Archive for March, 2014

2013-08-11 13.08.52

serenity

I wish I had a slew of funny things to write but lately I haven’t felt ha ha funny but I have sure the hell felt “holy shit what’s happening to me?” funny. I am back at Doctors office because of anxiety caused by medicine changes. Literally every side affect I am NOT supposed to have, I am having pretty much regularly. I do NOT want to be here going through another medicine change, my only silver lining is there have been periods of laughter, so I shall bullet point them to help me out of whatever the hell “this ,” is:

  •   Conversation with my sister:”I  am having/ all the “call your doctor immediately ” side effects EXCEPT for the homicidal and suicidal ones, you think I should make a Doctors appointment?”
  •   Changing the bathroom scale battery because I was convinced it was weighing me heavy, ended up crumpled in tears because I gained two lbs in two seconds after a freaking battery change.
  • Harassing the Vitamin Shoppe woman for a reason as to why I feel like I have PMS all  the time and what pill will make me fill like a twenty year old again. Let me phrase this., help me feel like I did when I felt like a normal twenty year old, so maybe about 1/4 of the time when I was twenty, what pills do you have that will bring that 25% of the normalcy back to my life 100% of the time? ….Then telling her how much I love Quest bars. Then telling her I just want to not be bloated all the time.. Then buying a case of Quest bars….
  • The frantic calls to my husband repeating all my craziness and him saying , “ok honey, just relax, um, are the kids ok?” , knowing he must tread lightly on my hormonally bloated mind.
  • Scouring the Kohls website for hours trying to find an athletic bathing suit that will make me not feel like I’m feeling because in the dark recesses of my mind, as if a freaking awesome athletic looking two piece, will drastically change my life and even up my hormones.
  • My take away on freaking bathing suits.  Either they are made out of dental floss (and not even the thicker weaved kind you buy if you have gaps between your teeth like I do) or they are designed for a 99 year old woman going on a cruise. There literally is not much to chose from for us 40 year old people who are struggling with the incessant gravitational pull upon our , well, entire body, “Oh hello there boobies, Nice to see you there ON THE FLOOR?”

I am almost certain, you are thinking “holy shit this chick is vain”. No, I have been through this before and “this” unequivocally has NOTHING TO do with what I look like or number on the scale. This has everything to do with control.  Yes, I might be somewhat of a controlling person. I’m not Type A because I am disorganized, but I do wipe the toilet bowls down with Clorox wipes daily, but on the other hand my house is never Better Homes picture ready, there is a lot of stuff everywhere, BUT the toilets are CLEAN, so I suppose I am a type C personality? No, I do not know what that is either, I just made it up.

I am a controlling person when it it comes to my feelings. I do not like feeling like my emotions are on a roller coaster. In a way, it’s good for me because it helps me process the  “emotion” rather than stuffing or drinking or not eating or whatever other “ism” I partook in the past  when I had a feeling rather than, huh, actually feel a feeling. Good God this sounds like a self help blog, but it truly is not a self help blog, unless it helps you feel better then by all means, my pay pal account number is……………………….

My take away from today is that I am human. My hormones are most likely out of whack. My Doctor said “Um, your changing medicines so yes my child you are going to be bloated” and gave me that motherly look of  “Cot Jam when is this freaking woman going to grow up !!!”.    I am going through a bit of a rough patch. I am not shallow. Yes I do care about my weight because I want to “feel” good about myself but most importantly I want to be healthy in a normal non obsessive way and there are periods of time where I feel like this is impossible. The solution for me today is as follows:

  • No more “fitness or cleanse” fix/detox/restart or whatever their called- browsing.  None. I like my exercise regime , I eat as healthy as I possibly can based on my resources/time etc, and I do not give a shit if my body “has adjusted to it” and I’m not ripped like Jillian.
  • Love my mother loving love handles.  They are a part of me.
  • Wake up and be thankful for all the amazing people in my life
  •  Put first things first, inhale serenity like I’m 20 and it’s my last Marlboro ultra light on earth
  • PUT THE DAMN SCALE IN THE BAYLINER-BOAT IN THE GARAGE

So when my husband comes home and says , “Why is the Scale in the boat?” I can whip out my feelings chart and tell him exactly why the scale is in the boat, on and “Yes, honey the kids are alright.”
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Pictured. Scale in boat next to anchor.

 

30 Things to Stop Doing to Yourself.

 

I wish I read this 20 years ago. Freaking AWESOME

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Ill be a passionate, limited filter, motha-jogger, loud~mouthed, edgy, overprotective, fierce warrior, scrappy survivor till I collapse.
And btw that song is my new fave jogging song , . I say jog because I don’t “run” anymore..so maybe I’m not that much of a bad ass.. ‘mae’ juzalil’ (maybe just a little…)

I’m up with the “doers” & over achievers because we gave our kids TOO MUCH FRESH air yesterday and those fools talking about “mommy? MOMMY I’M UP MOMMMY”.  My daughter literally woke me up to tell me ” I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM”  I shot up in wide eyed “HOLY SHIT GRAB THE PUKE BUCKET SPOCK” panic mode, but thank you lord of the Mondays, she just had to tinkle like a princess.

So yeah, I’m fired up like all these insane motivational speakers hash-tagging the shit out of “doer”, and all those “successories” that make me want to put a hot fork in my eye hole like those bad asses on the Walking Dead.  I loathe the term “doer”, I have actually convinced a friend we need to make t-shirts that say “Be a doer”,  on the front and “not a donter” on the back, because well, I love irony and sarcasm. And sadly, I will probably motivate people to be even more successful , Oh CRAP, Now I am a motivational writer, with my fancy slogans, (that I stole) and tshirts…. please use pay pal account below to pay 2gs for this seminar.*

I’m fired up to write my ass off this week. Not in here, per-say, so do not expect any more of my fabulous, insightful, motivational, “wide-eyed” “doer” filled blogs. I need to get more accomplished on my book because I think I might be losing brain cells with every time I’m woken up to attend to bathroom duty, find my little pony duty, I had a nightmare because you let me watch the Piranha movie duty or I can’t sleep because you let me drink 6540 Dr peppers duty (albeit anything is better than HOLY SHIT SPOCK BEAM UP THE VOMIT RECEPTACLES duty)… Yes, I’m not even trying for Mom of the Year , so suck it Supermoms.  I just want my kids to grow up and be peaceful human beings.  Hence, my decision to let my son watch some of the Piranha movie, I thought, “How could this harm his psyche?:”, oh shit. He may never go in a lake again. I may  never go in a lake again, Have you seen that freaking movie?? I’m having nightmares now!

Till I Collapse bitches.

“Cause sometimes you just feel tired,
Feel weak, and when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up.
But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength
And just pull that shit out of you and get that motivation to not give up
And not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse.”

EMINEM

*I stole the term “donter” from.the movie Pain & Gain”. “DOER” I gleaned from “doing” multi-level marketing, not once BUT TWICE! Yeah, 2xs a charm right?

*Eminem

I hate kale.

Posted: March 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

Waisted Wednesdays, no muffin top, flex friday and Gap Thigh are fairly popular hashtags in instagram. Waisted Wednesdays is not about getting hammered, its a hash tag celebrating ripped up waists, no muffin top is self explanatory &  flex friday is muscle flexing days and Gap Thigh is celebrating the gap between ones thigh by eating very little.

I am a proponent of leading a healthy lifestyle but I am not a proponent of it taking over my lifestyle. I am not saying anything negative or positive about all of these hashtags, all I am saying is I am scared for my children to grow up in a society where healthy equals how “waisted ones waist appears to me”, or thinking they need to dehydrate themselves with wrap systems to reduce the “muffin top”.

As for the thigh gap thing, some tall or naturally thin people are able to don the illustratious thigh gap thingy and I am not knocking this feature if its not forced by starvation tactics. I just do not want my children; especially my daughter striving for unrealistic body images.

Maybe its because I was in the fitness industry and unfortunately Fitness peeps are still following me because they think I want a piece of the “workout till it hurts” mentality. I don’t. I still exercise as it feels normal. I know exactly how to workout to experience natural endorphins, without my end game being a teeny ripped up waist or “boobs on a stick”.  I mean, I dont have to worry bout the boobs part because if I lose weight like from a virus or something, the virus just says “oh, no honey, im not going to use your muffin top to survive, baby im sucking that fat right out of the girls today sweetheart”.  So the whole “im a stomach flu away from my goal weight applies not to me but, if I want to wear a training bra, yes thsts usually where I end up after the exorcism  of my insides. My husband says I sound like a dying, crying, camel when I am sick so anyways, I just lost my train of thought..

Oh yeah boobs!

I never really wrote a bio for my Word Press account so here is a quick summary.

2013-12-03 13.00.09

I do not like to talk on the phone. I express myself best through words. Yes that means my texts and emails are cumbersome and thesis ridden and I over explain the crap out of everything. This doesn’t mean I don’t talk on the phone or have fabulous conversations , it’s jut not my go-to activity. I express myself best when I am writing.  I get tongue tied in conversations and if it’s public speaking, I sweat so profusely, I could probably sell it as a weight loss product like those wrap things.  I have a picture but I am not sure if I am ballsy enough to show the armpit Armageddon that occurred on my bright orange shirt after “public speaking”.

I love hip hop all kinds, preferably more old school , something with a good beat and devoid of incessant degradation. Unfortunately, most people that do not actually listen to hip hop think that all hip hop is degrading and full of debauchery and sin. Yes, some of the main stream songs , can be quite dreadful and that is unfortunate, but we live in a complex world.   I actually do quite like the song Rack City. Yes, it’s about Strip clubs and yes I listen to it while I’m running and it makes me run faster. I will add I do listen to the clean version so Pearly Gate Gold Star for me! (I do not know why I capitalized that , but I also LOVE and ADORE Joel Osteen, so I’m a bit of an oxymoron at times..I even hear him saying “Oh Lori, (bc he wouldn’t say it Laurie being from Texas and all) “we are all Gods Children and he loves you so and wants the best for you”…. and he would kind of close his eyes when he’s talking to me, if you haven’t seen him preach, It’s pretty cool. I like him. He preaches about hope versus telling the congregation they are going to burn in Hell if they do not donate their life savings or listen to songs like Rack City.  *

I am sensitive, passionate , and I have zero directional sense. I mean ZERO> . If I was told I had to make my living via post office routes or bus drive, we would all starve, and your mail and children would be in Siberia.   If you look at me wrong, I may try to process why you looked at me wrong for longer amounts of time than a normal person would process as to why you looked at me wrong.  If we venture into “hot topic” land, I do see red on three items, unsolicited advice about my family or child rearing ways, political righteousness, and passive aggressiveness.  Yes, I have parenting flaws,  I am not political ( I have ZERO desire to talk about politics, unless it’s with Jon Stewart or Stephen Colbert) and I have I have ZERO TIME to try and figure what your pout-ridden-passive aggressive comment means to me.  Luckily most of my close knit friends are up front and honest or just love me so much they never have any issues with me. L.O.L.  **

I abhor horror movies; especially about the devil, but I love Zombie Apocalypse genre and I am a huge fan of the Walking Dead. I love the scenery, the cinematography, the artistry, the plot twists and wondering how the lawns stay mowed during an Apocalypse,   T Dawg was my favorite, then Hershel, and now Darryl. Unfortunately in an Apocalypse, they like to kill  the favorites.  One day I would most definitely like to play a Zombie, preferably in the Walking Dead but I haven’t quite got the voice raspy thing down yet.  Yes, I am practicing right now.   My other favorite horror genre is old movie horror genre, no guts & brains though (oxymoron!)  specifically movies like “The Birds”. I  liked it because I loved saying “Bodega Bay” like the actresses in the movie, they made smoking  fabulous and owned wicked smart suits and exquisitely coiffed hair.  (no I don’t smoke but I did and I get it.)

I love a change of seasons, books, shows and movies that make me cry and laugh from my soul, my family (I know cliche but I would be remiss if I did not mention my fams), good food (I like healthy food but if it tastes like the twigs and the earth, I cannot do it), home baked goods from a bakery that uses five ingredients at most,   the smell of coffee in the morning, lawn mowers in the summer, intense thunderstorms,young people with their drop tops and loud music, screaming Beyonce songs in the car till my voice hurts, alone time, AND some social time (I have to be balanced in this category or I will go nuts) .    I am NEVER bored. When people say they are bored, they need to vacation in my head. Luckily, my kids rarely say it, so I must be doing something right…

Lastly, but not least, I LOVE comedy. Without laughter , I could not survive. It saved me.  My teenage years were tumultuous and The Cosby Show got me through some of my roughest times.   I had horrific post par-tum psychosis after my first born and The Kings of Comedy was on re-run for 3 months straight while I climbed out of some of my darkest days. My sister told me “You have lost your sense of humor” when I was an anorexic runner in my twenties and that statement propelled me in to recovery (and the fear of dying..) Ok!, I know! this is supposed to be somewhat humorous but I am trying to demonstrate how humor help catapult me out of depression and malady.

This is a snip it of me.  Thanks for reading, I have nothing witty to close with because my kids just got off the bus and I just heard “MY EYE MY EYE MY EYE YOU POKED ME IN MY EYE IT HURTS…”

* Rack City Footnote: Seriously,  what’s super funny, is someone did  a parody on it and it was called Math City, well you really have to listen to the song to appreciate why this is so funny. So when I listen to Rack City, I almost get the giggles so bad, I have to stop running.  Interval training tactics? …. And if you listen to the song and hate it, don’t blame me, I didn’t write it.  If I did, I’d be on Island Hunters , buying up some Islands and blogging about being on Island Hunters and owning Islands so we would not be having this conversation in my head.

** Diabolically, I used to be passive aggressive with hubs in earlier years. He shuts that mess down quick.

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Do not fret young padawans, I shant quote the lyrics from the riveting One Direction ballad. This is the story of my life and our life because ‘we country’. Seriously, you can take the people out of the country but you cannot force them to relinquish their country ways.   We, ok ok, I (just me) have been known to wipe counter tops with my “Nike Just Do It” tshirt (as instructed by the shirt btw) in a hurry to unveil the actual countertop.  We keep the dern boxes my sons legos come in because and I quote from my husband and my son “those will pay for college”, Good because I was hoping to use the 529 accounts to buy an Island and be highlighted on HGTV “Island Hunters” (obsessed with that show btw. Please if you get a chance watch Island Hunters, you will find yourself wondering, “What exactly do this people “do” for a living such that they are buying up islands now? )

Pictured here is my husband’s attempt at drying out his tennis shoes. In his defense he did use the drying bracket thingy that came with the dryer but it  almost broke dryer. The irony of this can best be summed up by telling you my husband is the “Serv Safe Chief.’ He works in the food industry and I have lost count if how many looks of disdain have been cast my way for my abhorrent kitchen behaviors. Yes, the Nike t-shirt cleaning tactic would in his top two, the other is when I set the coffee creamer spoon on the counter versus a paper towel. *

If you have read other blogs you might be confused because I may have confessed to obsessive behaviors , some of which include and addiction to  Clorox wipes. I do not get it either. I will wipe the bathrooms down , 5665788 times a day with proper wiping gadgets, but Nike t-shirt rags (that are still being worn) and shoes on the candle on the kitchen table do not bother me one bit.

The story of our lives is one of organized chaos. Polarizing children that love me so much one minute they are still wrapping their tiny little hands around me. Ten seconds later “I am never speaking to you again” and slammed doors are echoing through or Nike~candled~counter~washed house (I don’t think shoes in pictures are Nikes, I doth apologize profusely- whatever brand I have thus shunned). We are a house of “perfect imperfections” (Johnny Leg, you hit the nail on the head with that one) , subtle nuances integrated with rebellious bedlam.  A rowdy circus juxtaposed against fabulous rainy Sunday afternoon naps.

Thank God I have the pictured paragons of excellence to keep our house in order!

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Please take note of toilet paper roll.. How is this part of this warrior brigade!? And I do not know why there are beach towels hanging on banisters. We do not own a pool and we do not live on the beach and it is not warm enough to go to the pool. Also , I’m pretty sure it’s been a couple since either one of my children have had a shower or bath…

* The alternative to setting my spoon on the paper towel is letting in jingle around in my cup all day which is by far much more annoying to him, I can most assuredly inform you I have received feedback on my spoon stealing coffee up antics as well…..

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My husband told me my blogs are long. Good Lawd have mercy I have been working to keep them short but I am one long winded person because if you have read only a smidgen of my stuff , my brain is a hamster wheel on some really high quality hamster food. Im trying to write quicker, more efficiently humorous blogs, more frequently..(yikes that was some grammatical vomit “write” there..,get it,¡¡¡¡ ‘Write’ versus ‘right’,.. smiley face icon)

I’d thought I’d share a snippet of one of my texts between myself and my cousin. We were talking about getting together this summer and yet again, my bestie Beyonce ALWAYS has to infiltrate my time (see previous Blogs..me & B go way back).

As for my twerking Grandmother, I wrote a long blog on her two years ago, shes a gem and would be quite tickled to see how well Beyonce is doing since she broke up Destinys Child, I mean sorry since they broke up due to..honestly I have zero clue as to why they broke up. Maybe I need to tape some E ¡ Hollywood true stories…

ANYHOW, I wanted to give you a snapshot of my summers with my cousins because we had fun, dancing, playing gin rummy till we almost killed each other, watching Nick & ,Sharon’s love blossom on Young & Restless, reenacting Bionic Women scenes and of course shaking in to Wrexxx and Effectxxxx….. (spelling of wrexneffex????…..

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Pictures, why did I post them? to remind myself of my “why”~ that what I do matter! Even if its as simple as wiping my bleary eyes to wipe my children’s bleary eyes (and crusty as hell , and wow where does all that nose funk come from??) to help them get ready for school.  My job is important. Sometimes , I do not feel like it is important because I do not have a career , and I have failed as a 21st century female commandeered to bust that glass ceiling. (I do break a lot of stuff because I am quite clumsy so..that must count!)

I invite all moms , dads, guardians, coaches, teachers, preachers, working, stay at home, part time working, aunts, uncles , etc~what have you, to give yourself a BREAK. BE vulnerable, honest and KIND to yourself. Raising children is the toughest job I will ever love so much that it overwhelms me with emotion.

You are trying to teach little gremlin~terminator~heart,~melting diabolical minions ~ how to survive when a) you barely have it figured out yourself all while b)  Lady Gaga is trying to out~do  Miley Cyrus’ gargantuan tongue slide tour with vomit wielding artistry???.

I invite you to come out from the “suburban supermom persona” (dad etc, trying to relate to all roles) and give the laundry pile,  the bird, you can wait one more day” !! ….. I did,. I left that sad sack of clothes right on the sofa and the angry dirty pile half in the bathroom , half in my closet. I’m a bad mama jama.

The other night , I was so overwhelmed because of some minor parenting fails and litany of chocolate milk thingy things & smores graham cracker wrappers.  slammed cupboards and begged my kids to “please please for the love of God clean up after themselves momma gonna lose her mind, up in here, up in here, yall gonna make me act a FOOOL UP IN HERE UP IN HERE” ….ok maybe Im confusing my rant with a DmX song, but I think you get it.

Anyhow, my point is, forgive yourself for not being the parent that you see on Facebook or in the magazines! Leave the bacon in the pan and linger a while longer over breakfast..(if you are vegan, leave the toffutiacon in the pan, I made that up? is it a thing?). Pat yourself on the back for NOT signing up for some personal self~ development weekend course because you realized that its just not the right time for you. Tell yourself it is okay to not want to be the hottest Mom or Dad on the block so maybe skip the workout OR start one; whichever you need to do to FEEL HEALTHY on the inside rather than show people that you “can do, have and be it all”! Stop Frontin & Start Livin’

Its okay to not be the leader, the most successful person , the superstar, or legs~with~a~gap~in~thigh~woman
( Sweet Mary I didn’t even have that when I had dangerously low body fat, so I’m hoping this trend dies hard and fast) .

Dali Lama said it best :

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And TLC said it best, “Don’t go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and lakes you are used to..”….
….. This does not mean settling for what you have, it means accepting what is right in front of you and  cherising it for all that it is at the very moment.

I have been stress case largely due in part to my fear of feeling like I do not measure up to what???? To other moms my age? To the poor Target models whose already tiny frames had their “areas” chopped out and ribcages removed to look even tinier ?? (WTF Target ??) Who exactly
am I trying to measure up to these days? I will tell you who, ME.  Im a Non cabinet closing, 2 term Pres Obama votin, hip hop beastie boy Jay z blarin,  bad driveway drivin, burpin, hair drain
cloggin, clumsy bike ridin, microwave glass breaking , Scrappie Ass Momma thats who!   **

Today I beg you to get up a be you! Stare at the mirror and say “yes, dammit maybe its Mabelline and Im so damn worth it , we have come a long way baby!!” (I mixed three slogans there). Hug the first person you see today, or smile if that is to awkward. Blare DMX, Gregorian Chant, Carrie Underwood, Metallica or Michael Buble on your JAMS today. Rent a movie that makes you laugh so hard you cry! (Or google the top 25 autocorrects, omg I almost passed out laughing). Just effin do it brah.

I gotta stop here, its late and I have a lot of FUN to accomplish tomorrow!!

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Took the picture of pile of clothes this am!

* I think Gaga/Cyrus have talents, ….so anyways, I will let some other blogging soul twerk that blog out all on its own. Please, do not assualt me on musical debate, it was meant to be humorous :)

** note, my hubs, my sister, some of my friends voted Republican so before you get your panties in a wad thinking I’m some screaming extreme liberal who doesn’t shave her legs , calm down. I shave them in the summer.
Meaning, this is not a  political blog!!!!

I can have ENTIRE FULL BLOWN ARGUMENTS WITH MYSELF, in my brain where no one wins, except the furrowed wrinkled crevice on my forehead. It can be as simple as deciding what type of cereal to have for breakfast:

“Should I have this cereal, it is non~ gmo?”
“But why don’t my kids like it”
“Its really good and full of protein and low sugar but tasty”
“Why do my kids fight me when I offer healthy options?”
“Omg did I actually think that thought out loud?”
“Of course they will not eat it if I tell them it is healthy.”
“Did you gravitate towards healthy when you were a child?”
“No, I decided to get healthier because my health teacher my Freshman year in high school looked like Scott Baio”
“Before that revelation I ate cheetos and pecan twirls for lunch”
“But they really need to eat more yogurt”

I could go on, but it can be quite exhausting. Decision making has never been my strong suit. I literally would score a flat “satisfactory” in this category when I was a manager,  or maybe it was the dreaded “needs improvement”.   Oh how I hated that category, don’t we all need improvement, isn’t that score stating the outwardly obvious? How about “areas that you could improve upon, but you are still a fantastic manager”

I would be a financial GENIUS if I did not still count on my fingers. I have can analyze ANYTHING and pinpoint all probable outcomes in under five minutes. Seriously, give me a topic, I will have you so philosophically challenged by the end of my critical analysis, you will want to tape electrodes to my brain to power your house, or electric car if you are an environmental connoisseur.

I am usually in a perpetual state of thought. I am never, ever ever ever bored.  My mind never stops moving, I wish my brain were attached to my abdominal muscles because I would be ripped like a brick s%$house. By the way, what is a brick s%&house and why does that term allude to people jacked up with bulging muscles? And why did I outwardly use profanity in my last couple blogs; yet now, I’m using the shift key to express the obvious obscenity in the above statement? Are you gaining a glimpse into my mind?

We do not have a garage opener, and although I thought it was because we cannot fit our cars into garage, I am pretty sure it is due to the garage doors I have demolished in the past due to the rabbit wheel in my brain. 100 percent of all the accidents that have occurred in past ten years, occurred in my driveway because I was in lost in thoughts most  capricious in nature. My husband is protecting the garage, his tools our cars and maybe even our neighbors’ mailbox and trashcans from my terminator brain.

In closing, some of the most arbitrary activities can bring about collateral damage because my brain doesn’t focus on the moment at hand and , yes s$%t gets broken. This week? I broke the microwave circular plate thingy that evenly radiates our food and AS I was cleaning this mess up, I knocked over a faux antique glass bottle! Wait??. MAYBE I’M JUST CLUMSY????

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THIS IS MY JAM

Not lake tahoe because I have never been. I mean I’d LOVE to go and it probably would be my JAM if I went, but I can not falsely advertise that I went. This relic is one of those “my hubs went to a starbux in Tahoe and brought me home a mug”  type of gifts!

Thank goodness it was not a t-shirt because we have so many t-shirts and I have an unbelievable time parting with t-shirts. I get kind of weepy and “vaclempt” when they get demoted to the rag pile. Yes, vaclempt is an actual word, I gleaned it from my rigorous studies of Saturday Live watching AND just googled it to verify I was using the vernacular correctly. I am pretty sure I utilized vernacular correctly. I am NOT googling it though, because I am short on time, because I hit snooze to many times! Hey that rhymes, maybe I should really rethink my career as a hip.hop artitst. I will put  a pen in it.

THIS is also why Twitter hates me because of the 140 characters rule.  Oh friends, the roads we could go down on why I love coffee!  I blame Twitter for stifling my writing and my creativity. I’ll write a scathing letter to them later today unleashing my disheartened demeanor at how they have completely steered me experience unparralled vicissitudes in life. *

Ahhh, the nectar of the gods, the skip in my step, the warm tingling in soul, the jitters I experience at 10 am because I drank the whole pot, the black crud that burns to the bottom because I did not turn off the burner, wait where was I going with this?

YES, Alas coffee is more than a beverage. Its a morning ritual that esse could be summed up with the sentence “THIS IS MY JAM” , but we all know, I am NOT one of few words.

* I’m joking, I am not writing a letter to Twitter.

I grew up in the non profit  world, my pops was a Consultant in non profit management, so it is only appropriate I am drawn towards obscure professions, hobbies, livelihoods, pets etc.  Maybe obscure is not the best term, but listed below are the following jobs I have  had throughout my life since the time I was 13:

Blueberry raker
Babysitter ( I did not fair well)
Office organizer
Hay Baler
Stall Mucker
Dump helper
Waitress (@ at least two dozen places)
Buffet organizer at the Inn at      Harvard. (That’s as close as I got to IL)
Receptionist at college infirmary
Two internships at Museum of Fine Arts (unpaid , but unbelievably awesome)
Almost a manager at Schlotzkies (spelling?)
Customer Service (credit card co)
Collections (same co , yes I sucked)
Recruiting & People Relations (HR) (at said same company)
Mommy to new babies
Dance Fighter Instructor
Bubble Dog owner
Non Vegetable eating Lizard owner
……

And NOW???

Maybe??? Comedic Mommy Blogger /lizard owner/ laundry dissident/ chronic overthinker & maybe kind of a wee bit of a writer because I am a quarter of way through book, ok depending how long , maybe one tenth, ok ok maybe one sixteenth.  I over explain things so it just depends on if I locate?* a good editor and all that stuff I really need to research but I do not feel like it because I keep going back to what the Ghost of Hemingway told me which was “FOR THE LOVE OF KELLY RIPPA JUST WRITE !” Seriously, ASK Zak Baguns from Ghost Adventures, me and Ernest go way back and his Ghost really did say that to me **
(Asterisks = see footnotes cuz momma got some s’plainin’ to do)

Apparently my longer blogs get skimmed over by my groom because, well I agree, I can ramble. That is the beauty of being a newer blogger, I do not have any “haters”, so this is an open canvas, (seriously, im not ready nor do I want “haters”, thats for the rap game. Im not trying to do all that.) I also do not have a lot of “lovers” so most of my feedback is from husband and close friends and it can be surmised as “I love your stuff LJ, but sometimes you lose me” oh CRAP.  I JUST did it again.

Here lies the condundrum, I got 13.45 minutes till kids get out of their extra curricular activity. Do I post this (from my phone which means it will be formatted like I typed it from my 1980s brother ~ Word Processor) OR do I finish and post a blog tommorow..

Eff it. I’m hitting publish without editing. I typed this on a comically large phone but a mini tablet for babies so you have been warned…

*  editor stuff ~ I have zero clue. I have a book, no wait, three books on how to write a book, all if which I have only read half of each. Oh man, I am so submitting that to my son’s math teacher as a word problem!!

** no. Zak Baguns can not verify this statement. Plus I think I spelled his name wrong.

** if you are as gullible as me, No!! Zak Baguns will not verify my Hemingway ghost story.

Earlier, I had a bad case of good old fashioned, PMS. I walked into my daughter’s room to strip the beds and Little Pony and her diva hustling sisters had a fraternity party with every teeny, tiny, ‘itsy’ ‘bitsy’ figurine known to mankind.  They had infiltrated every square inch of her room. This all happened in a matter of an hour because she had just cleaned her room meeting this one Scrappie Momma’s expectations (which are, “PLEASE FOR the Love of GOD..GET EVERYTHING OFF THE FLOOR OR I’M GETTING A GIANT BAG and sending THEM ALL BACK to SANTA).  Here is a glorious “selfie “of me  eating Ice Milk or NON Milk or Coconut Goat milk some kind of healthy version of  ice cream or non ice cream, with the goal of this  “‘faux’ ice cream” to abate my PMS symptoms versus bagging up all the little ponies and sending them back to the Pony ranch or to Santa or whatever it is you believe they would go if Big Bad Mommy bagged them up and sent them along their way.

ice cream blog

Speaking of  Santa,  “DUDE, WHY DID YOU BUY HER THE MY LITTLE PONY TENT THAT TAKES UP HALF HER ROOM WITH AGE LIMIT OF 3 SO IT GETS BEATEN DOWN BY MY LONG LEGGED DAUGHTER and RAUCOUS little pony fraternity parties , daily.       Obviously, I bought the tent so in case you are all like “oh gasp, that was kind of a tough dis for Santa”, I have only myself to blame for this insidious tent and all its debauchery. However if you still believe in Santa, then I am still mad at Santa and he is the one to blame in this situation.

As for my son’s room, he has a lizard in his room; while at the same time, the sun cascades its blinding, white rays of sizzling heat making it the hottest room in the house (except for the garage, in August)  Due to the fact that I am irritated by this onset of hormones (  I googled the word ‘hormonely’, it does not exist; hence, “onset of hormones” was a replacement for my made of word of ‘hormonely’) Yes that was all extremely necessary and pertinent. My point being,   I knew better to engage in any kind of “why is EVERY LEGO FIGURE FROM HERE TO KINGDOM COME HAVING A  SEANCE TRYING TO CONJURE UP MORGAN FREEMAN FROM THE LEGO MOVIE, HE’S NOT COMING!!!!!!” I was just too damn hot and cranky to deal with Legos and Morgan Freeman apparitions. (if you are like wtf does Morgan Freeman have to do with Legos, please delve into the Lego Movie, it’s a freaking riot).   A caveat to the word “hormonely”, it was not even hot in his room that day, but I was hot; hence you see my point.

Calm, level headed Scrappie, knows that my children’s’ room will never look like a Pottery Barn magazine. (you know, kind of organized, kind of messy but altogether fabulous because even the “mess” is organized, monogrammed and dotted with glorious patterns of tweed and ________________ Paisley?) I do not know my pottery barn schematics very well.  PMS infiltrated DEF com five Scrappie which is agitated by the slightest “imperfection of perfections”. Yes, John Legend’s super model girlfriend would absolutely irritate me when my hormone levels go from ” furrowed MOMMIE dearest brow”  to “OMG, dial up my shrink, something’s terribly wrong, why am I crying so hard?” to “WHO ATE ALL MY DARK CHOCOLATE AND WHY IS THIS ICE CREAM SO FROZEN, HOW LONG SHOULD I PUT IN THE MICROWAVE TO MELT THIS HUNK OF ICE???”.  The synapses in my brain go all haywire. Thankfully I only get this type of PMS every four months, it’s like a quarterly report for my husband who provided a range of opinions from “it’s OK let it all out” (good feedback) to “why are you arguing with a 6 year old” (not so good feedback).  In my PMS mind, arguing with a 6 year old (who acts like a 16 year old) makes COMPLETE LOGICAL AND SANE SENSE.

Fast forward to our Soccer Game, I am still a little torqued up; yet my emotions start to slowly level out and dissipate.  I am enveloped by a sense of calmness as I hear the screaming kids (screams of joy!) pattering throughout the turf fields. My kids are full of vim and vigor and raise their hands wildly to yell out their ideas for the team name. My daughter asks to take a “selfie” with me so she can show the world her lost tooth.  My son offers to play goalie, which makes my heart soar because I drink in the confidence my kids set forth into the world.   Suddenly, little pony mosh pit parties and Legos that paralyze my bare feet into “fall down on the floor holy sh&% wtf did I just step on ” pain, all seems to disappear and the echo of the referees whistle through the woods sounds like harp to my ears.

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PS. This blog is meant to be facetious. It is therapeutic outlet for my PMS or whatever feeling that has transcended upon my psyche.  I am not looking for PMS cures or meticulous parenting advice or on how to get my daughter to clean up her my little ponies. Trust me, if I need tips on how to organize rooms, Legos, ponies and twisty ties, or how to parent my children, PINTREST, FACEBOOK and my husband’s aunties have PLENTY of information to assist me with these types of conundrums.    Some people “get” the type of humor I put out there in my blog and on social media  some absolutely do not and see it as a window to shower me with all sorts of remedies for what seems to appear to them as a very problematic life strewn with maladies and bad parenting decisions.  Oh and I do not need to lower the temperature of my sons room either, we good.

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….BECAUSE I FORGOT HOW TO SPELL THE MAN”S NAME, WOMAN?.. ARE YOU INSANE..???

Today was Book Reading Project Day. The Crafty Mom’s dream, the Mommy Issue’s Mom – nightmare and crafts, projects and hair conundrums are my nemesis. I really try and the adage “our last mistake , is our biggest lesson” never comes to fruition for crafty craftsmanship, in fact it progressively gets worse and there is neighborhood concern that I may one day super glue my hands to my daughter’s ‘french braid’.

I post this undoubtedly adorable picture of my children on social media and directly beneath it, from a neighborhood mom (or Dad, I’m very PC)  is Cindy Lou Hoo HERSELF.. (Do not ask me what my son is, something from Harry Potter, a squawking phoenix? His screeching squawk can break the sound barrier, so have fun today Teach!) .

You could run a roller coaster through the loops, hoops, dips and hops on my neighborhood’s daughter’s hair. It is truly magnificent. I am not in any way disrespecting her craftsmanship with this blog, I’m blown away by its aesthetic artistry.

I am just curious though,  what happened to me when they were handing out the gene that they give to Mommies ( and Daddies!! Again PC) that makes them so prolific at crafts and hair? Was I in the bathroom? Was I break-dancing? Did I pass out? Are my hands not shaped in craftsman “craftymanship” crafty form?

I am sure there are a few of you out there too that were break-dancing with me when the “craftonator” descends upon earth and hands out crafty craftsmanship genes to all the new Mommies (or daddies, I’m extremely PC you see, as I have repeatedly mentioned to thee) . I’m here to tell you, do not sweat it bro, just go with the to and fro, YO!  We all have or loops and hoops dips and drops AND POPS AND LOCKS because we know how to break dance!!! Remember???

In my defense, if there was any pretense in my husband’s mind that I posessed the crafty, hair , pottery~ barn decorator gene, he simply missed the pre~marital signs because he was smitten with my transcendent beauty. Signs such as:

  •   Burping
  •   Wiping the counters with bottom of  my t-shirt
  •   Brushing my hair with a plastic fork
  •   Heating up food in oven, IN STYROFOAM
  •   Identifying, WAY TOO MUCH, with the crazy, younger mom in Divine Secrets of the Ya Yas (you fell asleep honey, The signs were ALL THERE)
  •   And so on so forth- henceforth.

I’m not lamenting the fact that I missed the “Craftonator’s” calling. I’m not complaining. I’m not sad. Or mad. Or blue with a shoe. I’m actually moving more money into Cindy Lou Hoos bank account so she has enough for her therapy sessions, and break-dancing.

ADDENDUM :
End of the day conversation with my Cindy Lou Hoo:
Daughter: “Mommy, um, people kept asking me who I was..And Mommy, so & so’s Mom put a cup on her head and then the hair to look like Cindy Lou Hoo and Mommy so and so (aforementioned in.blog) REALLY looked like CINDY LOU HOO”
Me: “I’m sorry baby, Mommy has bad hair skills, but do not fret child , Mommy & Daddy have tucked away a rainy day fund for therapy and break-dancing”
Daughter Shrugs: “okay”