Happy F$%$ing holidays

For years I threatened to hang a "Merry Christmas Motherf***ers" sign on our porch to celebrate the joyous holiday season.  But my husband wouldn't let me.  Because he is no fun at all.



Truth be told, if he had let me I would have wimped out anyway.

But that pretty much sums up my feelings about the holiday season.  I enjoy the decorating, and the planning, the gift wrapping and excitement, planning lovely family activities.

But then . . . the reality.
I'm shopping for 147 people, and wrapping presents all alone at 1 am.  Making stupid dinner rolls that people keep asking me to make, even though I am so totally over it that I forget them in the oven and they burn. Every time.  Standing in line at some crappy store with a cart full of crappy gifts and sweating because I'm dressed for the freezing cold blizzard outside and its approximately 205 degrees in the store. Looking at the bank account, and credit card statements. Realizing that we're out of toilet paper and we might have to wait until payday if I can't find a few more dollars in the budget.  Or in the bottom of my purse, whatever.

But the last straw? The straw that cooked the Christmas Goose?

My husband.  Happy as can be. Not a care in the world.  Only one person to buy gifts for (me). No cooking or cleaning to worry about. Thoroughly enjoying the holidays.  Which is good, I suppose. Still makes me want to punch him in the neck though.

Hello world . . .

I feel like I could become an actual person again.  One who is more than "just" a mom.  Not that that's a small or terrible thing to be . . . But I'm beginning to be able to look ahead to a time when the kids' immediate needs might not take up all of my energy.

I hope I have a few brain cells left when that time gets here . . .

Anyway, for the 457th time I am committing myself to taking a little time to use my brain.

And my grown up vocabulary.

Even if it is only for a 2 sentence post per day.

words that start with F

Jack and I just got home from walking Miss G to preshool.  It was a perfet day for a walk, warm but not too warm. A little windy to keep the bugs away . . .

On this walk Jack noticed the flags on each and every telephone pole.  Our small town puts them up all over town on memorial day and the fourth of July.  And sometimes flag day.  There is a whole crew of guys who drive around putting flags up and taking them down again. Anyway, that is so not the point.  Point is Jack was obsessed with the flags.  We disussed the colors on the flags - red white and blue according to me, PUUUUUPPLE according to Jack.  This obsession did work in my favor because he is somewhat prone to thowing himself on the ground and refusing to walk.  Running to each flag kept him busy and got us all the way home without me having to carry him.  Coincidentally, he is now napping.  Nothing like walking a mile or two to wear a kid out.

That all sounds pretty wholesome and sweet doesn't it?  Well, here's the thing.  My sweet little two year old was yelling "FLAG" at the top of his lungs. Over and over.  Of course being two it didn't come out quite right.  Depending on his level of enthusiasm it came out as "faaaaag" or "fuuuuuck".  Awesome.  I don't think anyone heard him.  Well, other than ALL OF OUR NEIGHBORS and everybody who lives between here and the school.

Thanks kid.

Karma

I was considering titling this post "I'm an asshole".

Can I admit something?  All winter long normally warmish places south of here were getting snow dumped on them I was laughing.  Hear that Virginia? I was laughing at you. 

That's right, I was chuckling at the fact that a few inches of snow could shut down cities all over the place.  After all, snow and ice and snowplows are the norm around here.  We don't even start to worry until the forecast is for FEET of snow rather than inches.  I was feeling all smug and superior.  I am soooo prepared, bring it on Mother Nature.  I won't turn all wussy when 3 feet of snow dump on us.  I will pull on my hat and boots and shovel, shovel, shovel.  No big deal.

Well, guess what we are NOT prepared for up here? 95 f***ing degree weather.  It is just too hot to go on living.  It turns me into a sweaty (not to mention pale) mess.  It's too hot to move, none of the clothes I own are cool enough, we don't have air conditioning . . . I'm really trying not to complain here . . . but  it is just TOO damn hot.

The kids of course are loving it.  Ice pops, ice cream, playing in the sprinkler . . .

Next winter I will try not to mock all you prepared for the heat but not the snow folks, okay? I'll probably forget though.

what year is this?

Yep, that's me.  Hula hooping.

Yes, it's 2010. 

No, I am not a pot smoking hippie (anymore).

The thing is, you can't be grumpy while you are hula hooping.  It's such a ridiulously silly thing to do that I can't help but smile.  And I need a little more of that.  And perhaps a little less stress eating.

Now, this picture is a month old.  I had only had my sweet hoop (from an awesome etsy shop, go ahead search etsy for hula hoops you will find tons of cool hoops) for a week or two.  I'm not sure why I am leaning over?  I'm almost good at it now, you know if nobody tries to talk to me or look at me.

Also, it's exercise which is allegedly good for you and makes you less fat and double chin-ish.  I'm not really into exercise, but I wouldn't mind dropping a few chins pounds. 

Plus, it drives the huz crazy.

Give it a try, you'll like it.

Next up - tricks.

Things I never dreamed I'd say

I never wanted kids.  It's true.  I never pictured myself being a mother, all the work involved and the, umm, messes, and did I mention all the work involved?  Not for me.

Until suddenly I wanted to have a baby.  Hmm, how did that happen? Clearly I lost my mind.

That was 6 years ago.  Now I have a 2 year old and a 4 year old and my mind has turned to mush.  I watch far more Curious George than news. I have far too few conversations with adults.  The things that come out of my mouth are getting more and more ridiculous all the time.  Here are a few examples:

"I have to go potty" I - as in ME, an adult have to go potty.  The 21 year old me would have absolutely died if someone suggested that I would have been saying "potty" in 10 years.

"It's really hard to wipe with you sitting on my lap" Yeah.  Peeing with a sobbing toddler on your lap.  This is what nightmares dreams are made of.

"Where are your pants?" Well, at least I never thought I'd say it to a 4 year old.


and in a similar vein


"I swear she was wearing underwear when I got her dressed this morning" Seriously, disappearing underpants? What the hell?


"Do not wipe poop on that"

"Don't stick your finger in the cat's butt please" I don't know what you think you are going to find up there, but it's not likely to end well.

"That is not a sandbox, it's where the kitty poops" are you sensing a theme here? I am so sick of discussing poop. Also, I am totally sick of cats.  They are almost as much works as kids, and they are sneakier. And my cats are . . .  mentally ill? Emotionally damaged? Effing weird anyway.  More on that another day.


"Please don't open the door- hey wait- Grace Marie get back in- Jesus wait til I get my pants up - aaahhh- w-w-w-wait.  Gracemarie please NEVER open the door while Mommy is still peeing.  It's okay at home but we are in public. Okay?"  yep.   Occasionally we do talk about things other than the bathroom. I think.  We must, right?

What about you? What have you said lately that you never dreamed you'd have to say?

Where the f**** have I been?

I didn't disappear off the face of the earth.  Really.  I'm here and there are some stories waiting to be told.  I'm hoping to start posting on a regular basis but I'm going to have to be more realistic with my goals I guess.  Perhaps a goal of one sentence per day would be attainable?  Well, maybe not every day.   Man am I exhausted, 6 sentences. Oh wait, 7 with that last one. Oops now 8, well 9 including this one. 

See ya in a couple weeks.