Just post name here and you will be entered for the Random Draw #2
Zombies Are Real
4 year old wakes up at 4:15am screaming! My dead body rises up and in a confused state tries to figure out what the problem is. I can make no sense of it, the crying continues, I hear something about juice. Ugh are you kidding me? Go to sleep damn it! Next morning: Mommy I had a bad dream. Me…feeling like crap for yelling at him sympathetically says “what was it about”? Well, he says…you were a mean zombie. “Oh honey, I say…that wasn’t a dream”:)
Pumpkin Bumpkin
Okay,so my 4-year old and I planted four pumpkins in a cup and placed it in the back yard. It started out wonderful, everyday they were getting bigger and bigger. I never moved them from the cup, they should have been planted and I guess watered. They died. My son went outside, saw the cup of dead pumpkins and threw a dirty look at me…”you killed them”! Umm, yeah 
sorry, I just had so much to take care of, I forgot them and yes, I killed them. He turns to his younger 2-year old brother and says “you better be careful, Mom can’t take care of everything!
Mow, Mow, Mow your trees
I don’t mind helping out with the “boy” chores when my husband is working so much. I do however have a little pissy-ness when I have to mow the lawn and it is 119 degrees outside and I have been given directions on how to do it. He didn’t come out and ask me to do it, this is what happened. Husband: “Ugh, I have been working so much and I can’t get anything done, now the lawn is growing so high and I am going to have to cut it on my only day off” (sad face)… Me: (thinking)…I could do it for him when he is at work and he would be so happy and love me even more then ever! So, the next day in the sweltering heat, I geared up to go start this crappy lawnmower and push my way into my husbands heart. In my mind remembering all the instructions I had been given in the past…don’t put the blade down too low, you will kill the grass, make sure you mow in straight lines or it will look like your a hillbilly…okay, okay, I had this one down! Our yard it gigantic, really not the kind of yard that you push mow, but that’s okay, I’m going to lose a pound and drink plenty of water. My husband cut down several trees in the past to make this mowing adventure easier, but then for some strange reason he planted 28 baby trees along our fence line (I guess for privacy, however; I should be about 60 when they create this privacy and I probably won’t give a shit). These trees are a pain in my ass, mowing awkwardly around each and every little tree, bumping into the fence, pulling this garbage lawn mower back and forth! I finally get done and start on the easy part, pushing the toys out of the way with the lawn mower (who cares, we have too many). Then I come across the final instruction I was given…There are two baby trees that have blown a seed into our yard (right in the middle) my husband says “do not mow over them, we can take them out and re-plant them somewhere” I think…Are you kidding me? Just before arriving at these two tiny trees, I was hit in the leg with a piece of mulch, had to push the huge little tikes slide out of the way, stepped in dog crap, got a sun burn on my face, got hit directly in the eye with my son’s water gun and of course I can still see the bright orange spray paint on the grass from where my husband had to show me where I missed picking up the dog poop. Those trees have to go. While I am mowing, I have this silly sense of being responsible on a “GREEN” level. I don’t mow them over. LATER: husband comes home, he literally gets out of his car and walks around the yard to “inspect” my trimming ability…he comes inside, says to me “your flowers are dying, guess you can throw those away”. So, friends…today I am digging up those little fricking trees, putting them in a glass of water and telling him he can plant them in his ass!
I know they are hard to see, but that is kinda the point.
-
Write a comment…
Postal Service
My daughter came up out of her cave yesterday. I call it a cave because it is downstairs in the basement and there are no windows and she has it painted blood red (she chose this, I don’t make her). So anyway, she came up from down “there” like around 1pm when she usually awakens and she already has something to say to me. This surprised me because usually it takes her about 20 minutes to speak to me. So she says “Hey, Mom? Have you have heard of the Postal Service? I look at her, I’m not sure what to say. Have the times really gotten that out of hand where my daughter has no idea who this is? I reply, “yes” and patiently wait to see where this story is going to go. “Well, they are pretty new and…” wait, wait, wait…I can’t let her go on, I butt in…”they have been around a really long time, since before I was born.” she looks at me in awe and says “Well, maybe they re-made the group, what kind of music did they play?” Okay, we are not on the same page…”The Postal Service!!, they deliver the mail to your door!” She looks at me laughs and says, “No, Mom! It’s a band!” So before this point I thought I had the dumbest daughter on the planet and that didn’t make me feel to great, but now I feel worse… I’m old.
Remote Junkie
Ever watched the dumbest shit on TV because you can’t find the remote? How about when the man of the house can’t find it and he literally declares war on the rest of the members of the tribe and begins a line-up of all who may have seen it last. My husband will break a sweat, change personalities and begin to tremble if his eyes don’t fall on the remote within seconds after the search has begun. He turns and looks at me with lost hope and asks “where’s the remote?” Do you have a remote junkie in your house too? Hide the remote and see what happens, then meet back here and tell me about it. 
Wanted: Blank Tank
This morning the lovely 16-year old walked into my room and continued to repeat the word Mom until I awoke and saw a blurry vision of this sweet princess. After finally realizing that this was not a dream I said “What?” I usually say that after someone calls my name. She was asking me something about a black fitted tank, she wanted to borrow…hmm, I was wearing a black fitted tank. She gave me the full description of this item of clothing that she wanted to borrow and yup, I was sure that I was wearing it. So, I said “I think I’m wearing it.” “Yup she said, “that is the one.” She handed me another shirt and I slipped off the black tank off under the blankets and handed it to her. “Thanks” and she was gone. This morning as I was sipping on my morning coffee I was thinking of the phrase…”took the shirt right off my back” I was wondering, if this was supposed to be a literal term. I was also thinking, she saw me wearing it when she walked in didn’t she?
Zombies
I was cleaning out the kitchen sink earlier, I know, I know, it goes against my nature, but I was indeed doing it. There were a few cups, some silverware and a dish or two. I always let the water run instead of filling the sink and washing the dishes. While I am washing I notice the sink is filling up, the water is not draining, UGH, there must be some gross crap I’m going to have to fish out. I finish up the dishes, and use a fork to swirl around the drain, the water slowly runs down. I’m watching to see what is causing the clog…the water disappears and at the bottom of the sink in the drain strainer are several Lego Minifigures, they are all missing their heads. I call the second shortest son into the kitchen, look at him and ask him. “why are there headless minifigures in the bottom of the kitchen sink?” He looks at me and says “They were zombies and the only way to kill them was to drown them.” Oh, okay…totally understandable.
Spring Means…
Spring means the birds will start to sing, the grass will turn green and the flowers will start to show their buds and colors. Spring also means that you open up the windows and allow the fresh clean air to filter through your home. It also means that your neighbors will be sitting with their cell phones secured at their side waiting to call someone from protective services because they can now clearly hear you telling your children that “if they don’t pick up all that sticky shit in their room you are going to knock their head off.” This is the time of year that your parenting skills will be judged by all! Congratulations Spring…you are the season that sits right next to Crazy Ass Summer and you both are known for times when your children will not bathe for two days in a row, break a bone and need stitches. As a parent you will grab and chase your child around a store where everyone will see their skinned knees, dirty toes and sand that in their hair. The mailman will panic when he has to walk up to your house just because he is afraid a child will try to squeeze himself out of the front door and beg him to take him away from the insanity that seeps from your house.
I say, open up your windows, grab your crabby kids and walk around the block…you won’t feel so alone.
Where’s the blog?
I haven’t written in the type of format in quite a long time. Maybe I should more often. I think the reason why I don’t is because I have ADD and when I think of something I immediately open my mouth and let it spew on facebook. That is where my blog lives mostly…I think of it more like a continual, interactive model. It get’s lonely in here, with a white box and some text. I have to wait when I click publish and see if anyone is gonna read me…facebook is great because I am forced upon the pages of fans that are just waiting to give me their opinion on either how crazy I am or how much they can relate. I’ll come back here soon though, telling you longer stories about the actual reasons why I drink so much coffee and love to hold my wine high at night. Where did all of these kids come from, well…I will probably cut through the details on that one, pretty sure that those moments are hidden behind a hangover anyway. (not that I was drunk while conceiving them all) I don’t think. Thank you for coming to look for me and maybe just maybe wondering where the hell I was at. Look for me on facebook…I can’t keep my mouth shut 
ask anyone.
