Friday, June 29, 2007

Chawbacons or Die

Once upon a time, I was wrong. I know this is shocking to hear, but it has happened. You see, I thought people who had internet friends were total freaking dorks who had no lives. Now that I have internet friends, I see the error of my ways because although I have no life, I am no freaking dork (clearly).

It all started when I found out I was pregnant with the little kid. Somehow I ventured onto my Babycenter Birth Club and my whole world changed.

I have never been a "girl's girl" and Babycenter reminded me of why. The hormones, the whining, the cattiness, the "look at me" drama (all eyes on ME at all times, thanks), the mushy/cheesy/squealing crap over seriously dumb shit. I stuck around for an eye rolling good time and the occasional nugget of wisdom regarding my pregnancy (more nuggets of crap than wisdom, trust me).

But then I noticed that there were some women on there that were also rolling their eyes, who were also outspoken, articulate, and pretty damn funny. We ended up coming together over some drama and starting our own conversation thread. We started talking all day every day and soon decided that we enjoyed cursing, sex toys and drug talk too much to be involved in a wholesome environment like Babycenter, so 15 of us broke apart and started our own group.

And as they say, the rest is history. I think that was April of last year and I can honestly say that these internet friends (I don't even consider them that anymore, these are "Real Life" friends) have changed my life. We exchanged close to 70,000 emails in our first year...among 15 of us. Do the math on that. We were together ALL day EVERY day.

We comforted each other through pregnancy woes and scares and became a real support network when one of our own lost their August baby. We distracted each other from Post Partum Depression and from crying, colicky, screeching infants. We inspired each other in "Clean Sweep" challenges, mocked Flylady together (while aspiring to her organized greatness), and motivated each other to diet. We were each other's lactation consultants, baby gear experts, research panels, fashion stylists and therapists. We have driven each other to laugh until peeing our pants, to cry for each other in sadness and happiness, and to share our most embarrassing moments and biggest fears.

We sent a fridge full of groceries to one member who got in a car accident and a spa basket to another. We sent Wal-mart (yes, we know Walmart is evil) giftcards to two members so they could have amazing Christmases. We remember our lost little one with lit candles, donations to March of Dimes and other memorials and are celebrating his soon-to-arrive little brother with shower plans, advice and giddy excitement. When the Big Kid was being sent to the children's hospital because of a suspected life threatening illness, I found a package on my door with a quilt that had a square for each one of us and a note explaining that it was to bring us comfort while we needed it until it was to be passed on to the next member. I have never felt so lucky (while feeling so unlucky) or so loved. The quilt is in it's 3rd Chaw home right now.(Turns out the Big Kid had just decided to quit pooping.)

We're also ambitious and a little crazy. We've started many projects: finding and planning a commune in Saskatchewa, an alphabet book, a website (we even have a domain), plans to get on Oprah/Ellen/Maury (Maury would have us), a Chaw Greatest Hits CD and a Chawling Lullaby CD, a recipe book, Chaw friendship bracelets, Chawling rock tribute, I can't even list the rest. We even successfully had a small cameo on the show "Shark", our celebrity chaw got the prop guy to put the name "Chawbacon" on some deli bags. So, we're famous too.

We have our own lingo with words like Chawlicious, Yeechaw, Shockachaw, HuDge, Chawbacon Jrs. (big kids), Chawlings (little kids) and there's much, much more but if I told you I'd have to kill you. We also have a mascot, Sidney, who is pictured above. (Okay, so maybe we're a little dorky. Just a little)

We've had individual meet-ups all over the country. A bunch of us decided to meet in San Antonio on the spur of the moment. I couldn't afford it and it was one of the craziest things I've ever done, but also one of my fondest memories. Staying up all night in our suite giggling, letting our kids take over the hotel lobby, cruising around San Antonio on a water taxi. Three other girls got together in Vegas and partied for a weekend. One of the girls is vacationing here for 3 weeks starting Wednesday and I'm so excited!

Don't get me wrong, we are women. We can be bitches. Because we are so personally invested, we occasionally read things wrong and get crappy, or snap at each other. Feelings have been hurt. Debates have gotten heated. But it always works out. We always come back to loving each other.

This is getting long and you're probably wondering why you care. You care because these women helped me find my online voice (and addiction), have reminded me that relationships with women are vital, and have helped me come to the realization that you can be an amazing woman and still feel like a mess. You also care because you are a captive audience and if you want to know about me, this is a big part of it.

The reason this comes up now is because yesterday the Chaws made my day so sunshiney it was blinding. I have been thinking seriously about getting into children's photography but have been unsure of myself due to lack of official experience and no extra money for props or marketing materials. Yesterday I received a package with a feather boa, a tupperware container, and an adorable little pouch with a cupcake on it. Inside the pouch was a beautiful handmade card that said:

We want to wish you the absolute best. We are behind you 100% and totally
believe in your talent, ability and motivation. Break a leg!

We love you,
The Chaws xoxo

In order to demonstrate our support, please accept our gifts. You MUST eat
the cupcake-it contains "Chaw love".

Looking at the cupcake, I was a little skeptical because it hadn't traveled well. However, with the Chaws, there is an excellent chance that it was a "special" cupcake (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) and no way was I passing up that opportunity. When I broke it open, a little plastic wrapped capsule fell out and inside the capsule was $200.

(There was also a "Jesus is King" button that the cupcake wallet lady seemed to think we needed, which was appropriate because we are often encouraging each other to "Find Jesus" when things get bad. We range from the absolute devout to the self proclaimed anti-Christ, so this inside joke means different things to each of us but amuses all of us. I think it does anyway, if it bothers anyone she hasn't spoken up and that never happens)

I think this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me and I will probably never receive a more thought out or prettily presented package. These women have given me more than money to buy some props, they have given me the confidence and support to reach for a dream. The props are like the feather in Dumbo's hat for me. I could probably do this without them, but with them I will go into this feeling like I'm flying instead of jumping.

So although it isn't funny (and you come here for funny, I know), these women deserve a most public thank you. Since I'm in Florida and have no mountain tops to shout from, this will be my mountain top. THANK YOU CHAWBACONS. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. THANKS FOR YOUR FRIENDSHIP, SUPPORT AND LOVE. THANKS FOR THE ENTERTAINMENT. THANKS FOR THE "SPECIAL" CUPCAKE. THANKS FOR BEING YOU.

(and to everyone else, we'll get right back to our regularly scheduled programming. I promise I'm not turning all sweet and mushy on you all)

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Another Sunshiney Day

The Big Kid has been up for an hour and has not allowed the little kid to touch ONE THING without snatching it away, pushing it out of his reach or tattling to me. I have heard:


Come on. I'm not playing referee today. I need to motivate myself into some housekeeping today and that's really all I've got energy for.

We also had the following conversation:

Big Kid: Mommy, da little kid, he needs to go home
Ashley: What are you talking about? He is home.
Big Kid: No, he needs to go to his nother home.
Ashley: He has another home?
Big Kid: Yes
Ashley: Where is his other home?
Big Kid: That way (points out the front door)
Ashley: No, this is his home.
Big Kid: Otay, den take him to his room.

It looks like it's going to be a sunshiney day! Cleaning, refereeing and disciplining (see post below this one, because I think we all know I don't excel in the arena of discipline, or cleaning for that matter).

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Um, Nuthin'

Whenever the Big Kid gets caught in something red handed or is telling one of his impossible fibs, he makes this face:

How am I supposed to discipline a face like that without laughing my ass off? Tell me, how?

I always "get down on his level and look into his eyes", like Supernanny or Nanny911 or Shalom in the Home or whoever, says to do. I am firm and serious and when I ask him what he's doing (always while it is really clear what he is doing and that what he is doing is wrong) he says, "Um....nuthin" and makes "the face". It's even more bizarre in person because he rolls his eyes back and forth and it becomes a sort of stare down that I lose 9 times out of 10 by laughing uncontrollably.

So at this point, many of my attempts to discipline him become a contest to see who will laugh first, because he knows that I'm going to laugh and his ridiculousness amuses him to no end. This has been going on for over 6 months now.

I just happened to catch it on film (or SD card, nowadays I guess) while we were taking photos for a M is for Monkeys page in an alphabet book my group of friends are going to do for our kids. That's the little kid's crib bedding, my friend made me the quilt and I love it. Mr. Ashley's aunt made the Big Kid the sweater. We have a fondness for sock monkeys and really monkeys of all kinds around here. Mr. Ashley says we will never, ever have a monkey for a pet and I think there is an excellent chance he is wrong.

Speaking of Mr. Ashley and lying, he has been telling the Big Kid that he can't watch movies in his room at bedtime (I know, we're bad parents, blahblahblah) because he didn't eat his vegetables and his muscles aren't big enough to make the dvd player start, when in reality the dvd player is dying a slow death and it is a total crapshoot as to whether or not it will work at any given time. The Big Kid totally accepts this with a little disappointment and an eagerness to eat a ton of vegetables the next day. I'm sure this is really wrong to do for some reason, but it is working out for the moment.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Tick Tock

I can't believe it is only 1:40pm. Time is just dragginggggggggggggggggggggg on today. I sent Heidi Louise to my mom's house after she peed on my carpet and tore up another trash can full of poopy diapers (fucking dog) and it has been nice and quiet but I have also had to pick up a tremendous amount of food from the floor. She's kind of like one of those robot vacuums except for all of the yapping and pissing everywhere.

Here's a shocker....the little kid is whining for me again. Damn, can't a girl get a minute? Or a nap for that matter?

Monday, June 25, 2007


I'll never forget the first time I saw you. We were at the carnival, on our way out. The Big Kid was on the verge of another meltdown. We had irresponsibly let him hold the fish we had won and he was swinging it around carelessly and "hugging" it a little too tightly.

Having already played the "let's pretend to leave him and hide behind this funnel cake cart because he's laying on his stomach screaming in the middle of the fairway and we're sick of the two year old bullshit" game we decided it was time to intervene on the fish's behalf and attempt to lure him somewhere that could distract him and that was conveniently located near the exit.

There you were. With all of your inflatable friends; the giraffe and the lion, the crayons, Hulk, Scooby and Spiderman, the guitar, etc. etc. The Big Kid saw you and his face lit up.

"Oh no", I thought, "not this overpriced plastic piece of crap." Ugh. You marginally matched his safari themed room but I hated you. And, he didn't deserve a damn thing. He deserved a spanking, is what he deserved, and although we probably would have gotten a standing ovation for doing it, there's always the chance of getting arrested and making headlines instead. I'm not into that kind of drama.

Anyway, I looked at Mr. Ashley who agreed that you were a piece of junk and the Bid Kid's feelings were no longer a consideration, so he scooped him up and carried him kicking and screaming away. Into the car we went. I don't remember exactly but I probably had to use the Atomic Elbow to buckle his crazy ass in. He sobbed for you all the way home, but I was satisfied that we wouldn't be seeing you again.

Then, lo and behold, the Big Kid goes to the fair with his grandparents and again you beckon to him. Sure enough, he walks back into our home with you AND your giraffe and lion friends. I cursed my luck and your hideousness, but he loved you and you stayed. Sometimes I did shove you in the closet and more than once I gave serious thought to the logistics of slitting your throat and hiding your body, but mostly I think you had it pretty good.

I can't say that I was sad to see your deflated body on the floor of the screen lanai. I knew it would happen eventually and I think you went quickly and had a pretty long life for the piece of shit that you are. At least you were always quiet. Vaya Con Dios, Stripes.

If You Don't:

-Breastfeed (7 months for first child 10-12 months each additional child. No longer than that.)

-Co-sleep (okay, the little kid made me. I totally disagreed with this the first time around)

-Stay At Home (Work at Home is acceptable for the first child)

-Vaccinate on a delayed schedule (Turns out my pedi does this)

-Choose not to circumcise (I couldn’t deal with it)

-Wear your baby (Bjorns don’t count, they’re for wannabes. Slings, wraps or Mei Teis only. Once again, the little kid introduced this idea)

-Use pacifiers (They’re lifesavers, I’m scared of babies that can’t be plugged up)

-Allow television before 2 (I think you people are crazy, sorry but I do)

-Hate cheesy themed baby boys’ clothes (My kids dress like the mack daddies that they are)

-Research baby gear purchases fanatically (Feeds the shopping obsession and I have to have the coolest stuff)

-Participate in online parenting forums (Mostly about anything other than parenting and often involved in drama)

-Have no more than 3 children (Enough is enough)

-Think Robeez are weird (For boys, they usually are)

-Skip bottles to go straight to the sippy cup (The little kid is advanced)

-Think putting cereals in bottles is ridiculous (except when prescribed for reflux, I *guess*)

-Allow “Crying it out” (No one likes it, but these babies must be trained)

-Throw big birthday parties (Because it is fun for ME, ME, ME)

-Make up creative nicknames, song parodies and games (I may suck as a mom, but I’m a fun sucky mom)

-Encourage self feeding (I like to start at restaurants, less mess for me)

-Swaddle infants (Tie those babies down)

Then you are parenting incorrectly. Sorry, I know it pisses you off to hear it but the way I do it is the only way. I pride myself on not judging other parents but every time I see you doing it wrong, I smirk a little. When I find other people who do it like me, I am enchanted by their enlightenment. We gravitate towards each other and become “Breastfeeding Nazis”, “Crunchy Attachment Parenting Types”, “Stroller whores”, “Car seat snobs”, “Rich, Snotty SAHMs”, and so on and so forth.

Then when one of us says that we enjoy breastfeeding, one of you can scream that formula isn’t poison and not everyone can breastfeed (and trust me, one of us can not, and should not, point out that 99% of women in Sweden can breastfeed). When one of you say that you have to work to pay the bills, inevitably someone from the SAHM side will exclaim that she didn’t have kids so other people can raise them. God freaking forbid someone insult Gymboree or Robeez, because then the claws come out and the clumps of hair start flying.

Some women wear their parenting choices like a badge of honor. Women on the baby bulletin board I frequent have signatures attached to every post that say, “Co-sleeping, breastfeeding, non-vaxing, intact, cloth diapering, SAHM who pees when she sneezes, has 30 pairs of Robeez and who would never put her child in any carseat cheaper than a Britax because my child’s life is worth the extra money to me.” Well then…..Congratulations on that. I don’t really care. If your parenting style makes you feel superior, or like a better mother, then go on with your bad self. The “Mommy Wars” us women get involved in don’t really benefit anyone. Your passionate stance on sail boats and puppy dogs on baby boys clothes (they’re lame, for the record) isn’t going to change another mother’s mind.

When it comes to parenting, every mother thinks that they’re right, that their way is the only way and that their kids are angels because of their enlightened parenting. Coming from someone whose Big Kid was the poster child for perfect babies and whose little kid is the poster child for Satan spawn…a lot of it is luck. A whole lot of it.

By the way, those of you out there that insist on acting like you are perfect, that you have no faults, that you are the ultimate Happy Homemaker (I’m not referring to the super funny blog, just the general “Donna Reed” like character) well, you’re almost always a mess too. Within the last year I’ve become close to lots and lots of women, many of whom I admire greatly, several whom I aspire to be like, but I have noticed that no matter how great *I* think they are, deep down they think they have some sort of their own mess going. Money, marriage, mental health, housekeeping, physical appearance….there is always something else that needs to be conquered. To me, being the “ideal” mother is like juggling with too many balls. I can’t ever seem to get them all up in the air and keep them going at one time. I think as women we relate best to other women who acknowledge that it is hard and that makes us feel better about our own shortcomings. Although telling someone who lets her kid Cry It Out that she’s creating trust issues and will never bond with her child is apparently pretty satisfying too.

So I’m going to suggest we be honest. My signature would say, “Forced into attachment parenting by controlling little kid who makes me nuts, disposable diapering and convenience foods because I’m lazy, crying it out because I’m tired, sitting on the computer because my house is a mess and I hate cleaning it, SAHM because I freaking can, Britax car seat because I’m a snob and no, I don’t pee when I sneeze and if I did, I’d keep it to myself.”

So let’s just try to agree that although we may not do everything the right (read: my) way, that we’re all good moms. Well, not all of us. Britney is not a good mom. If she’s preggers, I’d guess Nicole Ritchie won’t be winning any parenting awards. Okay, I guess there are lots of bad moms, but they are bad moms for reasons other than having to work for a living or putting their kid in a Graco carseat.

Can’t we all just get along?

(I take that last part back, the fighting is way more entertaining than getting along. Besides, many of you offenders are among the socially challenged and therefore lack the perception and intelligence to know that you are wrong almost all of the time and will most likely never stop annoying the rest of us. So you continue on and we will band together to mock you)

Sunday, June 24, 2007


Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag--SHOULD NOT BE FAMOUS. Come on people!! Reality television "stars" are not celebrities, and do not deserve to be taking up valuable page space on highly esteemed magazines such as In Touch and Us Magazine.

The Hills sucked (I watched it avidly, it really did suck). Spencer is a shit eating bastard and he looks like he is wearing dentures, and what is up with the bouffant hairdo? He reminds me of a politician, a Republican or something. He makes my skin crawl.

Heidi has proved her total stupidity and spinelessness by getting engaged to this loser after he publicly humiliated her on the show by talking shit about her and screwing around with Audrina (desperate little ho that she is). Who wants to bet how long they will be married before he's cheating?? He's one of those slimeballs that would be getting a b.j. in the bathroom at the reception from one of the bridesmaids.
I just wanted to clear up any confusion as to whether or not they are newsworthy celebrities--they are NOT, NOT, NOT and NEVER WILL BE.

To the Socially Challenged,

Hey? What's up? Was there a convention in my area yesterday? You all were everywhere and although you didn't seem to know each other, it's always tough to tell with your type.

Look, I don't expect everyone to have charisma or be interesting. I know everyone isn't outgoing, no problem with shy people. It's those of you who seem to utterly lack common sense that get my goat (Goat is still on top of the fridge, by the way).

Let's say, for instance, you pull up to an island on your boat and that there is miles and miles of white sand and there is one other boat within eyesight, DO NOT, let me repeat, DO NOT park your fucking boat 10 feet from said boat. If for some reason you must park near said boat, DO NOT, let me repeat, DO NOT plop your crap 5 feet from the only other people on the island.

Remember me now? I was the one shaking my head and glaring at you. I was the one asking the two three year olds I had with me who could shriek the loudest and kick sand the highest. I was the one who would have been introducing you to Outkast on high volume, if only the boom box's batteries hadn't failed me. We were the ones who moved our crap, beach canopy, 10 million beach toys, coolers, snack bags, the EMFLTB and 4 children, ages 13 to 9 months old, further down upon realizing you were indeed going to put your stuff close enough for me to hear you breathing. (And your boat name is stupid too by the way, "My Buddy"? That's so dumb. It's a real reflection of your creative ability.)

I thought that was really weird, to run into people who would have no concept of personal space and who would have a desire to sit so close to two families with so many children. I wondered why you came to a deserted island if you wanted to sit close enough for me to see the sun glint off of your arm hair.

But then....then another boat pulled up right in between our two boats. A boat with two families and an endless number of children, it was like the aquatic version of a clown car, they just kept coming. I watched in disbelief as they unloaded their crap RIGHT WHERE WE HAD JUST MOVED FROM.

I have included photos, so that you can witness your gross misjudgment and the blatant breach in beach etiquette, in the hope that it may help you make a better decision next time. Because as Oprah says, "When you know better, you do better."
I do have to say, I find it hard to believe that you think I wanted to hear how long you pushed with each child and I was more than a little annoyed when your stupid ass kids woke up the little kid....three different times. But whatever, let's just agree that you'll try harder not to be an asshole next time.
Luckily, we were able to salvage our day (but you did annoy me terribly.) I have included a photo as evidence of the fun we did have, once *we* walked over to the area you should have gone to in the first place.
On our way home we got adventurous and decided to pull up to Joe's Crab Shack for dinner and dock the boat and eat outdoors while the kids played on the playground there. It seemed like there was some staring, but that could have been A.) Because our kids are so cute B.) Because they were wearing their bathing suits C.) Because we had arrived via boat and this is fairly unusual for some reason. So I'm not going to necessarily count that as social retardation, but I'm also not going to rule it out. Staring is rude, let's clear that up here and now.

But, oh how we laughed to see you again, coming around the bend with "My Buddy". I got my camera ready, unable to believe my good luck when you waved your hand enthusiastically, like the total dork that you are.
Good God people, get a clue. We were clearly not, and will never be, buddies. But that's the problem with those of you who lack social grace. You lack the intelligence and perception to realize that you're annoying.
I know I have to deal with you folks, unfortunately you types are a fact of life. I hope this letter has provided some insight and has taught you some things, so our interactions can flow more smoothly and so you don't screw up any more of my beach days.

See ya, wouldn't want to be ya.

Not Your Friend,


Friday, June 22, 2007

Boys Are From Mars

Gleanings from a 10 minute phone conversation between the Big Kid and his girlfriend about our boat trip tomorrow (she talked 9 minutes out of 10). He was sitting naked in the dry bathtub (I have no idea why. I'm just setting the scene for you all)

Emawee: Hello Big Kid? Hi Big Kid!

Big Kid: Hi Emawee.

Emawee: Big Kid, tomorrow is Saturday and we're going to go on the boat. You and me and we'll swim and play on the island and it's going to be so much fun. Isn't it going to be so much fun? Isn't it?

Big Kid: Yeah

Emawee: Are you excited, Big Kid? Are you excited? Because I'm really excited because it will be so much fun. I love to go on the boat. Are you excited too?

Big Kid: Yeah

Emawee: Big Kid, do you love me? Do you love me, Big Kid?

Big Kid: Yeah

Emawee: Tell me that you love me, Big Kid-y.

Big Kid: I wuv you, Emawee.


Big Kid: (louder) I wuv you, Emawee.

Emawee: I love you too. Do you love my sister? Do you love her too?

Big Kid: Yeah

Emawee: Sister, Big Kid loves you. She loves you too. What about her friend Rica? Rica is sis's.

Big Kid: Yeah

Emawee: You too, Rica! So are we going to have fun on the island or what? We're going to swim and play with sand and it will be really so fun, won't it? Aren't you so excited? I know you're so excited.

Big Kid: Yeah

Emawee: No mom, I'm not done. Noooooooo. Big Kid, I can't hear you Big Kid. Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Are you there?

Big Kid: Yeah. What is this on my penis?

Emawee: What? You need to talk louder, Big Kid. I cannot hear you. What?

Big Kid: There is something on my penis

Ashley: Shhhhhhhh!!! No! That is private talk, let me talk to her mom.

Emawee: (fighting her mom about giving up the phone, this goes on for several minutes) Big Kid, I'm going to need to talk to your mother. Let me talk to Ashley and then she will talk to my mom, okay? Okay, Big Kid?

Big Kid: Yeah

Then she chatted me up for several minutes. It cracks me up that little girls are so chatty. This is pretty much how grown ups are too, women wanting to talk, talk, talk and men only wanting to think about and discuss their penises. I didn't realize it started as soon as speech developed.

Happy Weekend! Tomorrow I will be B-O-A-T-I-N-G! Think of me!

To Do

The Goat has been sent to time out. He started talking shit first thing this morning and I'm just not doing it today, so he is on top of the refrigerator and not too happy about it. The Goat may just disappear Hoffa style and that will be that.

I need to: feed the kids lunch, make mac & cheese for a dinner we're going to tonight (those twins I watched will be there--3 3 year olds + one house= fun, fun, fun), clean, take photos of the little kid in his 9 month shirt before he's not 9 months anymore, and do laundry.

I would rather: sit on the couch, check my email, read and comment on some blogs, update my blogroll, finish that pan of brownies.

I have: put three photos in frames, that I'm giving serious consideration to actually hanging. I realized that the little kid is almost 10 months old and there is not ONE framed photo of him in the house. Sorry second child. I also finished The Doctor's Wife, it was great. I have also eaten more brownies...a lot more, in fact.

Okay, the little kid is demanding lunch. Back to the coal mines.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Looney Bin

It has been a looooooooooong day. The kids were both highly annoying today. The Big Kid sang some song alllllllll day long. Not really a song even, one line, "We can read a book, we can read a book" probably 800 times. It wasn't that he wanted to read a book either, it's something he saw on t.v. that got stuck in his head. He also had the Baby Einstein goat puppet on his hand for most of the day and forced me to address it when speaking to him. I even had to provide lunch for the goat. The goat stole my dishtowel and spanked me. The little kid was overtired and needy and screeching a lot. At one point I decided that either that kids are crazy or I am (and personally, I think it's the kids. Hello, the goat? The tantrums? The Big Kid clearly has multiple personalities. The little kid has several symptoms of manic depressive disorder and possibly even possession. No, I'm not the crazy one). It was a lot like a bad acid trip.

I was marginally productive today, but I've spent more time hiding in the bathroom reading "The Doctor's Wife" by Elizabeth Brundage than doing anything that would really benefit anyone. I've almost finished it and if I wasn't so tired I'd be done by tonight. It's not the sort of book I would've bought for myself, it was in a pile given to me and I wasn't even going to read it next but I picked it up and got sucked right in. Some of it is a little far fetched but it is well written and suspenseful.

I also made breakfast for dinner, and I made a pan of brownies, and I ate half a pan of brownies, and I shopped online for a new t.v., and I took a bath, and read some more, and had a glass of wine. And now I'm going to bed. So I would say that in all honesty, I was more than marginally productive. Brownies? That was so domestic of me.

(I really just wanted an excuse to make out with my whisk. I love batter. Screw Salmonella.)

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Little Kid,

Notice there is no "Dear" in the salutation? Yeah. Get it together, kiddo. There have been 8 minutes today (not all at once) in which you were not whining (not counting your 15 minute nap, of course). I don't even know what you want anymore, but I CANNOT DO IT. Learn to adjust, please.

Also, I do not have a penis (regardless of what your brother says; when I need to shave and he tells me my penis is dirty, he is not only overstepping his bounds, he is incorrectly using the terminology). However, I do know that males need a certain percentage of time spent each day messing with their junk and that your diaper makes this difficult for you. I will let you have more bath time and/or nakey time *IF* and only *IF* you stop grabbing your junk while it is covered in poop.

It's hard enough to change your diaper, with you flipping and flailing around like a whale beached on a sheet of glass covered in baby oil, but it is nearly impossible while I have to pin your little poopy arms above your head. Believe it or not, this isn't fun for me either. Our options are: #1. Pooping a whole lot less (this would be my preference) or #2. Not flipping around, grabbing your poopy privates and trying to reach for the poop filled diaper while I'm trying to change you.

Thank you for your consideration. I am confident that these small changes will not hinder your opportunity to be a penis puppeteer like your ever so talented big brother.

Yours Truly (Like It Or Not),

P.S. Do you have to touch every freaking thing in the house?? Everything other than all of the toys, that is. Craft time with the Big Kid is hard enough, I don't need you tearing the paper up or eating the crayons. Oh, and the rice steamer in the pantry--it's mine. Not yours. Leave it alone.

P.P.S. Seriously, what the hell is up with the godforsaken screeching sound?

(And stop laughing every time I tell you no. We both know I'm your bitch, no need to flaunt it.)

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Worth Living For

I can't afford these lovely $175 shoes, and even if I could, I would have nowhere to wear them, but that doesn't make me love them any less. These brought a smile to my swollen, bloody lips today so I thought I would share.

My, What a Big Mouth You Have

I'm sitting here looking like Angelina Jolie, minus the sexy plus one bag of drippy ice, because Mr. Ashley thought it would be fun to have the little kid wake me up by giving me a kissy. This would have been fine (other than the waking up part) if the little kid had any concept of physics because he way overestimated on his velocity and slammed his head into my mouth, making my teeth cut my lip.

I can't even drink my morning Coke because my new swollen, throbbing mouth doesn't work with a can. Me not having my morning Coke is NOT pretty, so things better shape up soon.

Speaking of hideous mouths, the Big Kid woke up and came out here with fever blisters on his upper lip. I guess his mouth got a little sunburned this weekend. This is a major bummer for several reasons, but the main one is that I have a family portrait scheduled with my wedding photographer for Friday. A portrait that has been rescheduled three times and shot once (unsatisfactorily). A portrait that she was paid for almost three years ago, as a birthday gift from my mother (best gift ever!). I'm totally embarrassed to call and reschedule, but a family of fat, scabby lips is not how I was wanting us to be immortalized.

So I'm also sad because I won't be shopping for a new portrait outfit. I was either thinking the boys in overalls, no shirts and barefeet with me and Mr. Ashley in jeans and white shirts, or I was thinking a chocolate brown theme, or I was thinking the boys in their matching blue & navy madras (shorts for the Big Kid, overalls for the little kid) with Mr. Ashley in his blue button down and me in a glorious baby blue 50s housewife style dress and I was sure I'd find the perfect one at Loehmann's. So now no excuse to shop at Loehmann's this week. Waaaaaah.

So today is pretty much shaping up into total suckage. Oh, and our television set is dying, a slow painful death. And our white trash tenants in the rental condo broke their dishwasher by putting cigarette butts in it (fucking skanks) and they think there is a big rush to get it fixed. Um, no. Not really.

I know many were interested in the little kid's first night in his room, because they have spoiled August babies too. Did I mention that in a pregnant, hormonal induced rage I demanded really expensive custom made crib bedding...and then the little kid slept in our room every single night? So I figured I had better get him in there before we get to the point of him never, ever sleeping on it. I put him down awake and he seemed amused, but okay with it (we have been doing naps in there). He slept through the night (so rare!) but woke up at 6:15am. I got him and brought him in our room but then he just wanted to party. Usually he wakes up in our room about that time and I take him into his room and he sleeps until 7:30am or 8:00am. So I tried to take him back in his room but he wasn't having it. From what I understand, he screamed until 6:40am when Mr. Ashley finally gave up and got up with him. So I guess it was a success, but I'm not sure if I'd rather wake up once at night for a feeding and then sleep in until later? Or have him in his own room but have to wake up at buttcrack o'dark (unless Mr. Ashley is around, of course)?

I don't know, it all sucks. I'm tired. I just want to go back to bed and wake up with a normal lip and a Big Kid with a normal lip and a certified check for $2 million and a chauffered car and someone to wash my hair. That's all.

Monday, June 18, 2007

My Super Snotty 16

I'm watching My Super Sweet 16 on MTV right now and this 15 year old is sobbing and screaming that she hates her mother, she has ruined her life, and the party is off because her mom gave her the little Lexus convertible she wanted (FOR HER 15TH BIRTHDAY...a practice car) on her actual birthday instead of the day of her Quincenara party.

Are you fucking kidding me???? I would kick that kid's ass right there and then, in front of the whole damn world. Then I'd send her to boot camp and issue a public statement that I disagree with her actions and promise that she'd never get a birthday gift again. Ever.

If you don't watch this show, you must. It is totally insane. I am actually all for spoiling and big parties and such but these parties are unbelievably over the top. What do you do for their wedding? Every other birthday? It's just wrong.

How Many?

The Big Kid is going through his list of friends and acquaintances and making me tell him how many nipples each person on the list has. Luckily, it's a pretty easy game and doesn't require much thought from me, but it's weird to hear him say, "Oh, that's wight. Caweb does have 2 nipples."

Happy Dawders Day

So we did end up breaking out the paint and construction paper and making Mr. Ashley personalized creations worthy of such a highly esteemed father. It was a total mess and nowhere near as fun as I had hoped it would be. The little kid is wildly enthusiastic about crafts, but is somewhat of a loose cannon. He also had a hard time understanding that our goal was not to paint everything within a 10 foot radius and/or knock the paints over every time I wasn't able to respond with the ninja speed necessary to deter him.

The Big Kid alternated between squishing the paint between his fingers and obsessively washing his hands. He also enjoyed "rinsing" his brush over and over again to make the water cup a different color. Woo-hoo, we know how to party.

As you can see, we ended up making the most kick ass Father's Day cards ever, so it was worth the trouble.

The Big Kid did the butterfly. The inside says:
My favorite things to do with daddy:
-Watch cartoons
-Clean up the grass
-Go on the boat
Why do I love daddy?
I don't know. Because I just do.

The little kid did the footprints and the front says:
I hope to follow in your footsteps. The inside says: Happy Father's Day! Thank you for waking up with me and for giving me baths. I love you!

Mr. Ashley was pretty impressed with our efforts. Unfortunately, the rest of the day was uneventful (read: boring and uncomfortable). We went to my parents' house and hung out with my grandpa and my dad's cousin, whose wife has a difficult time with small talk. For the record, I try to make it pretty easy, we don't even have to talk about anything interesting. However, the conversation would flow a lot better if you asked me some questions or at least elaborated on your one sentence answers.

So I spent the day prying nuggets of conversation out of that lump of flesh and chasing the little kid from room to room while everyone else was busy filling awkward silences and since it was Father's Day I couldn't even put Mr. Ashley in charge of him. I had to get up at least once every 10 minutes, it majorly sucked ass. I left the first possible second that it would be even marginally appropriate to do so.

Today I was very productive. I cleaned up the kitchen and....get ready for it....I cleaned my bathroom!! Toilet and everything!! This was enough accomplishment for one day (it really sucked, it was a good reminder of why I don't do it more often) but I also made an awesome dinner:

Chicken Roll-Ups
6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 tub onion and chive cream cheese, softened
6 slices of bacon (or however many chicken breasts you have)
1 stick of butter, softened
Pound each chicken breast until flat
Place 1 and3/4 tbs of cream cheese on each breast, spread approx 1 tbs butter on top of cream cheese. Roll the chicken, wrap the bacon around it, and secure with toothpicks. Top w/ remaining cream cheese.
In shallow glass dish, bake at 375 for 45 minutes. Enjoy!

There are Special Olympics participants that are better cooks than I am. I recently had to call my mom to ask her how to boil a hotdog. I'm not kidding. I pretty much hate food, I hate cooking it, I hate seeing it uncooked, I hate defrosting meat, I hate touching meat, I hate looking at meat, I hate cutting things with knives, I'm scared of the oven and the grill, I don't like the mess, I would just rather not. But lately I've been trying more and more and it hasn't been too bad. Tonight's dinner was easy and delicious and I loved pounding the chicken! I didn't have a mallet so I used a pot. I got a little out of control and broke this bowl from Greece and I'm majorly bummed about that, but I'm trying to let it go and move on.

I also bought $400 worth of J Crew dresses (don't get too excited, I'm a bridesmaid in a wedding and had to order two dresses to see which fits better, I did sneak a pair of flip flops in too though) and I PUT THE LITTLE KID TO SLEEP IN HIS OWN ROOM. This is ginormous and I'm not sure how it will go. First time in almost 10 months. My theory was that I'd clean my room tonight but now I'm really thinking I have done plenty for one day. I also cancelled the pool party playdate tomorrow so I can get more done. Or hang out online.

Sulli Learns to Spell

I have a Father's Day post in the works but Blogger is a piece of crap about the photo situation and Photoshop wants me to shut my computer down before it is willing to do anything.

So until then, here is an adorable photograph of my friend Jodi's daughter Sullivan learning to spell. Jodi is one of my Chawbacon friends (who you will learn all about at a later date) and Jodi is a lot of fun, Jodi is very pretty, Jodi would be fun to party with, Jodi sells sex toys (I can get you her info if interested) and Jodi said I can use this photo if I mention the name Jodi at least ten times. So thank you Jodi. Jodi also got majorly ripped off in Vegas (naive Canadian) by some guy who did a sculpture of Jodi's kids, I'll be sure to share that at some point too. You'll pee your pants laughing.

Saturday, June 16, 2007


I know I'm long winded (read: buzzed) tonight but I have to share two conversations I overheard between The Big Kid and his girlfriend:

The first one happened as we were walking to the bathroom together, holding hands like we always must do, per Emawee. She tripped over the step and fell and on the way back out:

The Big Kid: Give me your hand, Emawee.

Emawee: Don't let me fall, Big Kid.

The Big Kid: I won't let you fall, Emawee. I pwomise.

Emawee: I know, but I did fall the first time.

Then on the island he was acting like a real punk and she said to Mr. Ashley, "Sometimes the Big Kid doesn't love me. I always love him though. No matter what." and the Big Kid overheard her and asked me, "Why is Emawee sad?" I told him that she thought that he didn't love her and he said, "I don't want her to be sad but I am just swimming and looking at footpwints."

They are 6 months apart in age and she is the daughter of my bestfriend, so they're pretty much stuck together. They are like a little married couple, with her nagging him and everything.

Anyhoo, I need to go to bed since tomorrow is Father's Day and I'll be expected to get up with the kids and all that jazz (waaaaaah!). Don't get me wrong, he deserves it. I just really, really, really need my sleep and I know an afternoon nap will be frowned on. We're supposed to go to a cookout at my parents' house with my grandpa and my dad's cousin who we've never met. For some reason, this is not Mr. Ashley's idea of fun. So unless we get out of it somehow, tomorrow is probably mostly going to suck.

I hope your Father's Day isn't too bad. Think of me.

The Rogue Wave

So today we went on the boat with our friends (even though The Weather Channel predicted 60% chance of rain and the doppler looked like the whole state was going to be flooded, screw you weather guy!) and as we were getting situated I debated putting the Extra Mother Fucking Large Tote Bag (or The EMFLTB from here on out, because that's so much easier) on the floor of the boat because it takes up so much room on the seat. LK pointed out that I didn't want to risk it getting wet since my camera was in there and that there is always the rogue wave. (It was a great usage of the word rogue, in my opinion and it stuck with me) I reluctantly let the EMFLTB block my view and prohibit me from putting me feet up on the seat.

Sure enough, we're cruising along, maxin' and relaxin' (I have no idea what that means but in my case it means sitting in the back of the boat under the bimini top with the little kid on my lap sitting in a rigid upright position like a stuffed potato due to his life vest and with my arm around the big kid who makes me make a tent out of a towel to protect him from the wind, and with the EMFLTB blocking my view of the front) when we see this huDge wave from the wake of a boat up ahead. I mean ginormous, bigger than any one I've ever seen before. We knew we were going to hit it hard and we slooooooooow motion. The boat dipped way down in front and then reared upwards. I saw Mr. LK jump up and turn around to avoid being hit full in the face and the wave was up over his head. Right then I realized, my camera was in the EMFLTB and it was about to get wet. My Nikon D50, which has a place on my Top 5 Loves of My Life list and it isn't number 5.

I had a Sophie's Choice sort of moment....the little kid or the camera? It wasn't a conscious thought, just a realization that both couldn't be 100% protected and one was wearing a life vest. Luckily that whole maternal instinct thing kicked in and I tightened up my grip on the little kid...but one hand disobeyed and darted out to the EMFLTB. You know how when you were a kid and your mom would slam her hand across your chest whenever she slammed on the brakes? It was kind of like that, I couldn't help it. I had to try to save them both. The wave washed full force over all of us and out the back of the boat.

There was one minute of shocked silence among all of us as we looked down to see 8 inches of water covering the bottom of our deck boat and flip flops and beach toys floating around and hitting us in the shins. LK and I starting asking if we were going to sink and squealing about my camera and her cell phone, which got Emawee (The Big Kid's girlfriend) shrieking that her leg was wet. The Big Kid barely noticed and the little kid hardly woke up. All of us and everything on the boat was soaked. It did eventually drain and we did not sink, and went on to have an absolutely gorgeous day. My camera was damp but appears fine. I wouldn't know since the battery wasn't charged and I couldn't use it anyway (stupid ass).

While we were there, I was sitting in the water with the little kid and I picked up a shark tooth! That was pretty cool, I've lived here my whole life and never found one. The weather was perfect. The Big Kid acted like a jerk, but we just ignored him. There were like 3 other people on the whole island and they weren't even within shouting distance. The dead turtle was still there but all spray painted up?? At first we thought there was some Sea Turtle corpse graffiti artist but now I am thinking it was some sort of official thing. They could've dragged the body off though, it's a little depressing to go on a walk and see it there. I also saw one dead seagull and a bird head, beak and everything! Everything but the body. Maybe you're lucky my camera battery wasn't charged...



No freaking way!

My next highest was 97 people and that was Thursday (and I was pretty freaking proud of that). Thanks to everyone who has linked my blog to theirs, thanks to The Yellow Fence for mentioning me the other day and thanks to my BBC friends who aren't totally sick of me yet (or maybe you are, but unable to look away).

A huDge thanks to Monogram Momma. It is not a coincidence that my visitor number soared the same day she put ME ME ME in her spotlight. Personally, I think we should do this every Friday. Or every day even! Getting this much attention makes me positively giddy. I loooooove being in the spotlight. I'm also loving all of the comments and so glad to see there are so many funny people in the world. I didn't know there were so many of us and I so rarely encounter other funny people in real life. We should have a support group. We will meet here every Friday. Or every day. All day. Be here or be square.

So come back. Soon!

Friday, June 15, 2007

Things That Annoy Me

-the music on Baby Einstein movies (That repetitive, obnoxious crap could've been used as torture in Gitmo)

-That shrieking Pterodactyl sound the little kid makes throughout the day (It is not a human sound and certainly not suitable for human ears)

-Britney Spears and all things Britney (K-Fed included)

-The daily Demolition Derby between the backs of my ankles and the little kid's walker (owww)

-Gum snapping (If I see you doing this in public, I will glare at you in disgust with my best "You are clearly trash and I would love to kick your ass right here, right now" face)

-Breakfast and lunch (Seriously, we can send a man to the moon but can't come up with a pill that would eradicate the need for these two time-wasting, calorie consuming times of day?)

-Lazy Town (Call me old fashioned but something is not right about a little girl with pink hair hanging out with some old dude in a unitard tight enough to display his junk)

-Batteries (They're made to die. My cell phone, my cordless phones, my computer, every freaking toy in the house....always dying)

-Week days (Friday is all right)

-People who start a statement with, "I'm not trying to be rude..." or "Not to be mean" (Unless I'm doing it, in that case I am trying to be rude and I am trying to be mean)

-98% of all forwarded emails (Especially the political bullshit. If you love Bush, keep it to yourself. It's embarrassing already)

-My Mother in Law

-The Wiggles (I don't get it and frankly, I think the whole thing is a little gay)

-Toys with no volume control (These make me actually appreciate dead batteries)

-Those phones you call that you hear a song instead of a ring while you're waiting for the person to pick up (Don't subject me to your bad taste in music. There's an excellent chance I'm not in the mood to hear about your lovely lady lumps this morning)

-Internet Explorer has encountered a problem and needs to close (Motherfucker)

-Bad grammar and typographical errors (It happens to all of us every once in a while. If you consistently have a problem with your/you're or there/their/they're, you are probably not smart.)

-Electrical cords (They are a mess, they are dangerous, the little kid thinks they are candy coated and once again, I think the technology is there that I shouldn't have to deal with them)

-People that stare at me at red lights (It's okay for me to do it, but don't let me catch you looking at me. I hate that. Unless you are a hot guy who is looking at me in obvious appreciation. That's cool.)

-Other people's dogs (My own dogs are bad enough. DO NOT let your dog sniff my crotch or scratch my legs up when I come to your house. I WILL fucking drop kick that dog as soon as you turn your back.)

-Sundresses at funerals (Not the time to show off your tan, ho-bag. Put some clothes on. Living in Florida is not a free pass to dress like a whore)

-Ironing (It seems self-explanatory, but it just doesn't work for me. Maybe my wrinkles are super strength or something?)

-Maple Syrup (If it was up to me, syrup usage would be limited to restaurants if and only if a shower is scheduled directly thereafter)

-The Post Office (Those fucking bastards. This deserves its own list)

-Smokers who throw their butts into the sand at the beach (Smokers, you know you annoy me as it is. THE BEACH IS NOT YOUR ASHTRAY. Don't make me explain to my children that the treasure they just found is not a seashell or the perfect flag for their sand castle)

-My answering machine (I'm almost phobic about it. This very second I have 46 unheard messages. I don't give a shit either)

-The selflessness of motherhood (I'm tired of not eating any bananas because I don't want to run out of bananas because the little kid lives for them. I used to like bananas too dammit.)

-Cleaning the house (I know this one is no surprise, but I just think it is pointless. It's a task that is never completed or appreciated and it is too hard and takes too long and hurts me. Yes, it physically hurts me)

-Whining (Unless I'm the one doing it, I don't want to hear it)

-The Big Kid's need to get fully undressed in order to go pee (It's not necessary)

-The Big Kid's inability to dress himself after disrobing to go pee (Seriously, he can install software on his laptop...but he can't put his underwear on himself?)

-People with ugly kids that truly seem to have no idea (You do have eyes, right?)

-The fact that Mr. Ashley has not read my blog. (I have sent him the link twice, I tell him daily how many people have been reading the witty musings of his dear wife. Apparently, no interest. He better shape up soon....he is a great source of material and if he's not reading anyway...)

Speaking of Mr. Ashley, I have to get something together for him and for Mr. Ashley's dad today. He'd probably rather a spotless house and a wife who didn't have laptop imprint permanently etched into the top of her thighs, but I think some construction paper and paint should be plenty. I will keep you all posted.

In honor of our dear one legged Monogram Momma (Can we call her Eileen? Get it...I-Lean? Tee-hee), I want all of us to send out healing thoughts at 32 minutes past every hour. Imagine her leg bathed in white healing light and her doing pirouettes through her lovely monogrammed mansion. Because injuries also annoy me, although injuries that turn people I really like into a captive audience? Well, maybe not so bad.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Freaking Out

I always hated those people that had kids and then got rid of their pets. How rotten, I thought, I would never. I still would never, but boy do I want to some days. Unfortunately for them, my pets have gotten a lot more annoying since I've had kids. Before they were "quirky". They were "my babies." Now they're just stinking, mess making, demanding roommates that contribute nothing and that I can't evict.

Two dogs and two cats and two kids is just too much. I have recently moved the cats' food bowl and one cat hasn't eaten in three days. Tangerine, that little bitch. She will only accept one brand of litter and only drinks from the faucet and I'm just not losing this war with the food bowl. Pearl is reluctant, but she's not going to starve over it. Tangerine just might.

Pearl's not so bad. She has an unnatural affinity for the smell of bleach and she is involved in a passionate love affair with our ladder, but she's easy to live with.

Heidi Louise the Dachshund is sitting here staring at me and salivating over a plate of half eaten plate of mac and cheese I have in front of me on the coffee table. If I turn my back for one second, she will jump up and eat it shamelessly. She also pees where she wants and poops on the front sidewalk. Not cool. She's 12 and that's her excuse, but she's been doing it as long as I can remember.

Lily is a big, hairy, white German Shepherd and she stinks and she's always in my way and she was a "gift" from my mother in law. Enough said.

Speaking of animals, Those damn kids kept me busy today. The little kid was trying to play with the Big Kid while he was riding a little car thing around and got his fingers ran over. As I comforted the little kid, the Big Kid went running into the little kid's room and slammed the door (They both are always going into each other's rooms and shutting the door, I thought I'd have a few years before the sibling fights started??). I took the little kid in there and asked the Big Kid to apologize:

Ashley: Big Kid, do you want to tell Little Kid that it was an accident and that you are sorry.

Big Kid: NOOOO! I am NOT Sowwy. I will NOT say it.

Ashley: Just tell him you will be more careful next time.

Big Kid: Mudder, No! He was fweaking me out. The little kid was fweaking me out, touching my car and all dose stuffs and I don't need to tell him sowwy.

Ashley: Did you just say he was freaking you out? (snorting in my effort not to laugh)

Big Kid: Yes, he WAS fweaking me out and it is not dunny. It is not dunny at all dis time, otay mommy?

Ashley: Yeah, otay. (snicker, snicker)

Big Kid: I told you, not dunny.

So I will confess sometimes when I'm begging him for some personal space and he's demanding to know "Whhhhhhy" I need it for the 40th time, I have maybe told him "because I'm freaking out". There's no reason to share one cushion of the couch and have his dirty little feet kicking me all over. I love a good snuggle session, but it shouldn't ever involve his feet and my face.

Would you believe that stupid fucktard of a cat is whining at me for her food?? IT IS FOUR FEET TO YOUR RIGHT, ASSHAT. I HAVE SHOWN YOU 8 DIFFERENT TIMES. That one won't run away either....I've left the door open for her on more than one occasion. Because I wouldn't give my pets away, but if they were to run away on their on free will...what could I do?

Mommy Cat

The Big Kid keeps calling me Mommy Cat and bringing me dishes of cat food and water. This was simply enchanting, for an hour. I'm going to start biting and scratching him in about 10 minutes. He's also sitting right up on me. Not in a snuggly way, in a "you're a piece of furniture and undeserving of any personal space or consideration" kind of way.

I had to get up early with the little kid this morning and I cannot recover. I'm just not made for this. I'll be back later.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Early Bedtime

I have a migraine and the big kid is arguing with me about putting his underwear on. I caught him bouncing on his bouncy ball naked AND sitting on the couch naked and that's just not right. I keep telling him to go back to his room if he won't put them on and he's been in there for quite a while. I'm just not in the mood to fight about it. He yells little declarations of independence like "I'M SO MAD. MUDDER, I AM SO MAAAAAAAAD." and "I will NOT be putting undies on. I say NO." every once in a while and I'm just ignoring him. He's earning himself an early bedtime, for sure.

Mr. Ashley just had to have a stern talk with the little kid about his belief that food is to be thrown into the air like confetti. The dog thinks it's a great idea and jumps around frantically like one of those people in those glass booths full of money blowing around. The little kid takes everything very personally and is crying (YELLING AT BIG KID TO PUT UNDIES ON OR GO BACK IN ROOM, HE SNUCK OUT) big, gut wrenching sobs. At yesterday's playdate the hostess had a mirrored wall and the little kid desperately wanted to put his hand and face prints all over it and if I even suggested that he not, he would start with the lower lip trembling and watch himself in the mirror fall to pieces which would only make him cry harder. I finally just let him do it, who has a mirrored wall and small children? That's just asking for it. Lovely home though and the hostess was a hottie, which is always a plus because pretty people are just easier to be around. (kidding) (kind of)

I know we haven't done shopping in a while, but I've been very social lately and I have to confess I kind of feel like I'm cheating on you all. I started a blog because of my dedication to staying home in my pajamas and chatting with my friends all day and my ability to update frequently. This whole "real life" people thing is exhausting.

I want one of these. I know $150 is a lot and it is kind of weird and I'd actually need two. But I want them.

I'll be "cleaning" tomorrow, so there should be plenty of time for blogging.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Dear Dina Lohan,

I just wanted to take a moment to sincerely thank you for making me feel like a better mom. When the big kid wants to watch an extra hour of television or the little kid insists on getting into bed with me, I feel guilty for a minute but then I think, "Well, chances are they won't be snorting coke, addicted to everything, total ho-bags and flashing their crotches in front of the entire planet before they even turn 21."

I hear you have some other kids that you haven't fucked up too badly yet and that you're planning on having a reality show that exhibits your pathetic and desperate attempts at making them (read: yourself) famous. That's great. Your precious Linds has a lot in common with reality television. They are both: devoid of talent, unbelievable, unintelligent, slutty, scandalous, pathetic and I'm ashamed to watch while not being able to get enough at the same time.

So thanks again for whoring out your children in order to further your own sad desire to be famous. I hope the fame that comes with being a piss poor role model for a mother is everything you are looking for and I appreciate you and your family amusing me in the meantime!


P.S. That ex-husband of yours is a real gem! You are clearly an excellent judge of character!

Monday, June 11, 2007

Dear Children,

To the big kid: Stop singing that fucking song. You know it is making me insane. I have asked you nicely to stop twice and you complied...for a few minutes. Until you were standing right at my back humming that annoying ass song again. Usually you are a pretty good singer and your chipmunk voice makes it cute, but this is not even a recognizable tune and it just drones on and on. You know there are no hard and fast rules for singing and that punishing you for it would seem extreme...but things may get extreme if you don't stop. Because I can't take it. Mr. Ashley is also about to lose it on you, and he has the patience of a saint. So knock it off, it isn't cute.

To the little kid: Life's not that bad. I know you think so and I know we've been over this before, but it's not Darfur or anything. I'm going to sit you down in front of one of those Save the Children infomercials if the "woe is me" thing continues. Your toy collection rivals the Toys R Us showroom, nothing is expected of you, and I spend 40% of my day performing a 3 ring circus for your enjoyment (and I know this is where the problem lies, regrettably you require a three ring circus 100% of the time, and I just can't). You are well fed. You are wrapped in a $70 Little Giraffe blanket that is as soft as a cloud and far softer than anything I own when you are forced kicking and screaming into your crib (that is still in my room!) When you are being good you are so freaking sweet and cute. When you are being bad, you're still pretty cute but mostly just annoying.

I love you both and I want this to work out. If these antics continue, you may find yourself at home with a nanny while mommy dresses up and goes to work and lunch meetings and such. I will make sure the nanny is no nicer, no prettier, no more lenient, and no more fun than I am, so don't be thinking you'll work that to your advantage either.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

You Should Be Jealous

So yesterday we went on the boat, as you all know if you are loyal readers like you should be. We didn't go to our normal island, instead we went to a nearby sandbar that had recently resurfaced. It was heaven!! The water was warm and shallow, it was uncrowded and beautiful. I also brought a bottle of wine and I'm never drinking another beer on the boat again. Screw that, wine is where it is at. All in all a great day and I thought it would be fun to share pictures:

I stripped the little kid down and let him play naked in the warm shallow water. My mom, who is appalled by naked children of any size, kept telling me people were staring. There were like 10 people on the entire island and if they were staring, it's because it was the cutest freaking thing they had ever seen and they wanted him for themselves.

The Extra Mother Fucking Large tote bag I was telling you all about. This photo still does not do it justice. I could fit that chair in that beach bag.

The Big Kid and his dog, terrorizing the bird population.

Various Wild (and not so wild) life

The dead sea turtle. This was so sad I can't even joke about it. You can tell he lived a long time. I didn't take the Big Kid to see it, not because I thought he'd be sad, more because I was afraid he'd try to ride it or something. My mom touched it (she just wanted to see what it felt like, freak) and that was bad enough. It didn't stink yet, thankfully.

One more of my naked little kid, because it's cute and because my mother would be horrified to know one of her grandbabies is naked on the 'net and sometimes I just live to annoy her.

I hesitate to share pictures of my children because I don't want any of you being fooled by their cuteness and taking their side when I bitch about them, so be sure not to do that or you won't be seeing the kids anymore. Speaking of those damn kids, the Big Kid just woke the little one up from his nap after only 15 minutes (I'm pretty sure it was on purpose) and is poking me with a play sword while the little one bites and tries to suck on my toes. I guess I'm going to have to go deal with them.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

For Your Enjoyment

In case you aren't fortunate enough to be out on the boat today, ignore your kids while reading the Best of Craigslist. A friend recommended this to me the other day and I am now addicted.

Sun Day

I am alive and not even hung over! I know, you were all hoping I'd post something scandalous last night in my drunken state, but I was a little tired for that.

I forgot to tell you all that my Lands End tote bag came in! That was so quick!! Let me also tell you, when Lands End says Extra Large they mean Extra Mother Fucking Large. Now I know some of you blushed when reading that, but there is really no other way to get my point across. I could put the kids in there. It is so big it makes me look like a midget. So it is PERFECT for the boat, but unless I want to look like a dwarf wrestling with an oversized tote bag that could facilitate in transporting other dwarves at the pool playdates, I'm going to have to purchase a Large or Medium as well. If I had known I was getting two, I would have gotten my last name on the bill board sized one and my monogram on the normal sized one, but oh well.

I got my Bath and Body Works stuff and my new Lilly shorts too, so it was a good mail day. I also had the following conversation with the big kid:

Ashley: What's that smell?
Big Kid: Um, nuthin.
Ashley: You smell like a French whore.
Big Kid: Big Kid no smell wike Fwench Oar.
Ashley: I don't know, something does, come here.
Big Kid: Um, no tank you.
Ashley: Is that my bath soap, Big Kid?
Big Kid: (shit eating grin on his face) Um, you mean da soap I was onwy smewwing?
Ashley: Why are your arms sticky?
Big Kid: Um, my ahms are sticky beeeeeecause....of maple sywup?
Ashley: Then lick them.
Big Kid: Lick my ahm? Dis ahm wight here?
Ashley: Sure, that one should work
Big Kid: (takes small lick, looks poisoned) Yum, Dat is good. (pained smile)
Ashley: Go talk to your dad.

So that's right folks, some of my new soap went the way of that expensive apricot baby oil (there was an oil slick in my tub for weeks) and that $20 Wen conditioner (smeared all over the inside of the shower stall) and was puddled up in the bottom of the tub. The Big Kid is also clearly mastering the skill of lying. Luckily he makes this totally ridiculous face when he lies and purses his lips and looks up and to the right and if I needed any help seeing through his blatantly impossible and ridiculous fibs, that would be a dead giveaway.

I am supposed to be going on the boat today (a chance to show off my new suit and new tote bag!) but Mr. Ashley is still feeling pukey. I really don't think stomach cramps and nausea should stand in the why of my tanning opportunities, so we'll see if we can work something out.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

3 Who Are 3

So, it is 10:22am (Don't look at what time this says it posts, it is wrong and I'm too lazy to investigate). The twins have been here since 7:30am and....all is well! I didn't even get my McDonald's breakfast and I'm fine with things. I think part of it is the delight of having a girl creature in the house. She asks me if her clothes are pretty, willingly poses for photos with a pretty smile on her face and wants to do a craft where we use scissors and glue to make a butterfly. Sigh. How cute is that??

My Big Kid is most definitely the whiny tattletale of the group, but so far it is (barely) tolerable. I'll keep you posted.

(I know, you were expecting total chaos and are a little disappointed...the day is still young)

*Update* 12:32pm Okay, we've gotten through lunch. Things are a little frantic right now. We made the ice time I'll buy it. It's delicious and a fun idea, but shaking 3 bags of ice for 5 minutes is not my idea of fun. Of course my bag burst open, so I don't get any. The big kid has locked them out of his room numerous times and peed on the floor once. My bestfriend called a few minutes ago to ask if we want to get together for dinner. I told her only if I get a nap and there is the promise of cocktails.

12:40pm The girl has been in the bathroom for a suspiciously long time. She claims to be pooping and that she needs no help and will need no help. Is this possible? Will she be wiping her own butt? That would be great, but I'm not quite sure I trust her. Let's pray to God I don't have to wipe anyone else's ass today.

1:13pm Okay, I'm getting a little tired here. This is beginning to feel like the longest day ever. Mr. Ashley has claimed the stomach problem I had the other day, I'm a little suspicious, the timing is just too good. So he is laying down while I'm playing referee to these 3 monkeys and have the little kid using me as a human jungle gym and pinching me with his little toes. Ring phone, ring.


2:12pm The boy twin is a bit of a whiner. I've made sure both phones are charged, so as not to miss any important caretaker calls. 7 hours? Come on now.

3:09pm ..................? (insert jeopardy theme song here)

4:32pm Mr. Ashley is ironing his jeans and then taking them home. WHO THE HELL IRONS THEIR JEANS?? ESPECIALLY BEFORE TAKING HOME TWINS THAT HAVE BEEN AT YOUR HOUSE SINCE 7AM??!??! He's also picking me up a bottle of wine on his way home, so I can't bitch too much (until I have it)

4:46pm They are gone!!! It's just me and the kids...for about an hour until my BF comes over with the Big Kid's BFF for dinner. Because 3 3 year olds in the house for the day isn't as good as 4. I'm really just hoping my BF will hold the little kid for a while. I'm letting him rip up a copy of "Reading Lolita in Tehran" right now because I'm just too tired to deal with any more kids.

You shouldn't see me again today. If you do, I'm drunk and please disregard anything I may say. Unless it's funny.

Friday, June 8, 2007

Letters to Paris

So I know I've mentioned her before, but in light of the new Parispalooza happenings, I just want to remind everyone of our friend Carol Lee over at Etsy. I do not know her personally (just in case anyone thinks my repeatedly mentioning her is some sort of shameless selling out, which I have nothing against) I just think her cards are genius. They are also all appropriate for Paris, who can be reached at the following address for the next 45 days or so:

Century Regional
Detention Facility
Ms. Paris Hilton
Booking #9818783
11705 S. Alameda St.
Lynwood, CA 90262

(A special thanks to Monogram Momma for providing the address!)

I tried to make those bigger. I tried and tried. But I am done trying. So I will tell you what they say and/or you can go check them out yourself on the handy link so conveniently located above:

Why can't you be more like your sister?

What were you thinking?


If I were in your shoes, I'd cry too


Learned your lesson?

Someone's pants are on fire

You're an idiot

You're a special kind of crazy

Hindsight is 20/20, See how stupid that was?

And of course my old favorite and the often relevant: Sucks to be you. I ordered two of those tonight and I'm going to send one to Paris. I'll probably stick the other one on my bathroom mirror, like a life affirmation or something.

Waaaaaaah Poor Me

Waaaaaah, Waaaaaah, Poor Paris is in the Waaaaaahmbulance. Oh wait, that's a cop car. And she's handcuffed. And she won't be appearing in court via telephone like her spoiled ass wanted.

When they lock her back up, can we send her "Sucks to be you" cards?

Scramble Time

Mr. Ashley is coming home early....and he's not going to be impressed.

Cleaning Progress Report

Cokes: 2

Cokes spilled:1

Babies scolded: 1

Loads of laundry: 1

Hands chemically burned from Oxi-Clean: 2 (don't break the clumps up with your hands)

Loads of dishes: 1

Number of times the Little Kid was stopped from grabbing a knife: 2

Number of times dishwasher door had to be closed while loading to prevent little kid from getting into it: 4

Rooms wandered through aimlessly: 9

Bags of garbage collected: 2

Times I resisted getting back on computer for Paris update: 6

Little Kid found in dog water bowl, once with a vacuum part: 2

Wiped noses: 2

Catalogs read: 2

Boat spotlights found: 1

Retinas scorched from boat spotlight: 2

Number of times Little Kid cried and demanded to be picked up: 3

Strangulation attempts with the vacuum cord prevented: 1

Fights with Big Kid about changing the channel to adult programming: 1

Number of adult programs viewed today: 0

Phone calls with various people to discuss the 7:30am twin ordeal tomorrow: 2

Trips to mailbox: 1

Nursing sessions only because I needed a good excuse to check my email, tell you guys how unproductive I'm being and get a Paris Update: 1

What Was I Thinking?

So I was sitting here thinking to myself, "Self, what do we want to do this weekend?" When it suddenly came to me!!

Let's go pick up 2 more three year olds for the day and let's do it at 7:30am so their caretakers can go fishing!! What's that you say? When is the last time anyone watched my kids (who aren't even twins) so that I could do something alone? Well, I don't know. That is an excellent question. But Ashley, you don't even really seem to like kids, you might point out. Yes, yes, I know. You will have 3 three year olds and a baby in the house. Yes, yes, I know. The day will be long and loud and they're going to want all kinds of shit. Yes, yes, I know. But Ashley, the Big Kid hates to share and is a tattle tale and a whiner. Yes,yes, I remember that now. But Ashley, you like to sleep until 10am. Yes, yes, I do. Holy shit, this was a terrible idea.

So today I have to clean the house, so their caretakers don't think that I sit around on the computer all day. You know the little bastards will just trash it again tomorrow. I also may need to run to the liquor store.

Monogram Momma had a fun recipe for making ice cream. I think structured activities are going to be key for this train wreck. Either that or I'll sit on the computer and let them duke it out. Survival of the Fittest, right? Might as well prepare them for real life.