Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Better Than American Express

If there is ever a time in your life when you think guys will not hit on you, it's when you are pregnant. Very obviously pregnant. So pregnant, in fact, that your belly button is no longer an innie and it's grossing you right the frick out. So pregnant that your ass could be used as a flotation device in the event of a flood. So pregnant that you can almost point to where you are pretty sure your ankles used to be and your 9 year old has to tie your shoes for you because you can no longer reach them without performing some intensive contortions that may or may not result in pulling several muscles and maybe cause you to use more swear words then you would normally use in front of your children and cause you to whimper piteously every time you have to move (what? just me?).
Unfortunately, this is not so.
There is a breed of a guy who will think nothing of coming up to you as you are wandering the aisles of your local grocery store with your 2 children and your baby bump and proceed to hit on you.
He may say things like:
"So you like kids?" No, I just really enjoy labor, back talk, and the smell of poopy diapers.
"Are you and your baby daddy still together or can I take you out to dinner?" Are you kidding?
"I really dig that pregnant look." I really dig in my purse for my stun gun when creepy guys won't go away.
"Can I touch your belly?" Do you value your life?

But fear not! All you really need is a 9 year old with an attitude and strong desire to eat her ice cream to tell the guy that her daddy is waiting for us and maybe he'd like to talk to him and then give him the patented Ticked Off Tween Stare.

I never leave home without it.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Waving a White Flag

Summer Vacation Day 2:

Kids have taken over.
Am barricaded behind couch.
Must be quiet or they will find me and wrap in toilet paper.
I believe I heard my daughter discussing the benefits of duct tape though it may have been delirium after being stuck back here for a few hours.
Send help.


Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Dear Hurricane,

The other day you skipped your nap and stayed up way past your bedtime. I had been anticipating a full-on meltdown at any moment but you surprised us all with your very happy self. You had fun playing with our friends and playing games.
At 10 that night we started to finally wind down. You had your spiderman jammies on and shot webs at our guests as they left. We were in the kitchen laughing when you decided that was just enough.
You took my hand and yawned.
"Come on Mom. Les' go seep now."
So we did.
You said goodnight to your sister.
We crawled into my bed and daddy said goodnight before running downstairs to watch a movie.
We whispered for a few minutes about how much fun we'd had.
"I need a hug now."
You rarely ask for hugs and I am never one to turn down the feel of your little arms reaching around my neck.
As we settled back against the pillows, you curled into me and rested your head on my shoulder.
Within seconds, you were snoring softly against my arm. I breathed in the scent of you as I kissed your head and soon, I was asleep too.
It was a perfect day.
It was a day I could not possibly appreciate more knowing that just down the street, a mother will never again get that chance.
Because of something very foolish, something so heartbreakingly stupid, her baby boy has died.
And it makes me appreciate even more that despite my blundering, you've made it this far.
So when I ask you for another kiss, or squeeze you just a little bit tighter, indulge me. I'm just reminding myself how lucky I am.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Mommy Needs A Maid

I have a massive list of Things That Must Get Done, Like Yesterday You Fool. Which is exactly why while David took his nap, I played games on the computer. Because nothing says 'hard work' like a little goofing off.
Internet? I have issues.
Not the whole procrastination thing. Big deal. Stuff gets done eventually, usually. No, my issues came to light when at 2 pm this afternoon I had this overwhelming urge to punch a video game character.
I was playing NannyMania on MSN. At first it was ok. Granted it was a bit like real life and I wondered how this was goofing off since it was just reminding me of all the things I should be doing, but whatever. I played on.
Then I found myself calling the kids bitches and wondering where the sterilization button for the dad was. Because I could 'clean' something and 5 minutes later, I had to go back and do it again and OMG!! What. The. Fuck??? Have they been to my house lately? Because this is what I freaking do all day. Well, minus another adult woman following me around and shaking her head while the kids destroy the house. And by the time the kids were school age and drawing all over the bathroom while the dad watched tv and the mom just walked around in some valium-induced hazed, I found myself yelling "Ha Ha Motherfuckers!" every time I completed a level. And then that stupid nanny would say something moronic like "This is too easy, I could handle another baby!" and I'd begin wondering if these characters could feel pain.
"Well, why didn't you quit playing then?"

Because I had hoped (and fully expected) that at the end of the game, the nanny would be rewarded by being able to drop -kick that family into Sims Hell.

I think maybe it's time to tell my husband that it would be a good idea to put his clothes in the hamper all by himself. For my sake.

And his.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

But I don't even like peppermint.........

We were in a restaurant. A really nice restaurant. The kind with cloth napkins and people taking your order instead of the garbled voice of a teenager through a speaker at the drive-thru.
I was so looking forward to a nice thick steak (something I never would have touched before this pregnancy but is now a constant craving).
The waiter turned and asked me what I would like.
I opened my mouth and..........


Or more specifically, a mouth so full that I could not speak.

My mouth was suddenly so full of gum that I could no longer close it.
No matter how much gum I pulled out of my mouth, more would quickly take it's place. I was starting to panic but everyone around me just watched as though this were all perfectly normal.

"I'll just bring you a nice plate of chicken parmesan."

NO!! I hate chicken parmesan! I want steak!

But all I managed to do was spit out more gum.

I'm not sure what it all means but at least it wasn't as bad as that ice cream truck dream.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

As Promised..........

Yes, I threw that shirt Joe is wearing in the trash just as soon as he took it off.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Why My House Will Be Getting Egged

When we were kids, we would hang out well after curfew talking, running, just being kids. But we did manage to keep the volume down, if only because our parents would have taped our mouths shut if we got out of line.

Which may partially explain why I've become the Old Bitch Woman Down The Street.

It's Friday night and the kids are asleep. Joe has to work in the morning so he went to bed a few hours ago. I'm sitting in my living room watching a movie and trying to ignore the screaming teenagers hanging out in the street in front of my house.
It's only 10:30.
I see my neighbor come out and know that she's asking them to keep it down.
I turn the volume on the tv up just a little bit more.
They continue screaming.
It's 11:00 and I'm contemplating whether or not it's worth it to go out and tell them to shut up.
That's when one of them decides it would be fun to run down our street yelling 'fuck' at full volume.

Fuck indeed. How about 'fuck this, now I'm pissed'?

I went outside but held my temper in check.

"Hey guys, it's 11. Can you please stop screaming?"

That's when one of those asshats lost their mind and came back with "My curfew isn't until 1."

Time-out for a moment before I tell you about the bloodshed that followed that idiotic statement.

1) He was (clearly) underage. Not for a minute do I believe that the curfew here for minors is 1 am. Maybe his parents don't care how late he is out, but the cops do.

2) He was not a neighborhood kid. In fact, only one kid out of the 14 that were outside actually lived here and she belonged to the people who think it's ok for their 15 year old daughter to dress like a hooker (half shirt with thin straps, mini-skirt, make-up by Tammy Fay?) so clearly, they weren't going to care that their daughter and her friends were annoying the piss out of their neighbors.

3) That poor fool apparently doesn't understand that when you mess with a tired hormonal pregnant woman you will lose a limb. Possibly one that you really need.

On to the bloodshed.... (ok, not literally but given the fact that they all left immediately after, rather quickly in fact, I think I may have scared them a little).

"I don't give a shit when your curfew is you half-wit! It's 11 at night, my kids are sleeping and if I have to hear another one of you little assholes yelling in front of my house we're going to have a problem! Now, your choice is to shut the hell up or shut the hell up. Which is going to be?"

"yes, ma'am. Sorry."

Yes, that's kind of what I thought.

Doesn't sound to bad, except I have a very loud voice and I spit acid.

Joe asked me why I didn't just call the cops.

I'm scarier.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Hot- and not the good kind.

I can no longer trust my own ability to judge temperature. This is especially bad for David since I'm the one who gets him dressed every morning. Lately, he is just as likely to end up in sweatpants and his winter coat on a warm day as he is shorts and a t-shirt when it's cold and wet.
Usually, it's the cold I can't feel.
I sleep with the window open, and if I can get away with it the fan is on, even though it's 40 degrees out at night. If I don't, I wake up several times a night in a sweat after dreaming that I'm being suffocated by mutant moles (those things just freak me the hell out).
It's not that I didn't expect this, I knew it was coming. When I had Bre (in November in PA where it actually gets cold) I was running my air conditioning all. the. time. So what if it was snowing? All the better actually because then I could go sit in the snow and cool down.
No, the problem isn't me.
The problem is my husband.
Because despite having been through this before, despite clearly remembering all the nights he slept in the guest room because our room was too cold for his poor delicate skin (freakin' wear pajamas and sleep under the covers then!), he just didn't think we'd have to go through this again.
Because I'm pregnant in the summer and therefore it cancels out that whole over-heated thing?
I had the air conditioning on for about 30 minutes just to cool down while I was making dinner.
He chose this moment to tell me that he had turned the heat back on.
I threatened to run naked down on our street.
I think I got my point across because the heat is now off.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

He Just Doesn't Understand.

"My new maternity clothes came today and I think I'm in love."

"Delivery guy that cute?"

"I've never had a more comfortable pair of pants. My ass is completely covered no matter how much I dance and they feel so good!"

"They look like sweat pants."

"No they don't. They're yoga pants. I'm never taking them off."

"Well, eventually you're going to have that baby and they'll have to come off."

"Nope. Never. In fact, if you ever want to have sex again, you're going to have to find a way to get around these pants. My ass is permanently encased in these pants."

"Our neighbors can only hope."

"In Pants. Cannot hear you. Lalalala......"