Home is Where the Cooties Are...

This morning began like any other. Alarm went off at 5:20 and I hit the snooze for ten more minutes of much needed sleep, which I didn't get because I lay there thinking of all the things I really need to accomplish today. I get up at 5:30 and hit the shower, get dressed, gather the kids' crap, and it's time to wake Elena.

Well, shit. This can't be good. She looks and sounds like The Swamp Thing and...yep, is running a fucking fever too.

AWWEEHHAASOME!!!

So here we are; me, Elena, Ian and my youngest charge Sidney. All trapped in this petri dish of allergy inspired viral colds.

Elena has been banned to her room, a veritable kingdom of electronics with her t.v. and DVD player and Nintendo DS. I bring her food and meds on schedule and she's allowed out only to visit the latrine. I'm a mean mommy, or so I've been told, because I'm making her rest.

Whatever.

Honestly, she's getting on my damn nerves and I might have to duct tape her to her bed if she gets up again. I might even hook her up to the shop vac if she doesn't learn to blow her damn nose. I mean, really, what 7 year old girl can't effectively blow her own nose? I can't help it, the sound of *sniffing* gets on my nerves.

In fact, I think duct tape is in order for all the ankle biters today. I need a nap. And a xanax. And a glass of wine.

And there I go thinking about shit I can't have in the middle of the work day again. Crap.

Maybe I'll just go use the duct tape to seal my ears from the sounds of Max & Ruby before my entire brain bleeds out.

Canines, Calorie Counting & Cerebral Constipation

I have a wicked case of writer's block, so I apologize in advance for whatever comes out today. (No, this is not me. I am not this cute and my house is not this clean.) This post will also be full of as many pics as I can possible put in order to satisfy my idea of substance since I'm pretty much fucking useless right now.

I was going to write this weekend, but the weekend SUCKED, so I didn't. I was going to write last night, but in spite of the fact that yesterday was exponentially better than the weekend, I couldn't even find the motivation to help my first grader with her homework (yeah, I know, mother of the fucking year), so again, whatever.
*Random sidebar-her homework isn't due until Friday, so don't be so friggin' judgemental.


So let's just bullet point the events of the last few days, shall we?

~Saturday began beautifully; sunshine, clear skies, and the kids dropped off at their dad's house for their weekend visit. Saint Jason and I ran errands and then chilled at the house for the afternoon before heading to our favorite Irish pub (Culhane's in Jacksonville Beach) for a plate of bangers & mash (my personal reward to myself for shedding 6 lbs and an inch from the waist and hips the past month) and a pint of Guinness. All was right with the world. Happiness looks like this empty pint glass.


~S.J. (short for Saint Jason, work with me people) goes to let the dogs in for the night when we return and comes in one dog short. Pixie is gone. Slipped out of her collar, jumped the fence and GONE. What the fuck?! We grab flashlights and head outside to search, talk to neighbors and find out that she was last seen about 6pm (while we were out running errands) in the company of three young men who fashioned a leash out of their belts and were making their merry way home with our dog. We return home (me crying like a damned idiot) and Jason designs fliers for us to post the next morning.

~Sunday morning S.J. & I go out (before I've had any fucking coffee, so you know I love this damn dog) and put up 30 fliers all over the damn place that have her picture and offer a reward and talk to another guy who says he might know the kids we're looking for, but can't be sure. We go home and wait.

~I get called in to work. SHIT! S.J. comes with me because I'm in no condition to drive thanks to the lack of sleep and coffee and because we just want to be together (Shut up!). He gets a call after about an hour from someone who says they have our dog. HOORAY! S.J. leaves me at work, goes to meet the guy and calls me about 30 minutes later.

The first thing I hear is, "G%dd@mn, motherf#@king ...bleep, bleep, bleep!"

(Oh boy.) Long story short-it was a prank. Asshole.

~Sunday night, I get a text from the second baby daddy letting me know about a small little incident that occurred with my little man, Ian. He bit it on the concrete sidewalk while trying to run in his flip-flops. Dude. WTF? This weekend can end anytime now. This is what it looks like.

That shadow on his forehead, is not a shadow--it's a scuff. He cleaned the concrete with his face. Thank God, he didn't knock his teeth out.

~Monday went by without word of the dog or further incident, and I braced myself to pick up Elena and Ian after work and to tell them about Pixie being gone. I got to my ex-MIL's house (who is still one of my really good friends--just another cool & twisted part of my life), sat them down and gave them the news. There were tears...lots and lots of damn tears. Damn the people who will not give back our dog!!!

Wait! What is that text from Saint Jason waiting for us when we get back in the van?

It's a picture of Pixie!!!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there are still decent people in the world. There are still kind-hearted, selfless folk who believe in their God-given responsibility to keep pets with their loving families no matter what...all for the measly cost of a $100 reward. As far as I'm concerned, it was well worth the cash. It was a good Monday night in our house.

So, again, I apologize for the drivel and the lack of real wit today. I'm going to go eat something not on my 1350 calorie diet now so that I have something truly gratuitous to write about later.

Until next time,

~b

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!!!