Raisin' Hell in Home Depot

courtesy of yours truly

I almost killed a kid in Home Depot yesterday. On purpose. There to select my wood (HA!) for the FUH-looores-UH ( I swear, you guys have the dirtiest minds.....) that we are putting in, Freddy and Dora were doing the normal kid thing that you do when you a KID in Home Depot. You know. Pretend that you live in each of the “imaginary kitchens that my kitchen will never look like because I have living, breathing, messy, dirty people in my house” displays set up for your viewing pleasure. I believe they became separated around my personal fav, the rustic Italian model. As I attempted to corral them back to Leo and myself, Freddy peeks around the corner of a stainless steel side by side fridge. It was lovely and I was just about to compliment his fabulous taste when I caught the look in his eye of a boy disturbed. Lower lip poked out, mute, eyes cast downward, he points to his crotch. It seems that my boy couldn’t make his way out of pretend kitchen land to find me, or the loo, in time. He was embarrassed and none too happy about wearing wet shorts for any period of time. I immediately kick it into “save my baby’s pride” mode, notify Leonidas that I am exiting hardwoods, and make my way to the john. Of course Dora will not allow any of this hot action to take place without her, so she comes with. As we are walking all mushed up together(because you know that people don’t see pee pee if you’re stuck to your mother) through carpets, halfway there, we are passed by two greasy faced pre-teen little shits who seem to be lost without a tube of Oxy in one hand and a video game controller supported by a bag of Doritos in the other. I hear one of the little shits say the following:

Little Shit: YO! LOOK! THAT LITTLE KID DONE PISSED ALL OVER HISSELF!! HAHAHAHAHAHAH! (The little voice reading this in your head should be really teen mean and maniacal.)

I know I could’ve kept quiet, and maybe, had he just thought it, maybe had he not said it loud enough for my little man and everyone browsing Berber to hear, I might have. But he didn’t and I have a nasty temper.

Me, Mommy the Big Ass Bitch: You should really shut your mouth or turn your volume down.

Little Shit: Who you talkin’ to, lady?

Me, MBAB: I am speaking to you. If you don’t feel the need to use manners and common sense in public, especially when you’re teasing children 5 and under, you should really make sure that their mothers are normal.

Little Shit: Yo lady. Don’t get no attitude with me. (Please note that he is saying this to his friends earlobe, not DIRECTLY to me.)

Me, MBAB: I don’t have an attitude. I am simply making sure my children know that it’s okay to not be afraid of or intimidated by little punks (I know, I know...I should’ve used a nicer word. I explained the concept of anger and losing control of one’s mouth after it was all over) like you and that sometimes they will need to help others locate their decorum. You DO understand decorum, don’t you?

Little Shit: Whatever. That is my FAVORITE non-comeback. This means that you have no idea what to say next. I have used it myself on occasion. Yesterday.

It was at this point that Freddy asked me what the kid said, probably knowing that it was about him and his pee pee pants. I told him that they were jealous that they couldn’t twirl and tap dance like Dora. Yep, I lied. I don’t feel bad about it, just in case you were wondering. I am positive that life, at some point, will inject their beautiful carefree existence with all the crap humans must deal with. By the way, Dora was THRILLED that they found her twirls to be envy-inducing.

THE GARDEN REPORT

The sexperiment continues. We were tired last night after a day spent with the in-laws. Last night WOULD have been the night, under normal conditions, when we would’ve pecked each other on the cheek, snuggled for a minute, then rolled around (NOT stuck together) until our bodies found the comfy spot on our respective sides of the bed. But it happens that I am a persistent little cuss, and forced him to participate. In the end, it was quite um....how would you say, cardio-friendly?! I’ll go with that. Cardio-friendly. Good, good times. It has been a WEEK already, as of today. Time seems to fly when you’re.....nevermind.

Late Night GARDENING

 ( The all caps is for you, bro. That’s me yelling so’s you know for sure that yes, I’m still doin’ it.)

Important note to in regards to gardening: In order to enjoy gardening as I should, it may be necessary to adjust hours of planting to ensure willing (and awake) partner.

 I had girl time last night with my lovely friend “Reba”(secret government name of course, the mother of Baby Reba... you followin’ me?) and had all intentions of being back in the den of love by 9-ish. Dora was staying with gramma (she finally picked up the phone after the 57th call) and Freddy is easily handled solo. Should be golden for continuation of sexperiment, wouldn’t cha think? I did. It seems I did NOT take into account the fact that it seems I have missed the sometimes adult, sometimes mature conversation that has taken a backseat to the needs of various spawn since school dismissed and separated Reba and me. Leonidas laughed when I told him I would be back at 9, obviously knowing me better than I know myself. What’s new? After the conversation and impossibly loud laughter (a.k.a. snorting) that come hand in hand with a two glass of wine dinner, I was shocked to see that it was 9:20 and I was still drinking coffee and licking the inside of my teeny tiny mini strawberry cheesecake in a shot glass dessert. In other words, I wasn’t home by 9. Another “you’re right again” point for  Leo. I have to stop here to give a shout out to our server Jessica that was rockin’ the bar at  P.F. Chang’s last night, gifting both Reba and myself  with a set of dessert shot glasses disguised as leftovers in a bag. Holla Jess! Was that wrong of her? I don’t care.

I returned home to find Leo had gone to bed, though he was still conscious. Not a bad place to start, though I think he would’ve rather had cold Mongolian Beef in a box rather than a round of gardening.I had been running late late late for my important date and the fam had to fend for themselves for dinner, but nonetheless, he welcomed me with open....um....er....arms? What a trooper.

We’re both still smiling at each other, and in our house that falls under the positive category. I DID however, skip the torture chamber gym this morning, simply because my ass (accompanied by various other parts)  is tired. I hope to rest up, yeah whatever, today and begin killing myself softly (with NO songs...did you get that?) in the stinky, sweaty, smelly, nasty, hot, I hate it gym tomorrow. But I’m not bitter....

Kid Funnies

My week has been full of crap. I stepped in cat s@#t this morning, while I still had only 1/2 an eye open. There is nothing more vomit inducing for me than the squish of something between my toes. Heck, it could be chocolate and money, but if it squishes, between my toes, NASTY. Hopefully that didn't dictate the tone of my day. I'm thinkin' all positive right now to try to coax the universe to come back over on my side. I'll keep you posted. For today, a couple of funnies from my chilluns:

Dora: "Mommy! Look at dat funny lady. Da one with the yellow hair on her big head! Over DERE! Her car doesn't have a lid on it!!!! How does she close it?” Insert mommy guffaw here. It was a convertible in case you didn’t get it., and she DID have a big head.

While playing the rhyming game, Dora introduces the word deep. “Deep, sleep, meep, leap, fleep, beep, steep, peep....peep...peep....Hey mommy! You’re my peep!” Whaa....”Why, what does that mean, darling Dora?” (I’m thinkin’ my little bird has gone all hip on me.) “It means dat you’re a marshmellowwwy pink rabbit wid weally long ears and a giant head that I’m gonna bite off during the next Easter time!! I’ll put you in my basket! Heeeheeeheee! I make me laugh, mommy peep!” Note: She is wicked. I do NOT have a big head, and I will be steering clear of the Easter basket of death. (Re: Rabbit in my Kitchen, in case you missed the bunny saga!)

The last part of today’s rant is a “WHAT WHAT!” I would like to shout out to my hubby Leonidas. Dude, you’re a fantastic daddy (with other amazing attributes, wink wink). The things you let these kids do to you.....

Worth every second.....

Lost My Little Girl

I Need a Drink

Ok. So before we panic, I found her. This should be painfully obvious, because had I not, you would be seeing this particular fat chick I know (me, dummy) on the evening news right about now, ripping out my hair and pulling a vocal cord left and right. My 5 year old son, who, from this point on, and due to his secret government job, will be known as "Freddy", has soccer practice every Friday around 6. I say "around" simply because parents of 5 year olds are incapable of being on time, in a designated place, at the same time. Freddy plays for a church team, at a church we do not attend. In this particular league, all kids get game time, and learn the importance of teamwork. They also give them a little "God-lesson" which I'm hoping will counteract all the damage my liberal ass does during the week. At the practice field, there is a slide/play area for the children who regularly attend this church, and those (like mine) whose parents are attempting to squash their own guilt by involving their babies in church-centered activities. Even better, this "slide" is shaped like Noah's Ark. I don't know if this is intentional. I had assumed, since I am so good at it, that it was on purpose. I mean, it IS a church. Even better than that, on top of said play area, are two swingy bars that seem to be hanging from what looks like a cross. I am not being blasphemous. I do fear God, as I was raised Pentecostal, South Carolina-style, meaning I don't really have a choice in the matter. Before you all freak, I haven't been to a camp meeting on purpose in close to 15 years. So, to look up during soccer practice, and see my baby swinging from the cross had already put me in a state of something close to panic. I was watching Freddy practice and "Dora" (her nom de jour), play on the boat of the Lord at the same time. This is not an easy task, except that I am gifted with what my husband refers to as "lizard eyes", enabling me to see things that normal people cannot. When Freddy takes one to the head, I busy myself with coddling for a moment, looking away from the ark. Damn it. It was the end of practice, which calls for a round of parents vs. children, or what I like to call, "fat, lazy moms and dads making themselves feel better by cheating in a game of soccer against 5-year-olds." Great fun. I ask Freddy to fetch Dora from the ark, so that she could piggyback during this romp. He promptly returns and informs me that she is no where to be found. Being an unaccomplished hide-n-seek player, who promptly gives out her whereabouts if you ask, I knew she wasn't doing this on purpose. Suddenly, in my demented, twisted, watch too much "The First 48" brain, I envisioned all of the things that had just happened to her in the last 30 seconds while I wasn't looking. I charge, drill-sergeant style, up to the ark, screaming "Dora!" "Dora!" Freddy is trailing behind me. Every male I see is one step away from pulling out his privates and molesting children in front of all of North Carolina (this is no laughing matter, I'm just trying to explain the panic that has turned these soccer dads, in my mind, into the next dude with a "Sick Sex Offender" sign in his front yard). I begin to walk toward the bathrooms, when I hear, "Mommy! Mommy! I went pee pee! I pee peed in the paaahhhhtttyyy!!!" Yeah for Dora!" After puking in my mouth, I grabbed Dora, squeezed her until she pulled my nose to make me stop, and told her three things: 1. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER go anywhere without mommy knowing where you are. 2. Mommy isn't angry with her, just scared because I would shrivel and die without her in my face on a minute by minute basis. 3. Way to go, girl! You pee peed in the paaahhhhhtttty!!!!

Rabbit Parts

So there was so much wind and stormy stuff outside last night, that I totally expected to find dead rabbit parts hanging from my trees this morning. Seriously.

Let me set this up for you. I had enjoyed two glasses of wine, and was comfortably passing out on my fluffy couch watching “Top Chef”, because I can’t cook. It was the best of times. So you can imagine my horror when hell came knocking via some big ass thunder and lightening! I am, admittedly, a chickenshit when it comes to storms. I have no control over them, and they have all control over me. That makes me very uncomfortable. I mean, seriously, what do you do when the sky comes at you with ice bullets and flying cows at speeds of 3,000 mph!? Hide in a COAT CLOSET?!?! It holds coats. Coats. They don’t really “do” basements in this part of North Carolina, which is a topic for another time, so if you live here, you are left to sit, glassy-eyed, staring at the meteorologist who is now wetting herself because she finally got the call at 12am that it is “her turn” to tell us all in “living room land” that the end is near. I bet that station has a basement…..

In proper form, I poured another glass of wine, listened as my husband sucked his nose cartilage up into his head (as he had fallen asleep long ago), and waited for little Miss Sunshine to tell me it was time to grab my sleeping children, throw them like sacks of potatoes over my drunk ass shoulder, and hide in the coat closet.

Thankfully that moment never arrived. When I came to, a.k.a., woke up, I was relieved to note all walls were standing, and there were no airplanes lodged in my ceiling. My husband and children woke up soon after. I found it almost amusing when my angelic three-year-old walked over to the window, peeked out to find the sunshine, then turned her sweet little head to me stating, “Mommy, it wained! It wained! That was weally quiet wain. Yeah for the flowwahs!”

Took the words right outta my mouth, little bird. Yeah for the flowwahs!