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Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Martha Stewart's Worst Nightmare

I will never win an award for my domestic skills. Don't get me wrong. I DO try. I just kind of suck at it.

 I stick to cooking things I know and run full speed away from recipes that have more than 5 ingredients and words I can't pronounce. Cream of Anything soups are my secret ingredient.

 My car looks like a bag of cheerios, broken color crayons, and random melted fruit snacks collided to create the "Big Bang Theory of Filth". I ignore the mess until my car starts to smell like stale Happy Meal. Then it's a massive no mercy for what may get sucked up in the shop vac cleaning session.
I know many people work on the idea that every time you get out of the car you take the trash with you. In my defense I am usually loaded down with two backpacks, my work folder, purse, and random mittens/shoes that the kids decide to fling off in the ten minute ride from school to home. I only have so many appendages. My kids seem to think I am an octopus. Once I actually get inside the house it is a mad frenzy for snack because the little darlings are near starvation being they have not eaten for 3 whole hours.

The laundry is never ending. I am pretty great at keeping up on the washing, drying, and folding. Makes for perfect laundry folding scheduled TV time for mom. However, the whole putting laundry away I absolutely hate. Why? No clue. It is simple enough when you think about it. To a housewife with self diagnosed ADD it is several different piles with several different locations. Overwhelming. Missing socks are all it takes for me to get thrown off course. In fact, I also have massive sock matching days. Apparently instead of completing small tasks as they arise the procrastinator in me prefers to save it all up for one big time sucking day of fun! YAY!

The rest of the house I do make a good effort to keep up. I am self trained on the never ending cycle of dirty dishes/clean dishes. Bathroom is typically free of the disasters that little boys tend to leave all over the vicinity of the toilet. This is due to Little Dude's current fear of flooding toilets and I am typically in the bathroom with him at his request with bathroom cleaner in hand to clean up after misfires. Even with all this effort it does seem that I am constantly in "keep up" mode. Yesterday I was happily deep cleaning the kitchen. Fridge sanitized and cleaned out of questionable leftovers, cupboards wiped down and organized, floors scrubbed and shining...it was beautiful people. However, this gorgeous display of gleaming shiny cleanliness came at a cost. You see during this time of OCD cleaning my son was home from preschool. He was in his room playing oh so nicely. Not a peep out of him. As many a mother knows this is not necessarily a good sign. For me an immaculate shiny clean kitchen means this:

 He made a garbage truck at the dump. His actual words not mine.

Sigh...my work is never done.

This is why instead of an award for my domestic skills I will at best come home with a green participation ribbon. I am okay with that for now.


2/29/12 EDIT:

We had a snow day today. To prove that I am not a total lazy butt and that my children's room is not always in a crazy state of craptastic messiness I compulsively feel the need to share the fruits of my labor today.


You don't want to see my kitchen. 





Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Slipper Socks Are Sexy!

 I am sick. The kind of sick that leaves you shuffling around like a zombie in those slipper socks you thought you would never wear and a snot stained over sized robe. Yuck. My nostrils seem to be having a battle of which side can plug up the longest and then all at once they decide to open the flood gates. Ha! You can not blow the crud out...it's just going to drip out so you look like a three year old that does not know how to wipe her nose. Great. You know that Mucinex commercial with the little green dudes (aka: snot) having a party? Totally picturing that happening in my body. A snot party.

My kids are oblivious to fact that I may be dying. In fact I tried to yell at them this morning and I lost my voice so all that came out was a squeak. They laughed. Hard. Heartless little monsters. So what if mom sounds like Minnie Mouse smoked a pack of cigarettes a day for 20 years. Show some respect!  I'd probably laugh at my mom too...


Maybe I should rephrase the statement that my kids are oblivious to the fact that I am sick. What I should say is that they ARE aware and take full advantage of my incapacitated state. They just don't seem to feel bad for me or care. They still ask to be fed. They still fight. They still whine for Valentine candy at 7:30 am. They still say I am mean. There is no off button...or even volume control for that matter. But they are aware that when mom is sick they can get away with most anything.

Breakfast? Cereal and cookies.

Sibling rivalry? Don't fight in the living room. Go to your room if you are going to fight. My head hurts.

Clothes to wear to school? Whatever you want. Stripes and zebra patterns totally match.

Did you comb your hair? As long as there is not a family of squirrels in there I don't care.

Chores done? Breakfast dishes still on the table. Dog dying of hunger. Toys have exploded out of their room into the hallway...there could be living people trapped under the mounds of hot wheels and Little Tykes toys. We don't know yet. All I know is if I step on a Lego piece I am going to flip out.


 By the time this virus leaves my body I will probably have about 5 days worth of catch up cleaning and behavior modification for my little angels that are getting used to doing whatever they please. They should create a super vaccine for moms so they never get sick because the aftermath is horrible.

 I guess a positive way to look at this situation is realizing that these people could never survive without me. I am needed. Desperately.

I think I will go make myself some chicken broth. There is leftover pizza in the fridge and tons of chocolate. I   am choosing chicken broth. Pretty sure this is a good indicator that I am nearing death. Pray for me.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Cheap Burgers and Silence

Today is what the card companies like to call Valentine's Day. An over promoted holiday that sends the message that you should only appreciate your loved ones one day a year and you should do so by buying them novelty candy and stuffed animals that will end up in the free bin at your next garage sale.

 Excuse me while I step down from this box...tiny rant over.

 While I did participate in the buying for this holiday I DO feel like I got away with something by only purchasing dollar store Valentines for the school parties, clothes that my kids already needed, and non-valentine type candy for the hubs. Nothing says I love you like a big bag of Lemonheads right?

This day o' love was started off by a disagreement between the hubs and I. *Huge-Stupid-Fight*

 Normally a stupid disagreement would fizzle off into nothing almost as soon as it started...but being it was Valentine's Day I was 20x more upset because OBVIOUSLY if we have a fight on such a "special day" then we just weren't meant to be. No, I didn't study drama. Just comes naturally. Enjoy your candy. Don't choke. 

Luckily I had work to go to and hubs had important TV watching to do. Yes, he has a very good job. It was just his day off...however that statement could have easily been left in my favor if I didn't have a soul. *Passive Aggressive*


The time away cleared the anger and by the time I got home *Huge-Stupid-Fight* was completely over. Absence makes the heart suck it up.

We went out for cheap burgers and silence since the kids were at the grandparent's house. By the way...not being around your kids makes you realize how boring you really are. We talked about changes to our insurance plan and played Angry Birds during our Valentine's Day dinner. What can I say? I am a hopeless romantic. I hope we weren't to risque for the waitress. I ended up looking like a cow because hubs couldn't finish his burger. Apparently he is six years old and ate half a bag of Lemonheads before dinner. I finished my plate and his milkshake. One straw. Hubs looked at me like I had horns coming out of my head when I mentioned getting two straws. I can't really blame him. Stupid cliches don't really fit our relationship very well. And well...it is kind of dumb.

I would love to expand on this day further, but as we speak my children are killing each other. I believe they are coming down off of Lord knows how much sugar. The hard stuff too. It starts off as one innocent candy heart and before you know it they are into the pure sugar evil that is Pixie Sticks.

 Candy hearts - the gateway candy.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Fish Sandwich

Living in Minnesota there are certain activities that we are expected to partake in on a seasonal basis. Ice fishing is one of those activities. If you don't know how to freeze your butt off in the winter while covering yourself in fish slime and downing cheap beer...well then you just aren't a true Minnesotan. So, keeping true to our heritage the kids and I went ice fishing today.

Driving out to the fish house is always a bit of a struggle for me. We put safety plugs in our electrical outlets because the kids MIGHT put their fingers in there and there are specifications on exactly when and how they may lay their precious little fingers on a pair of scissors. (You MIGHT die if I am not supervising your cutting!) Well, here I am with my precious cargo happily driving on a damn lake where the only thing that separates us from a watery grave is a thin layer of ICE. I never said I was smart. 

The kids are AMPED up to go fishing. Remember happy robot dance? Yeah, it's back. 
We get all the lines set up and then...we wait. Children are not pleased with the lack of hunger below the ice this evening. I prepare for a mutiny. We have been in the fish house for a whopping total of ten minutes and already two lunchables, two candy bars, and two beef sticks have been consumed by these bottomless pits to appease the boredom they are displaying. Close quarters call for desperate measures. I pray for something to bite. A fish, a weed, a boot perhaps. Something to curb the freak out that is inevitable if we play "I spy" one more freakin' time. I have to admit it is not only the children that are getting bored...I have my own whiny thoughts streaming through my brain as well. Must. Keep. It. Together. (We are having FUN... RIGHT???)

The kids turn to the minnow bucket for entertainment as I would have expected eventually. They scoop up varies sizes of minnows and let them flop around on the ground. Sick and twisted...yet totally acceptable. They come across a dead one. Oh boy. Here come the questions. I get to explain the circle of life in a stinky fish house. I feel a bit like a hillbilly. Poor dead minnow. Here...let me show you how to stick a hook in it's head. *Mixed messages*

It is only a matter of time before I hear the dreaded words, "I have to go potty."  Now, mind you we have prepared for this. I made the kids squirt out any minuscule amount of urine they may have possibly had in their bodies BEFORE we decided to rough it in the tundra. But I knew this would be an obstacle that we would without a doubt be faced with. So we pull out "the bucket". Nasty. There is a designated bucket in this house of class for relieving yourself in. While helping daughter learn the fine art of "hovering" as she hasn't been to any keggers yet, I lean a bit too close to the gaping hole of broken dreams. *SPLASH* I watch my phone sink to the bottom in slow motion. The children learn a new word. 

We did finally catch a fish. We have enough food for one fish sandwich. Yeah...that is worth piss on my hands and a new phone. 


So, in conclusion, fishing on the ice with kids is pretty awesome. You should try it. I'd recommend some good spots if I had a phone to call you. But I don't. Because it is in the lake. 

I am looking forward to my fish sandwich.



Friday, February 10, 2012

Does this chair make my butt look big?

Today was the day. Parent day at the preschool. To my 4 year old this special day is hovering in the realm of Christmas morning. "Mommy gets to come to school with ME! *insert crazy robot/seizure dance*  I'm soooo excited!" I'm feeling pretty inflated after this awesome show of admiration from my adoring fan. Roll out the red carpet...MOMMY has arrived! I am soaking it all up now because I know it is only a matter of time before my kids would rather melt their eyeballs with acid than be seen anywhere in public with me.

Getting ready for the big day takes time. Time we don't have because Mommy prefers to lay in bed for the longest possible time. Evidently in my sleepy state I somehow figure that I am fricken Speedy Gonzalez and that the properties of actual time to not apply to me. But I digress.

 First thing I do this morning is go into the bathroom to put my eyeballs in and I am greeted with a sleepy looking face with a big scab on it's nose in the mirror. Thank you walking dead virus and sandpaper tissue. (Note to self: don't be such a cheapskate.) Well this bites. Now I have to resist telling everyone I see that I have a scab on my nose NOT a leftover nose soldier from the last eruption of sneezes that shook my entire nasal cavity. Don't look at me. I'm hideous. Whatever...time to move on. Dress to impress. Actually less impressing and more: don't wear pants that show your butt crack when you sit on the shape carpet. That lesson was learned last parent day. I hope I am not deemed butt crack/booger mom at the school. Actually maybe I do. I'd fit right in with the kids. I could be awesome. Infiltrate their exclusive club of 4 year old awesome-ness. 

While walking into the school my little dude was at that weird point of excitement kids get to when they have so much anxiety built up that it comes out in strange Tarzan noises and twitching. (Who ARE you?!)  First thing I notice is they have coffee. Smart teachers. Keep the parents happy so they actually take the kids back home with them. We go directly to play doh table. Perfect. I can handle play doh. In fact I LOVE play doh when it's not in my house ground into my carpet. Auntie J. walks in...HOLY CRAP my little dude is beaming. Totally his day! Auntie J. usually makes an appearance at parent day because she is awesome like that. We make sure to pointedly call her Auntie several times since it's usually me and her at parent day because daddy can rarely get time off for these events. Not that there is anything wrong with same sex domestic partnerships. Totally support them. But she's family and that's weird. 

Lights flicker on and off. Little dude springs into action. He cues up like a Russian sleeper agent. It's time to clean up and go over to the shape carpet for story time. I'm feeling pretty confident in my stretchy non butt crack showing pants. Bring it on shape carpet. Notice little dude's face is still dirty from breakfast. Hmm. Upon further inspection I notice his nails look like the long nails of a wicked witch in a Halloween coloring book. Better take care of that. I was so concerned about finding no butt crack pants that I neglected to notice my son's little issues. Oh well. Just don't sit on the shape next to the child wearing the adorable little suit...

Next, we are separated from the kids to go to the big gym. They are going to put on a program for us. Crap...I missed the memo on this. I panic. No camera. No video camera. Ugh. I feel like a jerk. Making mental note for next parent day. I relax and decide to let it go. My little dude is a rising star. The way he held up his mittens for his role in the program...I can tell he is going to make it big. 

We said our goodbyes after filling up on popcorn, raisins, and M&M's. I totally would have had seconds on snack but I'm not even sure if I was supposed to have firsts.

 Another parent day to add to the memory book. And hopefully I never get amnesia because this literally will be documented only in my memory due to the fact that I am an idiot and forgot the damn camera. 


Thursday, February 9, 2012

Introductions usually suck

So here we go. I started a blog. Partly because I like to write. Mostly because the crazy outbursts in my head need a place to trickle out so I don't go absolutely postal in a grocery store during a temper tantrum in the cereal aisle.  (Exhibit A: I WANT THE MOST EXPENSIVE SUGARY CEREAL AND I WILL EMBARRASS THE CRAP OUTTA YOU IF YOU DON'T GET IT FOR ME!)

 I am a working mom of two...err three if you count my lovable but annoying as crap dog in the mix. I have a wonderful husband who spends most of his time fishing, hunting, playing cards or any other made up activity that gets him the *f* out of this nut house.

I have an interesting sense of humor. By interesting I mean that I usually have funny thoughts that in no way are appropriate for the situations I am in and should never be spoken around normal people. Read: socially awkward. But alas the diseased content does occasionally come spilling out of my mouth like a nuclear meltdown...and I'm left with the final thought of: "Well, that was awkward." What can I say? I have minor issues. Take a recent conversation with my boss. Yes my boss. This is getting good already, right? We are both fighting off some sort of cold virus but being in denial we call it allergies. (Don't want to be the jerk that spreads illness around the office...yuck ya lepers!) Benadryl comes up in that conversation. I say, "Benadryl knocks me out." Simple statement right? Do I just leave it there? Nope. I go on to spew "No, seriously. Mix it with alcohol and it's like I was roofied." Really? I had to bring date rape into this "professional" conversation? So he changed the subject and I slunk away to my office mentally giving my forehead a slap. I'm pretty classy.

My kids are currently ages 6 and 4. Daughter is the oldest and knows everything as you would expect from a first grade girl. Son likes robots, super heroes and still asks me to wipe his butt. I wonder if superman asked his mom to wipe his butt. They are constantly amazing me with their take on life. The craziest thing is that I see a lot of myself in them. Not a good thing when they repeat the things I say in fit of rage...oh crap you HEARD that??? I wouldn't trade them for the world. They are sleeping like angels now. Ask me again if I'd trade them in the morning when they are fighting over the last Trix yogurt in the fridge. (Another tantrum buy in the grocery store that I gave into...fricken expensive rainbow sugar cream with stupid rabbit on it.)

Sit back and enjoy the ride of what I call my crazy scatterbrained life. Or hate it. Whatever. You can go play cards with my husband then.