sure, i'll watch your kid. right after i swing by the pharmacy and pick up my post-partum depression pills

For the past few days I have been clicking my blog link here and there just to see the sweet photo of JG staring at my earwax shooting love lasers into my head.  I know you all are sickened by the off chances I post something completely out of character and not at all cynical.  So, "good" things must come to an end and to erase the memory of the lovey-dovey syrup-sticky stuff I posted about my husband and love... here's some real shit for ya.

today ladybug said, {do monsters exist or are they just pretend}

and i said, {just pretend}

and t-man said, {no, they exist if god makes them exist}

and i said, {but who makes god exist}

and then it was quiet.

later they were playing in the driveway with the nutty kid from the cul-de-sac and they came inside because they heard a noise and got scared.

and i was like, {that's just other kids.}

and they were like, {but they're cry-ing}

and i was like, {that's because god made monsters exist and the monsters are eating them}

then i closed the door to the garage and came back in here to blog this.

Who says I'm not maternal? 

Thank you, Jen.

It's not always obvious how much love is shared between two people.  Love doesn't always stand akimbo atop the spire of a tall building with it's cape aloft in the wind.   Sometimes it is just beneath a gossamer layer of the expected.  Often in waiting, love's decision to disclose is just a whisper in a chaotic room.

And if you're lucky. Someone else is watching. 

                                         

with a camera

...not without my broadsword!

I have a long weekend ahead of me.  Ladybug only had three days of school this week with the MLK birthday and a teacher work day today.  I am looking forward to spending some time with my sis-in-law, Jens and her two doll-faces who are visiting from Jacksonville this weekend.  Hoping to squish a little big-girl fun in with her since we don't ever {ever} do that.

Since I may not get back here during the next few days, I thought I'd leave you with a little of what I think I might start calling:  

Kindergarten Wisdom: Tales from the Backseat {seat seat seat}

T-Man: We got our marble party today.

Ladybug: No, fair! We get ours in 100 days...wait. Ten days. 

T-Man: 100 days! That's like one million. 

Ladybug: No, I meant ten. In ten days it will be 100 days of marbles.

Me: Um. Tell me about these marbles.

T-man: When you do good things you get a marble for the class and then when you get a full jar of marbles you get a party.
Me: Do you ever lose marbles? Because that happens to me all the time...

Ladybug: What did you have for your party? We voted for popsicles.

T-man: Hot coco. It was soooo good. Mine had ten marsh-

Ladybug: shhhhhhhhh! T... listen. Do you hear that?

T-man: What? I don't hear anything.

Ladybug: Is someone....wait...is someone...sword-fighting?

   At this point it is important for me to describe the look of seriousness/confusion on my child's face when I looked in the rear-view mirror.  Think of the face you made when you heard about Obama's Peace Prize.....{continue}. 
T-man: Oh, yeah. I hear it. Where are they, though?

Me: I think you hear the guys hammering that stuff on the side of the road. It sounds sort of like sword fighting.

T-man: {deflated} Oh, yeah. That is what it is.

Ladybug: Ohhhhhh.

  {long, sad pause}

Ladybug: Sword-fighting would've been better.

Hope your weekend's super... 

every body's doin it, doin it doin it.

Do you ever get those brilliant ideas that are so fantastic they blow your mind, but you can't tell anyone because you're going to be so incredibly famous and rich when you finally figure out how to {make it happen} and you're too greedy to share the wealth?

Yeah. Well. I do. And I can't tell you. But be nice to me because you're going to have your mind blown and you're going to want to tell everyone you knew me when I was just a blogger and not really famous at all {yet}.

Trust me on this one.

So, since I can't tell you about *that* I'll just have to blog about something less fantastic and be quasi-satisfied with whatever comes out.

See. Now everything I start to write about it crap compared to the best idea in the world and I soooo want to tell you about it, but you're the kind of person who will totally steal my fame and glory {you know who you are} and not give me any credit at all and then you'll be a star and I'll be just a blogger still who used to have a good blog but then her dreams were crushed and now she's a washup writing posts about dog-poop and baby boogers.

Oh, speaking of baby boogers....

Sam had a good large one the other day. It was of the "flapper" variety and kept getting sucked in and out of his nostril when he breathed. And it went really fast when he laughed. And Cadence and I thought it was awesome, but then I picked it and something MORE amazing/disgusting happened.

It fell onto his tongue. And he ate it. I KNOW.

I used my pinky to pluck it from his tiny nose-hole and the breeze from the fan blew it off of my finger and into his open, laughing mouth and it stuck to his tongue. I panicked and then tried to use the clean pinky on my other hand to get it off his tongue, but he just clamped right down on my digit and smiled. And Ladybug was pee-your-pants laughing and I was saying "baby, baby, baby" trying to get him to open his mouth, but when he finally did it was to chew the booger.

JG got out of the shower and we were peeing-pants laughing and he wanted to know what was so funny and I was kind of worried he might get mad at me for accidentally flicking a booger into Sam's mouth, but I took the chance and told him anyway. And he was all, "ew...hahahahaha" and then he peed-his-pants laughed and it lasted for a few minutes that way with all of us peeing-pants and then Sam really did pee his pants and the fun was over.

But it was a good story.

Speaking of good stories, I have a great idea for this story about a guy who has a pot-bellied pig who he *thinks* dialed 911 to save his life while he was having a heart attack. I have to write the story and you'll have to read it to know who really saved his life.

Spoiler alert: It was not the pig.

If you're feeling I screwed you out of a decent blog post today, go here and thank me later. But only go there if you enjoy gratuitous use of the eff word. You know who you are.

Photo Phriday.

Sammy-G: 

Now with enough hair to get bed-head.

Happy Friday!

you might be a so-so

This whole gimmick worked for Jeff Foxworthy.  I'm not sure why I am inspired by that, but I am.  Go with it.

If you have ever washed a load of laundry without soap. And then re-washed it. Without soap.  You might be a so-so.

If you have ever shaved your legs with the cover on the blade, you might be a so-so.

If you have done a craigslist search for lice-eating monkeys, you might be a so-so.

 

If you've made poop jokes during active labor, you might be a so-so.

If you refuse to drink milk on the day of expiration, you might be a so-so.

If you have ever had to ban yourself from Facebook for a day because you started talking to yourself in  "status speak" while you did stuff like wash dishes or fold laundry. "so-so is really wishing oatmeal didn't dry like cement on spoons..." or "is maybe loving the way this new detergent smells", you might be a so-so.

If you enjoy dressing up your dog in doll clothes and wigs while you clean your daughter's room, you might be a so-so.

If your dog kind of enjoys being dressed up in doll clothes while you clean your daughter's room, you might be a so-so.

If you've worn flip-flops with socks at all this week, you might be a so-so.

If most words in your home end in y and don't clear the spell-checker on any word-processing program {eewy, snoozy, grossy, barfy, froofy, lickery, dandruffy, attitudy, diarreahy, wonky....}, you might be a so-so.

If you can't stand it when people touch the screen door with their hands, you might be a so-so. {i have no idea where this comes from, but if you do it at my house and i can see you/feel you... rest in peace.}

If any of the top searches in your Google search bar include the phrase mustache ride, you might be a so-so.

and finally,

If you have ever been so hard-up for a blog post you resorted to ripping-off a blue-collar comedian, you might be a so-so.

planting the seed of accountability

The weekends do it to me every time.  We get lazy, or busy doing fun things that create little areas of chaos in the house and we feel like it's okay to {leave it} because today starts with an eSS.  And then we start something else. Somewhere where there isn't already a mess and the whole thing just keeps going and going until it's Monday morning and I have a shitstorm of crap in my way and no clue where to begin putting it all back where it belongs.

Of course, I can't blame anyone.  Most of it is my fault.  I try all week to keep order at the homestead by cleaning up after myself and the family and doing my part in pieces that won't drive me to the brink of domestic insanity.  I do a pretty good job of it, I think.  But the weekends are when I let go of the reigns and smack the havoc horse on the ass.

This morning I would like to extend a little invitation into the debacle that is my home.

*Mother in Law, your refrigerator is running. Really, go check.

Okay, here we go.

Photo number one is of my kitchen.

It doesn't look so bad, you're thinking.  Well, you're blinded by the baby. Here, let me draw you in a little closer and take away the cute.

Okay. Here you get a good feel for it. Notice a few things:

*half of a bagel with cream cheese {i am dieting. this is still on the plate}

*open wallet and mail scattered about {filling out forms for new money market account}

*favorite coffee mug with coffee in it {nuff said}

*bowl of baby cereal and fruit mixed up {see cute mess below for further details}

*computer {mornings are for facebook and blogger}

*fancy and convenient computer stool {i have another if you're interested}

*random cups and silverware scattered about {these are not mine}

Family Room:

* hangers {i ironed one thing yesterday. it took me thirty minutes.}

* breast pump on couch next to bra, shirt, remote

* dog on dog quilt

* toys on baby quilt

* quilt on couch {let's just call this the quilt room}

What I'd like for this room is a rug. But JG says I can't have one because I go through rugs like underwear.  Sorry, but as soon as a dog or cat barfs on one, I toss it. *ick and ew

The "Library": {see the books?}

* clean laundry folded on table

* clean laundry slung over couch

* diaper bag {so-so-made curtsy}

* uno cards {see below}

Sam likes to play Uno in the mornings.  It relaxes him. Note the lump under the rug. This is Chutes and Ladders.  I don't know why it's under the rug.

Also: If you're keeping count, we have three couches. I'm a couch hoarder. There, I said it. 

Breakfast {Nook}

This is actually more of an art area for Ladybug.  We hardly eat in here anymore since I spruced up the fancy dining room.

*markers/paper/crayons etc.

*rain boots {essential for making art}

*dog head cone {wtf?}

* high chair tray {i said it was a breakfast nook!}

*books etc. on shelf

* oldest plant I've ever had on table {jg gave it to me in 2004}

Fancy Shmancy Dining Room:

* camera paraphernalia {thanks to JG's dad}

* business end of a sock elephant {i will finish YOUUUUUU}

* place mats & table cloth {i.e dining stuff}

* daisies and spray painted baby pumpkins {because seasons should be friends}

* school papers {homework and eating happen simultaneously sometimes}

Okay, so that's most of it.  I really should take photos of the bedrooms because they are in really bad shape.  But this whole posting photos and making my blog more bells-n-whistleyer is taking more time than I imagined and as you can see I really should be cleaning up the place instead of blogging right now.  So. Adieu. Parting is sweet sassafrass.  Especially when you're parting to clean house.

*as promised: Cuteness Payoff

in clown pajamas and apple cereal.

Have a super day, people. And thanks for sticking with me!

read along as my blog spirals out of control. or how i once took my husband's advice.

When my husband helped me redesign my blog layout I was charmed by the purity of the result, but mildly concerned that it was too "white". Because, compared to the green background and lady legs poking out of the bathtub of yester-month, it is a little subdued. The minimalist thing was my just me trying to push myself into a pattern of mature blogging that- let's face it- just isn't going to happen. To make up for the austere facade, JG suggested I add more color and photos and {pizzaz} into the content of the posts. I've been a pretty lazy blogger since the holidays had me busy spreading cheer and goodwill and shit, so this will be my first attempt at snazzin' up the place. Don't trip over the fancy.

I don't usually talk about previous relationships on my blog. Mostly because there haven't been that many, but also because I am terrified anything I say about any of my past boyfriends will get back to them and they will... i don't know....cry? Yesterday, my husband sent me a photo of someone who reminded him of one of my exes because he loves to bring up the fact that I dated the strangest, most self-absorbed man on the planet. {see? wouldn't that make you cry? even if you ARE totally self-absorbed and mostly drained of all human emotion?} More on that photo later.

Anyway, I have not always had such exquisite taste in men. I've dated guys who wore football jerseys every day and sometimes even cut one off at the belly button to {work out in}. At one point, I broke up a short relationship with a guy because he had really curly hair on his head, but completely straight pubic hair. I don't like to be confused and i can't stand when people use my hair products so that was over before it really got off to any decent start. A soccer player once caught my eye and that lasted the duration of a summer. He had a nice rump, but wore too much Dolce and Gabanna cologne to try and cover up the smell of grass that wafted from him like stink-circles around Pigpen. There was a New Yorker in there somewhere. During college. He was pretty normal and I seriously wouldn't want to hurt his feelings by writing something personal about him like how he used to smell his socks after he took them off and abandoned me one night when I had food poisoning because he couldn't stand the smell of throw-up. I also dated someone who doesn't know he's gay. I didn't know either at first, but now I do and I hope he figures it out before he does something crazy like marry a woman. He, too wore shirts cut off at the belly button. But not for working out.

Those were the main ones*. I went on a few dates in between that didn't turn into much or anything at all. But one time... one time I met a person who will I will forever be mocked for dating. No male that knows about this relationship is ever able to let me live it down. Maybe because of the really tight pants he wore (before it was hip). Or perhaps it was the twelve-year age difference. It could've been the number of other women he secretly dated while we were together. But most likely, it was just because he was the evil ruler of Mongo.

You see, according to the Wikipedia entry on my ex boyfriend and cruel pursuer of the beloved Flash Gordon, Ming the Merciless "is known to keep a large harem of willing and unwilling women that serve his needs.... Those who attempt to escape his harem are sold as sex slaves to others as punishment."

If you know him, you're nodding. Aren't you? You are.

Sure, he's infamous and probably rich beyond my wildest dreams now, but when it comes down to the heart of a relationship you want someone who can tear himself away from the "science fiction gadgets" and robots and stuff and just hang around on the couch in pajamas watching the Notebook on TBS.

Hold the phone.

Was it Ming I dated or Duff from Ace of Cakes?

Ugh. I can't tell. Bald men are so similar. I hope it was Duff.

I just love cake.

* except Ladybug's dad. i can't write mean things about him. he owes me money.

Role Model-citizen

Tonight while I washed chick-pea curry out of a pan, further worsening my case of dishpan hands, JG {helped} Ladybug with her homework. Aww. Sweet. I know! He watched her as she connected pictures of things with a semi-straight pencil line to their corresponding number. Sometimes he reminded her to count twice and check answers. She gave herself a "doh" and bonked her head with her hand on only on one occasion that I could hear over the running water and garbage dispose-all.

They finished math and went onto reading. Her {Partner Practice} booklet was unfolded neatly on the kitchen table in front of her. JG sat next to her holding a pink pencil and using it as a pointer. The sounds started coming out as he poked randomly around the page.

*r

*llll

*sh

*a

He praised her after she whizzed through the first page.

him: Wow, Mommy. Are you listening to this?

me: Yeah. Sounds good. You're doing great, Ladybug.

her: *ch *sh *ck

him: Mommy, You should really listen. Can you hear her?

me: Ummm. I can't hear so well over the scrubbing and water running.

him: Turn off the water for a second and listen to what a great reader she is.

me: okay. go ahead.

her: *fff *uuu*ck *ck *ck

him: {shit-eating grin}

me: very good, Ladybug.

{very funny, daddy. you're banned from partner practice.}

happy dialogue day

Overheard from the backseat of my car on the way home from the bus stop today:

Me: How was school today?
SuperT: Fine. A** is not my friend anymore.
Ladybug: Me, neither. Why isn't she your friend?
SuperT: Want to know why? You want to know why?! I'll tell you why. It's because she thinks she's sooo fashiony.
Ladybug: Well. She kind of is.
SuperT: Yah, well she also talks a lot and that's just annoying.
Ladybug: Well. That's kind of what girls do, duh.
SuperT: Yah. You can say that again.
Ladybug: Duh.

Saturday

Once upon a Saturday, there was a gal who sewed a dog out of a sock because the little girl that was usually around tugging her sleeve and asking for gum every five minutes had gone to her dad's house. 
  

meet Urliss

don't be shy, Urliss

Urliss was quite embarrassed to be nude in front of the Lady {and the camera}, so he tried to hide behind Shirley.  The resulting photo is of Urliss' brown fanny.  So the Lady did what any bored woman with a sewing machine and a few minutes of quiet time would do and made Urliss a turtle-neck.

argyle suits Urliss, wouldn't you say?

He was most satisfied and promised not to poop cotton stuffing on the rugs or chew on Barbie feet, so the Lady also fashioned a hat for him.  

oh, Urliss. 

As the finishing touches of his ensemble were being completed, Ladybug arrived home. With only one foot in the door she started begging for gum.  Oh, and Urliss. 

  

 the end

* tomorrow the Lady might need to make Urliss some knickers.

 

Auld Lang Syne

I was pouring drinks on Thursday night because nobody wanted to work that shift and I have a hard time severing ties with the old faithful bartending gig. I looked up from a row of Royal Flush shots just as the crowd in the bar cheered a wimpy little cheer and then got back to the business of washing down 2009. Was that it? The time on the cash register confirmed the passing of another year and I suddenly felt sad. Not sad for the year's end, but sad for myself. Sad for being away from the people I love because I can't let go of the person I used to be. And of course the next several months worth of writing the wrong date on checks. 

I wake up on the rare morning after a night at the bar and I feel old. And tired, of course. JG looks at me with eyebrows raised and asks me why I keep going back when I don't need to anymore. My friends are there, the extra money is nice, i don't get "out" much anymore, and so on. But it's all a bunch of crap. Sure the money part isn't all bad. But, he's right when he says we're just fine without it. As for the friends part, I think I know that I'm holding onto something I only wish was more meaningful. If you have to go to work to see your friends, maybe they are co-workers. And customers. 

my "spot"

Bartending was sweet to me for a long time. I know my husband because I worked there. I have had two children over my employment there and was fortunate enough to be warmly welcomed back after each sabbatical. But it's not who I am anymore. Long nights and late mornings. It doesn't make me happy like it used to. Maybe because I have outgrown it. Or because I know a different happiness here with my family that can't be compared with the dark, smoky friends of a past life. I've squeezed all the good things I can out of that place and time. Now what's left is sort of dry and unfulfilling.

So maybe 2010 will mean a new leaf turned for me. Maybe I can finally put that part of my life in a little box and send it floating down the river, so I can stop feeling pangs of regret after too long nights and too long drives to a place my past smiles fondly on. Here's to hoping I can remember this post the next time my boss shows up on caller ID.

Happy New Year, bloggy friends.