eventual pull for it, which almost always knocks me off balance when it comes free. Stupid dog!
Thus, it becomes a battle of the wills, his will to torture me and stay outside, my will to kill him (ummm, I mean love him to pieces) and bring the brat home. Where much coaxing, threatening and *soft* nudges to the rear are implemented. Home folks, home! To his err, my(?!), warm comfy couch, that he gets the majority of, while I'm squeezed into a tiny corner! He gets waited on for meals, treats, bedtime, baths, he even gets to sleep the day away, mostly on my blanket and pillow (bastard) and go for the occasional car ride.
I want his life!
I'm totally convinced he wakes up an thinks, hmmmm, what can I do to mess with the bitch today... He hates me, and this is why he deserves a kick to the head. Because really, a kick to the rear end just isn't satisfying enough
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