St. Patrick’s Day; the ole girl aint what she used to be!

This past Saturday was St. Patrick’s Day.  The hubs and I weren’t going to do anything in particular.  All three of our older kids were gone for the weekend, but we still had the moose at home.  (The moose is our baby boy.)  We had planned on just having some drinks at home and watching some TV. 

Well……..on Saturday, my mother – who was supposed to be going out of town – decided not to and then volunteered to keep Moose over night.  It was going to be the first time he had ever stayed overnight anywhere.  So – counting the 9 months I spent pregnant and the 10.5 months he’s been alive – it has been a long-ass time since the hubs and I had went out; just the two of us.  St. Patrick’s Day the year before- I was about six weeks away from giving birth and wearing a heart monitor.  And the year before that – we had all the kiddos at home with us and made green pizza.  So, I didn’t feel at all guilty accepting my mom’s proposal to watch the Moose so we could go out and celebrate St. Patrick’s Day; adult style.

And of course, as soon as I found out that we were going out, my mind started to conjure up all these hopeful expectations of how the night would go.  The whole morning and afternoon, I daydreamed about what fun delights awaited me and kept pondering what I should wear, what to do with my hair, makeup, etc.  I got so carried away with my fantasy that by the time I arrived at the mall to find a green shirt, I had made my hair five inches longer, my waist five inches smaller, and myself five inches taller.  I had also put my delusions of grandeur off on my St. Patty’s day attire.  I went through the entire mall and just could not find a shirt on the rack that matched the one hanging in my head.  And if I was totally honest with myself, I would have realized that the outfit I had imagined probably cost around $200.00 and would have required non-imaginary money to pay for it.  So, I left the mall dejected and that was just the start of my bubbles bursting for the evening.

So a few hours later, ‘T’ and I were ready to hit the town.  We had called all of our friends we used to hang out with once upon a time and told them we had a hall pass for the night.  We all agreed to meet at this somewhat dive bar called, ‘Sliders’.

Now – when ‘T’ and I used to go out, we usually got all made up and then headed straight for the club/bar, whatever.  And that’s what we did this time too……sort of.  First we had to drop the baby off and then ‘T’ decided that he wanted to stop by the liquor store because it’s, “ so expensive to drink at a bar.  It’s more cost-effective to drink at home before you go and then just drink a little at the bar.”  (Cheap bastard).  Ok, fine; we stopped at the liquor store.  Ok – now we’re ready to go…….ummm, after we eat something first.  I know when I was younger, I never ate before I went clubbing.  (I didn’t want my stomach to be poochy.)  Now – because it’s been almost two years since I’ve had any alcohol – it’s necessary to eat a little something.  Ok, fine; we stopped at Taco Bell.  We decided just to take our Taco Bell with us and eat in the parking lot at the bar.  ‘T’ said we needed to hurry so we could get a good parking spot. 

We pull up to Sliders and are in luck.  We couldn’t have gotten a better spot unless we were handicapped.  I’m munching on my Taco and looking around and notice that there is not a shortage of good parking spots.  In fact, the only thing there is a shortage of…..are other cars.  We are on the only people there.  How can that be; is it closed?  No, it’s not closed.  What’s the deal?  ‘T’ and I both look at the time on our dashboard and realize it’s 7:00pm.  “Ummmm, I think we’re too early”, ‘T’ said.  So, ok – I forgot that we used to not go out until around 9 or so.  But, it was St. Patrick’s Day; shouldn’t people have been drinking since morning already?  We can’t be the only early birds.   We waited some more.  Still no one.  I had begun to think that maybe everyone did start drinking early that morning and that we were actually too late – rather than early.  Everyone must be drunk and already passed out at home.  I was about to call our friends and tell them not to bother coming when a car pulled up beside us.  “See ‘T’, we’re not the only ones who got here kind of early.”  “Ummm, yeah……”, said ‘T’.  “But, I’m guessing it’s because those people want to get home in time for the 10 o’clock news.”  I look to see what he is talking about and getting out of the car beside us was the sweetest little old lady…..pushing a walker.  And yes – she was going into the bar to get her drink on.

So, more and more cars were starting to show up and we decided to go on in.  The place was pretty dead.  There was only about a handful of people in there – including Mother Goose.  ‘T’ and I grabbed a table and ordered some drinks while we waited on our friends to get there.  So, we were drinking and talking and, for once in a long time, were totally focused on each other – instead of all our kids.  When I looked away again, an hour had passed and the place was definitely starting to fill up.  We were having to talk louder and our waitress was not coming by as quickly as she had been.  Our friends had sent us text messages, letting us know they would be there any minute.  ALLRIGHT – LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED!

I was looking around, feeling the music, taking it all in…….and noticed that most of the patrons were of the silver, blue, and pale pink-haired variety.  I couldn’t even pick Mother Goose out of the crowd anymore; there were three more ladies with walkers that could have easily been her.  WTF?  Were we at ‘Sliders’ or ‘Seniors’?  Was there a retirement party going on?  A 50^th anniversary celebration?  It was like Bingo at the church on Wednesday nights; only with margaritas instead of covered dishes.  And then, this older lady at the table beside me pulled this little miniature battery-powered fan out of her purse and set it on her table.  She caught me staring and said, “It’s designed to blow the smoke away from your face; like if people are smoking around you.”  No shit!  That’s awesome!  Where can I get one of those?  So, that pretty much sold me on partying with them.  I mean, buying an apparatus, which sole purpose, is to further enhance your Saturday night experience; THAT’S HARDCORE!

Our friends finally show up and there is drinking and dancing and merriment had by all.  So, speaking of dancing – I don’t mean to brag – but I was a pretty good dancer at one time.  I took dance lessons all through my childhood years, was on the pom squad in high school, competed in pageants, and even went to college on a dance scholarship.  I used to own the dance floors at the clubs.  Most people go clubbing to either drink or hook up.  Well – let me re-phrase that.  Most girls go clubbing –expecting guys to buy them drinks ….and then the guys go – hoping that all that drinking will lead to them hooking up.  I went clubbing just to dance.  I would hit the dance floor and dance song after song after song.  The only drinking I would do was the 32oz bottle of Aquafina I would down when I finally took a break during a slow song.  I loved to dance back then.  I still love to dance now and so I strutted out to the dance floor with every intention of claiming my former glory.

I hit the dance floor, do a couple of test turns, and then I’m off.  The dance demon in me has been unleashed!  I’m moving right to left, head moving side to side, eyes closed, hair whipping around.  Oh yeah – I’m on fire!  I feel so good!  I don’t have a mirror but I just know that I look fantastic.  If the men at this bar didn’t have cataracts, I’m sure they would all be ogling me.  I’m feeling like Demi Moore in ‘Striptease’…….for about two minutes.

Now, I only have a couple of bras at home that fit right now – and they are all nursing bras.  I quit nursing like a month ago though and my old bras still don’t fit, so yes – I am still rocking the nursing bras.  But I couldn’t wear one that night because of the shirt I was wearing, so I opted to wear this one bra that’s not really much of a bra at all.  It’s more like a sports-bra type thing that’s really thin.  It doesn’t have any padding or an underwire or anything.  I think it’s supposed to be worn at night because it’s that comfortable.  I have small boobies anyways, so generally I don’t require many qualifications from a bra.

Funny, surprising tid-bit about small boobs though.  Apparently, even if you have small boobs and you have been nursing a baby for the past 9.5 months –even after you wean your baby - small boobs will still be saggy and floppy; just like their heavtier counterparts.  True fact.

So…….not only am I out there dancing – but my boobs are as well.  And, I have to say that they weren’t even trying to stay in sync with me. 

Ok – so no problem; I won’t do those moves anymore.  So, my pace slows down.  But, I’m still going.  And then, my gut decides it wants to join the party as well.  Now, I had specifically told my gut before we left the house that it was to stay inside my jeans.  I distinctly remember that.  But, here we are – not even two hours later – and my gut is deliberately disobeying me.  I keep hiking my jeans back up (which lets everyone see the elastic waist on them), but it was to no avail. 

So, at this point I’m really just standing on the dance floor – snapping and moving my head to the music.  This is fine with me because I had already started to get a stitch in my side and was panting like I had just done a Zumba session.  And – oh yeah – heaving in an out uncontrollably really makes your gut look good, let me tell ya.  But what looks better than that is the sweat running down my face. 

At that point, I had only been on the floor for one song.

So – back to the table I go.

It became real obvious to me a few drinks later that my drinking stamina was just slightly better than my dancing stamina.  I didn’t even get to enjoy being tipsy.  I went from sober to sick in about two drinks and a shot.  I head off to the bathroom and my girlfriends accompany me.  Now, when I was single and us girls would go to the bathroom, it was to primp and reapply and answer text messages from one guy that you couldn’t answer because you were out with another guy.  I don’t think we ever even used the toilet.  But, now – my girlfriends and I ended up hanging out in the bathroom (where it’s quiet) and talking with another random grandma in there about all of our kids – and her grandkids. 

Ok – it’s time to go home.

We’re on the way home and ‘T’ decides that since we’re reliving good times at the bar, than we might as well relive some good times in the car.  The mood was lost though because I screamed, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” when he tried to pull my head down into his lap.  No joke – we hadn’t done anything like this in so long that I actually thought he was going to fart in my face and hold my head down so I couldn’t get away from it.  And the last time we did partake in some ‘road games’, we had a truck – not a mini-van.  Even though you can do most anything in a mini-van comfortably, that particular activity is not one of them.

Well, we gave up on that.

But ‘T’ is determined.  So the rest of the way home he is telling me how hot I am and how much he wants me and how he’s going to give it to me and get prepared because it’s going to go on and on and on and on.

Fifteen minutes later, we are at home, already done (well ‘T’ was), and asleep. (Well ‘T’ was).

So – that was my first foray back into my adult life.  And I don’t claim to be too old; just a little out of practice.  But I am determined as well.  I’ll tell you one thing though; the ole girl aint what she used to be…….but then again, neither is the ole boy.  J      

Pour Some Sugar on Me!

Weight loss update; I have lost 15lbs!  I’m pretty excited about that.  My clothes are definitely starting to fit better and my next personal goal is to be able to wear my wedding ring again.  I can get it on, but it’s just snug enough to be uncomfortable – so I’m thinking maybe another 5-10lbs.

So, after my last baby was born, I went to my Dr. to get on an antidepressant.  Well, the only thing it did for me was give me 10 more lbs in less than a month.  So, back to the Dr. I went and she put me on something different…….which leads me to this next part.

I started on my new medication.   I thought it was working out ok and I didn’t seem to have any side effects from it.  I wasn’t gaining any more weight and my appetite had actually decreased.  My sex drive was even coming back.  I was feeling pretty good.  All was well again in my kingdom.

So, when I hear the word ‘Sex Drive’ it automatically makes me think of Sex – as this person-type thing – driving down the road in a red convertible.  I picture her (in my case, she’s female) and she’s glowing red, smells like perfume, and has wild (naturally curly) hair that’s flying in the wind.  She’s wearing lingerie and her ample boobies are busting out and she’s not even driving the car with her hands.  She’s laid out across the seat with her back arched and steering with her stilettos.  ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ is constantly blaring from her radio and every time she taps on the horn, it comes out more like a moan/growl.   

So, meet my Sex Drive.  That’s what she looks like.  Well, that’s what she looked like when I was younger and before I had children.

Nowadays, my Sex Drive prefers to drive a mini-van.  She drives about 45 miles an hour and she listens to “Is There Life Out There?” by Reba Mcentire.  She doesn’t even go by ‘Sex Drive’ anymore.  Now, people just call her Jan.  Jan, the Mini-Van.

So, that’s my Sex Drive right now.  That’s what she looks like – after four kids and 50 extra pounds.

And did I also mention that she doesn’t even get out all that often?  Weeks, months will go by before I see her on the road.

So, I start my new medication and in my very distant rear view mirror, I see…….what looks like…….. a red sports car.  Now, it’s still a ways back, but it’s there.  I don’t get too excited.  It might never catch up or it might get off the highway – who knows.  I’m not getting attached.

After a couple of weeks I notice it’s gaining on me.  Not only can I clearly see that it is indeed a red sports car, but it also is…..a red convertible sports car!  How interesting!  But, still I wait and see.

Another week goes by and now the red convertible has come up directly behind me.  In fact, it’s tailgating me.  And sitting in the driver seat……..is my Sex Drive!!!!  I could not believe it!  She pulls up alongside of me, smiling and waving, and….she has…… fangs?   (True Blood anyone?)  Before I can even see what else has changed, she guns the engine and is off like a flash.  Ms.  Sex Drive is now driving faster than I am.  I race to catch up and am able to see her again……and now…… she’s naked!  I cannot believe it!  She’s naked with fangs and racing down the highway.  What does she think she’s doing?!  She takes off again and this time it takes me a long time to catch up to her.  I can hardly maintain the speed.  And now – she’s not alone!  She’s sitting in a man’s lap (facing him) and they are both naked and I cannot even say out loud what she was doing to him!  Has she no shame?!  And what is this naked man, doing in her car anyways…..oh wait, it’s my husband….ok..phew – that was close.  But still……she’s naked with fangs, molesting my husband, and racing down the highway.   And now, she’s so far ahead of me there is no way I can catch up to her now.

I was actually becoming a little scared of her.  I wondered what I would find the next time I saw her.  I wondered what the hell had gotten into her.  I mean, yeah sure – she had some crazy times in her heyday – but that was prude compared to what she’s been doing lately.

I went back to my Dr. for a follow up visit and she asked me how things were going.  I almost didn’t want to ask her about it.  I’m guessing most Dr.’s don’t hear their patients say, “Yeah – um…..lately, I’ve been bumping uglies with my husband every night and sometimes twice.  You got something for that?”  I mean, it’s kind of like complaining about a present someone gives you.  You would just look like a total bitch.  Just say thank you and be sure to bring it out when they come over to visit.  And, I was glad to be feeling that way, but I was also a little nervous ; wondering if one day I would be at work and  suddenly attack our UPS man.

It turns out that the medication I’m taking for depression is also used to treat sexual dysfunction.  Which, in my opinion, sounds like all this medicine does is treat sexual dysfunction and then the depression clears itself up.  I mean, how can you be depressed if you’re too busy being horny?

But, anywho – meet my new Sex Drive.  Or at least, catch a glimpse of her as she runs you over.

You got toilet paper down there

This upcoming boudoir shoot has been on my mind constantly; probably just as much as my dieting has.  I really want to do it – but I really want to look good doing it too.  I find myself thinking of anything and everything that one might notice on these pics; such as stretch marks and weird moles…..or toilet paper. 

Explanation necessary.

So, I have this friend.  For blogging purposes, we’ll call her…..Sasha.  My friend is a cross between Samantha Jones (from Sex and The City) and Karen Walker (from Will and Grace).  My friend is very pretty (like both of these women) a professional business woman (like both of these women) and probably has the best style of anyone I know or can think of (like both of these women).  She enjoys her wine (like Karen Walker) and her men (like Samantha Jones).  Now, she’s not a drunk whore by any means…..more like she’s the kind of gal – who – after drinking some wine – might feel inclined to bust out in an impromptu strip-tease for her man as he’s watching the election results come in on Super Tuesday.  I can’t confirm that ever happened; I’m just using that as an example.  She has an impressive job and an even more impressive boyfriend, but would not hesitate to come out with me and judge the drag show contest at the Habana Inn.  I’ve seen her drive a Mercedes and I’ve seen her squat piss over a broken toilet in a restroom at the Red Dawwg (strip club).  She’s that girl. 

I feel it’s important to really get a good visual image of my friend before you get a really good visual image of what happened to her.

Back in her single days – she was dating a guy we’ll call Copper.  Seriously – that’s what we really called him.  The one thing that you need know about Copper is that he sounded exactly like Forrest Gump and that is no joke.  The first time I heard him speak, I almost wanted to shout at him, “RUN COPPER RUN!!”  And it wasn’t like he was a sweet, but slightly remedial guy.  He had a professional job and was relatively cultured, but for some reason, sounded just like Forrest Gump.

I feel it’s important to really get a good visual image of him before you get a really good visual image of what he said to her. 

So, one night – as she was enjoying some wine – she was feeling a little feisty and decided to give him a call.  Now, I only heard the conversation paraphrased from her later, but I think it went something like:

Sasha:  Hey – tomorrow night – I’m coming over and there will be hot sex and there will be a video camera; oh yeah – you better get ready.

Or something along those lines.

So, the next night – after the wine had worn off – a very sober Sasha went over to Copper’s house.

Well, of course Sasha had forgotten about one of her two promises she had made…..but he hadn’t.  As she was sitting down – chilaxn – Copper walks by her….dropping a video camera in her lap and says:

Copper:  Alright – let’s do this.  Hook it up.

Or something along those lines.

Sasha:  Ugh….as realization dawns….I’m going to need to drink a little more.

Some time later that night…..

So, the scene is set.  The video camera is on and actually hooked up to the TV, so that the movie can be previewed as it is being filmed.  Music is playing and the wine has been drunk.  It is go time. 

Now, it’s important to mention right now a very small, but critical detail.  Sasha requires corrective lenses.  And of course – unless you’re playing a hot school teacher or sadistically sexual accountant, glasses are a no-go.  So, off they go and off goes Sasha to the bathroom to take a Final. Potty. Break.

Sasha and Copper – take 1!

So, again – this was all paraphrased from her later, but I guess there was some kissing and some undressing and then someone laying down on the bed.  And then someone else was slowly going downward, and downward, and down some more.  And the music is blaring, “Bow-chica-wow-wow”, and the lighting is low, and the camera is recording – which is broadcasted in big screen – and then…….

a subtle pause….as Forrest Gump says – in his Forrest Gump voice……..

“You got toilet paper down there.”

Broadcasted in big screen.

CUT!!!!!!

Now as Sasha is telling me this, I’m finding myself completely mortified for her, but cannot quite get the words of sympathy out because I am laughing my ass off at picturing her scrambling off the bed and trying to turn the video camera off.  I’m seeing a naked Sasha yelling, ‘CUT, CUT!’  as she’s running full tilt towards the camera and then fumbling around - trying to turn it off – all the while, saying things like, “I can’t believe you just said that – on camera.  How do you turn this f-ing thing off?  I can’t believe I agreed to do this.  THERE IS NO WAY I’M DOING THIS NOW!  Well, no way I’m doing it tonight.  Well, I don’t know; give me some more wine.

And even more crazy -  is all that’s running through my head is:

How much toilet paper are we talking here?  Like a little speck?  It wasn’t like a trail coming down her leg, was it?

How did she not notice it when she was in the bathroom?  Oh yeah, she had taken her glasses off.

Was it really necessary for him to say something?  Couldn’t he have just flicked it aside or something?

I’m clearly distracted and intrigued by the details of this porn outtake.

I probably would’ve had to break up with the guy after that…because there was no way I could ever see the guy’s face again.

But not Sasha.

Not only did she rewind and re-record, but she told me later that when they watched the video, she looked awesome…and he looked pale.  And in the parts where he held the camera and focused it downward, his pale gut was bulging out and was actually in the way!

So, if Sasha has taught me anything….as I go forward with this booty shoot – it’s that….

Wine is necessary

No matter what the outtakes show – the final copy is the one that matters

And while the poses, props, and makeup is all important…the most important detail is to

stick your head in your crotch…and check for damn toilet paper! 

I LOVE YOU SASHA!

I'm Sexy and I Know It!

I’m sexy and I know It…..

That is my mantra for the next couple of months as I gear up to participate in something that I never thought I would do – even when I was 18 and 100lbs.

I’m going to do a boudoir shoot.

Now, it’s not like I woke up one day and thought, “Hey – I’m 50lbs overweight right now and my boobs are different sizes due to breastfeeding – but the stretch marks and the nice tanish stripe down my belly balances that off quite nicely – I know!  I’ll go do a boudoir shoot!

It was more like, my wedding anniversary is in May and my husband and I had talked about taking a cruise and even though I had started trying lose weight months ago – I had managed to gain another 10lbs.  So, if I really want to enjoy the cruise and not be mistaken for a beached whale (picture the natives trying to roll me back into the water), I better really get serious and do what I need to do to lose weight.  Then as if by weight watcher magic, my friend at work (who is also a photographer) mentioned that she has a friend coming into town (also a photographer) who really wanted to add some boudoir photos to her portfolio.  My friend thought I might be the only one she knew who would be just crazy enough to pose for the pics.  And, wouldn’t you know it; the friend is coming into town the week before I would leave for my cruise.  Fate?

So – of course – I really have to lose weight now.  The challenge has been laid down.  BRING IT ON!!!

I mean, not being able to fit into your clothes, having to rest a minute after walking up one flight of stairs, missing a whole strip on your bikini area when you shave (because your gut was blocking your view), having no interest in sex…….all of that I can deal with.  BUT… looking bad in a picture that probably no one else besides my husband will see……NOW, THAT I CANNOT ALLOW!

So, I started dieting 2 weeks ago and have lost 10lbs.  Now, even though that sounds good – I wasn’t all that surprised that I lost that much so quickly.  Right away, you know that 4-6lbs of that is water weight.  No matter what diet you do – a woman will lose 4-6lbs the first week every time.  I also quit nursing when I started dieting so I knew that since I was not producing milk out of my udders anymore, that I would also lose some weight with that as well.  So, these 10lbs are really just tricks I played on my body.  I also started my period in that time frame as well, so there was some more water weight lost.  But now, the milk is gone and my period is gone; so unless I can magically make more fluid come out of my ass – now is when the diet really starts. 

I also have a theory about being in a relationship with fat.  The longer you’ve had the fat – the harder it is to lose.  So, if you recently gained 5lbs, you could lose that pretty quickly.  If it’s leftover pregnancy fat – and you’re baby is about six months old – than it might take a little longer to lose that.  But, if we’re talking about fat that you’ve been in a long, committed relationship with – fat that you gained without any added event (like pregnancy or a holiday) – than that fat is committed to you as well and can be really hard to break up with.  When I met my husband, I weighed 117lbs.  After two years of us being together, I weighed 131 on my wedding day.  And a year and some months after that – on the day I found out I was pregnant, I weighed 140.  And now, almost a year later, as I committed to doing the booty shoot, I stepped on the scale and weighed a whopping 169!  HOLY SHIT!  Now, I’m only 5ft tall and small-boned, so that is a lot of wagon that I’m draggn.

So, I’ve lost 10lbs so far.  My son is 10 months old, so I figure if I really get my butt in gear, I could probably lose the next 19lbs in 3-4 months.  But, I just have this feeling that I’m going to hit 140lbs and those last 25lbs are going to plead, “NO – GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE!  I PROMISE TO STAY AT 140 AND NOT GO ANY HIGHER!  I’VE BEEN HERE FOR YOU FOR OVER 5 YEARS, YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME!!!”  And then we’ll talk and make up over some Taco Bueno and there in my boudoir photo will be me and my fat.  And I just know my fat will be a total camera whore and hog all the shots!

So – unless Spanx is going to be incorporated into the picture somehow – I have to break up with all of my fat.  L

So – wish me luck – I’ve never been good at breaking up.  But….I will have you know that just this morning, I walked right on by a plate of strudel from Panera Bread and even though I had to swat my fat as it reached out and tried to grab one, I just kept right on……and singing……

I’M SEXY AND I KNOW IT! (I WORK OUT).   

Drunk Dialing

We all know what drunk dialing is and if you’re married with kids (as I am), then drunk dialing is probably a fond memory….way back there, along with hot sex, bikinis, and firm fat.  (If you’re not familiar with ‘firm fat’, it’s your ‘fat’ you have before you have kids.  I’m not talking about thinking you have fat and you don’t…I’m talking about the real fat that you do have, but for some reason it’s firm and not rolly.  Like, if you’ve ever seen an early 20-something year old and she’s of average height and you know she probably weighs 140 or maybe even 150, and she clearly wears a size 10 or 12….but for some reason her fat is staying above the line of her jeans.  She may even have a tummy – a little pouch – that sticks out….but again, it’s not hanging down over the button on her low-rise jeans.  That’s firm fat.)

But, anyways – so we’re all familiar with drunk dialing.  The newer generations use drunk texting, but for my crowd – drunk dialing was the way to go.  But how many of you have ever been drunk dialed by……

your lawn guy before? 

No joke – I woke up in the middle of the night this last Saturday to my husband, ‘T’, practically shouting into his phone, “Well, alright man – yeah, you have a good night too!”

Our lawn guy – that sprays our lawn about four times a year – drunk called ‘T’ last Saturday night.  ‘T’ has never chatted with this guy, except to tell him what areas of our yard need more spray.  I asked ‘T’ if he meant to call him or if he dialed ‘T’s number by mistake.  No – mistake.  Our lawn guy was drunk and just thought about calling ‘T’.

‘T’ relayed the conversation to me:

‘T’:  Hello

Drunk Lawn Guy:  HEY MAN!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING MAN?  I JUST LEFT YOUR AREA AND WAS THINKING ABOUT YOU; THOUGHT I MIGHT GIVE YOU A CALL AND SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING MAN!

‘T’:  Oh, ok?  I’m doing good.  How bout you?

Drunk Lawn Guy:  I’M GOOD MAN…ACTUALLY MAN, I’M F-UP RIGHT NOW MAN!!

‘T’:  Oh yeah – you partying tonight?

Drunk Lawn Guy:  YEAH MAN!  WELL I JUST THOUGHT I’D SAY HEY!

‘T’:  Ok – well you take care tonight.

Drunk Lawn Guy:  I WILL MAN!  YOU TOO MAN!!

Click.

I asked ‘T’ if he was going to report him to his company or get a new lawn guy.

‘T’:  Hell no!  He does a good job and is cheaper than the other people we used.  As long as he doesn’t run over our cats or spray the house – I don’t care if he drinks.

V-Day - White House Style

After my family recovered from Ground Hog’s Day, we moved on to Valentine’s Day.

I had wanted to find a cute little Valentine craft for my kids to make to take to school, instead of the traditional store-bought ones that we normally do.  So, I scoured Pinterest for a few days and thought I had found the perfect, most-easy, Valentine craft to do.  Unfortunately, I think everyone else had the same idea too – because I could not locate the items needed to make these crafts ANYWHERE.

So – off to Target we went for store-bought Valentines.

As usual, I took all 3 of the older kids with me to pick out their own Valentines and as usual, I regretted it immediately as we walked in the store.  I always have these scenarios in my head of all these beautiful memories I am making with my kids for them to cherish as they get older and instead, I’m pretty sure their memories will go something like this… “Remember when mom use to take us to pick out our Valentines at the store and then she would shout at us and whoop ‘D’ with the spatulas that were on sale….and then she’d start crying and all the way home would yell: I don’t know why I even do these things for you guys; you don’t appreciate anything!!!!!  That’s it – no more Valentine’s Day!!!!!

Now getting out of the car with these 3 people is even a challenge.  ‘M’, my daughter, hates going to run errands, period.  And she really hates going anywhere with her brothers – so she’s already in a bad mood.  And I’m already in a bad mood at her because apparently when you turn 11, you are no longer affected by changes in the climate and therefore find it comfortable to wear shorts and a hoodie in 30 degree weather.  When I tell her there is no way I’m taking her to Target dressed the way she is, she says:  But mom – it’s the weekend, I’m not going to school, so why can’t I wear this?!  My argument that it’s February and snowing has no bearing on her whatsoever.  She finally gives in and changes, but my punishment is that I get the silent treatment the whole time we are at the store.

‘D’ loves going places – well he doesn’t really love going places, he loves getting in and out of our minivan.  I have not figured that one out yet.  The ride from our house to Target is about 5 minutes, but when that sliding door comes open, he will fly out with the appropriate side effect – usually a WOO HOO – after having stepped on his sister who hasn’t even unbuckled her seatbelt yet – and takes off in a dead run for the store.  I always have to scream: ‘D’!  Get back here!!!  You almost got hit by that car!!!  Don’t you ever look where you going?!!!

Now, we are at the front of the store, walking through the double automatic doors……. and ‘A’ is still in the van.  He is that kid that cannot get out of a car in less than 10 minutes period.  I haven’t figured this one out either.  I mean, he knows where we’re going and why – I know this because he’s already asked me this like 10 times – and he can see out the window, so he knows when we’ve pulled into the parking lot, but for some reason – without fail – he will fly out, with the appropriate side effect – usually a WAIT FOR ME – after tripping over himself as he’s crying – and take off in a dead run for the rest of us.  I always have to scream: ‘A’!  Get over here!!!  You almost got hit by that car!!!  Don’t you ever look where you’re going?!!!

So, we finally all make it into the store.  In our Target, they keep the holiday items at the back of the store.  From the second that we passed through the automatic doors, all the way back to this aisle, this what I hear:

A: What kinds of Valentines are there?  I didn’t bring my school list, so I don’t know how many to get.  I’m going to write all the kids names by myself.  Did you know I could do that – did you Sarah?  I’m also going to make one for Ms. Hollingsworth.  Did you know I could spell her name too – did you Sarah?  Do you know that I’m pretty smart Sarah?  I mean, I think I might be the smartest 2^nd grader  there ever was.  Oh, but how am I going to get something for you and my dad if you’re here?  Huh Sarah?

Now – multiply that times 3 because that’s how many times he would repeat everything, if I didn’t comment on every remark he made.

‘D’ has clearly forgotten why we’re even here and even though I have never been that parent that buys their kids a toy every time we go to a store, he thinks that maybe after the 1000^th time, I might cave.  And maybe if he was asking to get a tiny matchbox car or something, that might happen, but ‘D’ – who has no concept of the difference between $1.00 and $100.00 is asking for stuff like this:

D:  Mom, can I have this Playstation game system, huh?  Can I mom?  I promise I’ll be good the whole rest of the day!!!  Oh, well then can I have this guitar?  Oh- come on, I really need one!!!  Come on, I promise if you get it for me, I will not ask for anything for the rest of the day.  Puhleeeeseee!!!

Then as my ‘nos’ start getting more forceful, so does his tactics.

D:  Ughhh, I can’t believe you won’t buy me this Power wheels electric car!!!  That’s it, I’m mad mom.  I’m mad and I’m just not going to get any Valentines.  And I’m going to be mad at you ALL DAY!!!

So – we arrive at the Valentine aisle. 

‘A’ wants to look at each and every Valentine before he decides on one.

‘M’ is finally speaking to me because she knows if she doesn’t, she will be going home with ‘My Little Pony’ valentines.  The problem is that she’s very specific in what she wants from a Valentine.

M:  I want black ones with a giant red heart on them that is outlined in sequences and I want them to come with a tiny piece of chocolate; like miniature Skor bars.

‘D’ is out to pick out a different Valentine for each and every kid at his school.  And not just a little card – he wants to get each of them a mug filled with candy – or a Valentine’s Pez dispenser; something like that.  ‘D’s valentines will end up costing me about $500.00.  Although, I’m pretty sure ‘D’ will be poor when he grows up, I’m sure he will have one satisfied wife.

D:  Mom, can I buy each of the kids a card with candy and a toy, huh?  Can I mom?  I promise I’ll be good the whole rest of the day!!! Oh, well then can I just buy them each a toy?  Oh – come on, that’s what Ms. Lowe said we had to do for everyone!!!  Come on, I promise if you let me get each of them a toy, I will not ask for anything for the rest of the day.  Puhleeeeseee!!!

So, this goes on and on, until ‘M’ finally has to ‘settle’ on some Valentines and she’ll do it by saying, “Well, since the ones I want aren’t here – I guess I’ll just get these.”  And then she’s back to the silent treatment.  Even though ‘A’ has thoroughly looked at every Valentine in the store – all while educating everyone on the history of Valentine’s Day – he will end up just waiting to see what ‘D’ picks and then pick the exact same ones.  ‘D’ will barely pick any out at all because he’s still mad and then when he sees that ‘A’ is picking the exact same ones, he gets even madder and then starts yelling at ‘A’ for copying him.  So, in an effort to make peace, ‘A’ will pick out some others but will say something like, “Well, I really didn’t want those other ones any ways.  I just didn’t see these ones here.  I mean, these are the ones I had been trying to find the whole time”.

So – to checkout and back to the car we go – but not without ‘D’ trying one last-ditch effort to get me to buy him something and it’s always something random at the check-out line – like – travel-sized hand sanitizer. 

And of course ‘D’ is the first one to reach the car – after I yelled at him for almost getting hit by another car – and he does the WOO HOO as he flies into the back seat.  We have to just pull around to the front of the store to pick ‘A’ up – because he still hasn’t made it out of the store.  And I have to yell at him for almost getting left behind.

My hubby is hiding from me when we get home because he knew exactly how this was going to go down – the coward.

I kept asking myself where I go wrong…..until my friend told me that her mother came over to watch her kids so her and her husband could go out and celebrate Valentine’s Day and while she was watching them – during a particularly physical game of ‘Duck-Duck-Goose’ – her mother slipped on the tile and fell – breaking her ankle in the process.  They spent the rest of the evening at the Emergency Room and her mother is staying with her because she has to have surgery on the ankle and needs help getting around.

Ahhh –that’s amore!

The Griswalds do Ground Hog Day

Punxsutawney Rango

Today is Ground Hog Day.  I have always been fond of this particular holiday.  I think it’s because it’s the Underdog of the Holidays.  Aside from Pennsylvania celebrating it and the morning news giving it its 15 seconds of fame, no one really does anything for Ground Hog Day.  I decided my family would lead the way.

So, I guess we could set our alarms on February 2^nd and get up as a family and gather around the TV to watch the prediction live…..or we could have our very own prediction!!

Of course, you know which way we went. 

All you really need is a Ground Hog, right?  Well, it just so happens that my daughter has a pet Guinea Pig – close enough!  (His name in real life is Sheriff Rango of the White House ‘aka’ Rango.)

Now, this is what I envisioned the event being like:

The night before, I tuck my boys into their beds and read them a story about Ground Hog Day and Punxsutawney Phil – the famous Ground Hog.  I would outline what would take place the next morning, kiss them on their heads and they would drift off to dreamland, thinking about how awesome I am and that when they have children of their own, they will do this kind of stuff with them all the time and say things like, “Grandma use to do this with me when I was little……”

Then the next morning, I would quietly walk into their rooms and whisper in their little ears, “Boys – it’s time to get up and do our prediction.”  They would bound out of bed, with a smile on their faces and throw on their clothes and actually skip out the door, holding hands.  My hubby would bring out our guinea pig and as he lifted him in the air, a ray of sunshine would peak through the clouds.  Everyone would be giddy with happiness and it would carry my boys all through school today and their teachers would just sit back amazed as my boys stood in front of their class mates and educated everyone on why their childhoods are AWESOME!

Well…..here is how it actually went down.

I forgot to even tell my boys what we were doing this morning as I yelled at them for the 100^th time to go to bed last night.  I forgot myself, until 7:00 this morning as I flew out of bed – late for work.  The idea was for me to get up early and be ready for work by the time my hubby came home from his graveyard shift at 7:20am.  We would do the prediction and then I would leave for work.

So, here I am throwing on clothes – screaming at my boys to wake up and get outside – and even though I was trying to explain what we were doing, I think they thought we were having some kind of air raid.  Of course, ‘D’ says, “Give me 5 more minutes” (Good thing it was not in fact an air raid) and ‘A’ is starting to cry because he is sure that we are having to abandon our house and even though we are taking our Guinea Pig with us – we will be tossing him into the air as we are running down the sidewalk.

When my hubby gets home, the 3 of us are standing out in the front yard.  I’m pretty much ready and ‘D’ is wearing jeans, his coat hanging wide open with no shirt underneath, and house shoes.  ‘A’ is not only completely ready, but trying to pack his belongings in his backpack and sniffling.  (I guess when one of your kids has OCD and suffers from anxiety, you shouldn’t really spring anything like this on him.)

So, the scene is set and my hubby goes and gets Punxsutawney Rango.  I’m still trying to explain to my kids what the hell we are doing.  ‘D’ is ruining the moment by saying, “What!  Oh, no, no, no – I’m tired…and cold.  I don’t think you should throw Rango into the sun and what does his shadow have to do with anything?  So, is the news coming here?  If it’s on TV right now – than when did they come out here and get Rango on TV?  Why didn’t you wake me up for that?  What is P-U-S-S-Y-T-O-N-G-U-E anyway?  (No joke – that is how he was saying ‘Punxsutawney.)  ‘D’ is not a morning person and you can tell that this wonderful experience of his child hood is for the birds.  ‘A’ is clearly disturbed by this wonderful experience of his childhood and is having an anxiety attack as he keeps asking me questions.  “But…we don’t have an actual ground hog.  Can guinea pigs predict weather like the ground hogs do?  Is this the right spot in the yard we are supposed to be at?  The sun is not out yet.  How will we know if he thinks he sees his shadow or not?  I know we can tell if there is a shadow, but how do you we know if he can see it or not?  Is this going to make me late for school?” 

Punxsutawney Rango is traumatized.  He is shaking, staring all crazy-eyed, and whistling – while probably shouting in guinea pig language, “THEY ARE SACRIFICING ME!!! I KNOW IT!!!  THEY ARE GOING TO HOLD ME UP TO THE GODS AND THEN LET THESE TOO BOYS DECIDE WHO GETS THE HEAD AND WHO GETS THE TAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!” – Well, not really the tail; guinea pigs don’t have tails, but you get the idea.

So, we hold up Rango and all of us look down at the sidewalk.  I had printed up these signs for the boys to hold up that would show their prediction.  On one sign said, “Hello Spring!”  The other said, “Six more weeks of winter.”  I get out my camera to snap some pictures and all I get are pictures of my kids having a ‘Ground Hog Day meltdown’.  ‘D’ is embarrassed because he can’t read the signs (I had forgotten that this might happen and should have just put a giant sun on one picture and snow on the other.)  But rather than say, “Mom – I can’t read these signs”, he is taking it out on ‘A’ – who can read them – by calling ‘A’ names and saying how stupid this whole thing is and he can’t believe I woke him up for this!  ‘A’ is really having a dilemma because he still stuck back at the whole, “the suns not even out so how can there be a shadow” thought he had earlier.  He is clearly trying to come up with a right prediction, but is upset because he thinks the whole experiment was flawed from the start.  Hubby is laughing because this is how these events always go. 

So, I decided that the best prediction of the future weather is not done by a Ground Hog or by a Guinea Pig, but by two little boys’ reaction to the whole process in general.  And judging by that – I would say we are definitely in for a SHIT STORM!!!!!!