The Best Freakin' Day Ever!

Ok, so maybe, not exactly.

I mean, really, the best day ever would be me sitting on the veranda of my beach side home, watching the surf as I soak my feet in a tub o' the cash I just won in the Powerball drawing. It might also mean that I have a Pinot I.V. hooked up and that I'm typing on the new fold out Funbags Laptop I just had installed in my chest cavity and am thoroughly enjoying the fact that my big girls have a fresh purpose in life. However, since I'm not likely to win Powerball, buy a beach house, have a money-pedi or Tony Stark experience anytime soon, we'll work with what we've got. 'Cause that's what DSm's do...we take the shit we have and make it WORK.

Yesterday really was a fantastic day & you are partially responsible for that, my dear reader. By the time I retired my quick-as-lightning fingers last night and stepped away from the laptop & crackberry...my reading population had damn near quadrupled.

WHAT THE DEUCE?!

So thank you, thank you , thank you. Even if you don't ever actually read this blog, at least I now have the illusion that you are and that's good enough for me. I live in a world of illusions (or delusions according to some) anyway, so it's all good in da hood. Besides, I'd rather have 25 really awesome "pretend" followers than 1,000 fans. Seriously, have you noticed that some of the biggest fucking lunatics on the planet had a massive fan base: i.e. Hitler, Michael Jackson, Glenn Beck. Single Dad Laughing.

Let's just not and say we did. Ok? Good.

The day was fabulous between yesterday's post and the wine-induced sleep as well. My daughter won a prestigious award at school yesterday for her 1st grade contribution to the witches wall. She colored & cut out the best witch in her class and won sidewalk chalk. Hell yeah! That's my girl...the very witchiest! Just like momma.

Then there was the tearjerker. My littlest man, has been battling through articulation disorder for over a year now and after months of speech therapy, has made a huge breakthrough. We were working on his therapy homework & flash cards last night and he ROCKED IT!! I'm talking to the point, where Saint Jason & I were in tears. So proud.

"Banana. Pencils. Airplane. Indiana Jones. Turtle" All clear as a damn bell, and we high-fived and cried and hugged and it was a big fat love fest that ended with him running out of his room at bedtime to say "You da bes Mommy." (heart bursting)

All of the above sent me to bed with the following stuck in my head (you can thank my kids for this shit):


Now if we can just get him to say his name clearly. "Eenan Cortes" when in reality, his name is Ian Cortes, but that's a doozy for him. Perhaps I should've named him Chewbacca, because he's got that one covered too.

I leave you with two things.

1. I was asked, the other day, why I use so much profanity in my blog (and FB page, and FB DSMWLSG page and most of my speech). I could tell you that I cuss alot because I didn't cuss at all, not one single time for about 10 years, and that I'm just catching up on lost time but that's not the case; or that I'm an ignorant woman who's too lazy to find better words for what I'm trying to say, but that's not true either, because while my grammar may lack a bit, I'm no idiot. That much, I know.
So we'll just go with this excuse:
I cuss alot because I'm hoping that my trial husband (#1) will smell the stench of the sulphur rising from my blog 999 miles away. (If you don't get the sulphur reference, you haven't read enough about hell or watched enough movies about possession.)

2. I found out yesterday that I can open a store through CafePress for free, which is fucking awesome, because nannies who have 4 kids of their own are not rich bitches y'all. (And please don't make fun of me for not knowing about the free store, because I'm new to this blogosphere & if you'd all shown up a little sooner, I might be smarter. So there.) Anyway, I've had a few inquiries as to where one could acquire an I "heart" Jesus & Bacon t-shirt or bumper sticker...so I'm working on it. Hopefully, since I won't have the kids this weekend (thank God for their father's visitation rights) I'll be able to put some actual effort into getting the designs transferred and posted.

Sorry, y'all...that was a shit ton of blog post. I'll be shorter next time & probably not as happy.

Until next time,

B~

Shut Your Pie Hole! (And other appropriate ways to say "I love you".)

(photo from Perpetually Peeved)

I'm in the middle of trying to convince Saint Jason to start his own blog. He's a pretty fart smeller and, no doubt, has a shit ton of fabulous things to say about yours truly. However, like most men, he must be stroked and fondled into doing what it is asked of him. All my male readers (yep...now have some, hooray!) know exactly what I'm talking about. A little "cup & tickle" will get a girl a very long way in getting what she wants. What I now realize, that I didn't know when I was 20 (or 25) is that you know it! You are just as manipulative as we are and you do this shit on purpose. Well, I'm on to you Saint Jason!

I even have a few suggestions for possible blog titles: here you are babe. You can thank me later.

Saint Jason: Chronicles of A Step dad in Training
(You could make a whole word play thing off the C.A.S.T. Awesome, right?!)

Black Belts & Blue Balls--Karate, A Dysfunctional Girlfriend, Step fatherhood & Other Shit
(This is my favorite so far due to the obvious.)

Shut Your Pie Hole & Other Appropriate Ways to Say "I Love You"
aka: A guide to living with a dysfunctional supermom & her four much more functional kids who just happen to have two different baby daddies.
(Ok, so this one is by far the longest, but probably the most accurate to your life right now. Another excellent front runner.)

Of course, he could decide not to write about me or the kids at all; but that would be bullshit and would lead back to the whole black belts & blue balls theme and he'd end up doing it anyway, so it's circular logic. Hahaa!

Seriously, though, if Saint Jason doesn't begin writing soon, I may have to split personalities again and create a male alter ego that does the writing for him. You think this blog is bad? You ain't seen nothin' yet!

Jiffy Pop, Bird Nectar, Crackberries & Other Random Adventures

I love Facebook. A lot. Like...a lot, a lot...and for many different reasons; but mostly because I find a treasure trove of comments from friends like the following:

"Chloroform is a highly under-utilized parenting tool." (S.P.F. I heart you!)

It's like having your dope dealer give you free samples just to keep you coming back. Well, FB dealers, it's working. It's also a great place to share the daily disasters that are my life (i.e. the fact that my youngest son just tried to “plug in” a pair of headphones to his uncircumcised aardvark…I mean, “why the hell not?!”).

As to the point of this post, we had a rather entertaining weekend. I had to work Saturday morning, but Saint Jason made up for it by doing all the laundry and making sure I was completely at ease all afternoon & heartily medicated with my fave vino. We took the kids to a favorite dive for dinner and I broke my diet. “Fuck. It.” (I will be back on the wagon tomorrow, but whatever.)

The kids & Saint Jason went to Blockbuster (without me, because the cheeseburger & peanut butter cup milkshake I inhaled decided to wage a mini war on my intestines—HOORAY!) and refreshed our movies for family movie night.

All was well until…the popcorn.

We’re picky about our popcorn in this house. We prefer Jiffy Pop. Yes, it takes longer to make. Yes, it also requires elbow grease, but it is more fun & tastes better. At least, when I make it.

But Saint Jason was again feeling all “sainty” and decided he would make it. I could see his head from my spot on the living room and hear the shuffling of the Jiffy; but I couldn’t see what was actually occurring. About the time we should hear “All done, go grab your bowls you little grubbers,” we hear instead… “Shit! It’s busted out all over the place!”

“Uh. WTF?!” say I, because this has NEVER happened to me. And I, of course, get off my butt to go investigate. This is what I find.


And I start to laugh. And then laugh some more. And the kids come in and they are PISSED! Saint Jason f’ed up the Jiffy Pop! And I’m still laughing.

I, of course, have to grab my phone to take pics (which he spends the next 2 hours trying to steal from me, after he Googles “Jiffy Pop failures” for 30 minutes—which of course he can’t find any entries for—but he can find 101 YouTube instructional videos on how to make Jiffy Pop…which, of course, point out infinitum the error he made.)

(I should note here that, twice this week, he completely disassembled & reassembled our xBox360 for cleaning & repair. And that he practically rewired the electrical in our entire house & has rebuilt rooms & changed out the brakes in my car & other really handy shit…because he’s SAINT JASON!)

One of the other really awesome things he does is help the kids conquer fears large and small; like feeding the lorikeets at the zoo. My daughter is not so big on nature. She says she is, but only until nature actually gets close to her, then all bets are off. Not today, however; today, we were all about dodging the bird shit to get a chance to feed those pretty birds.
With the help of little cups of nectar, we were able to get those little rainbow bombers very close and feed them & Elena even got up the nerve to pet them and almost hold one. Until it bit her: she’s now back to her “fuck nature” mentality. Can’t say I blame her.

It was all in all a good weekend. We rounded it off with completing school projects, a homemade Harry Potter Puppet Pals show (complete with Ziploc sandwich bag puppets, because I suck at being a crafty mom); and now, I’m sitting here sharing it all with you, glass of wine in hand. (It's true. I can type 60 wpm one-handed, because I'm freakin' awesome like that.)

You can check out the rest of the pictures and the video of the puppet show here. I’m going to enjoy watching the “Saint-Son” bonding of Jason and Ian now: he’s teaching Ian the following phrase—“Time to lay the smack down on your sorry butt.”

Could be worse…he could be getting his phrases from his mother.

Until next time,
B~

p.s. I’m getting a new phone tomorrow. Going back to the Crackberry & I’m totally stoked!!!