Mid-Afternoon Massacre

It's Friday. It's hot. I ran my errands this morning, so by the time I got home, I was ready for a shower. The kids were entertaining themselves, husband wasn't home yet, so it was the perfect time to take a little extra time and do some, ahem, grooming.

Now, I don't think I'm overly hirsute, but I do stay home with 3 kids and there are times when the lady bits (I don't live in Michigan, but I do live in an M state, so I don't want to get in trouble from those stupid guys who can't handle actual anatomy) take a back seat. The pits and lower legs get attacked with stainless steel on a regular basis, but the upper leg and higher? I'm a busy woman. Professional waxing is expensive and you have to make appointments. So, I decided on the DIY method.

Can you see where this is going? No? Good. Keep reading.

I started with the cream hair remover. Smoothed it on and started my (mental) timer. I was feeling confident, so I thought, "What the hell? Might as well go for the gold and do the bikini wax!"

Now, when you go to the salon for a bikini wax, you keep your underwear on and the waxer just moves things around for you. Seems reasonable. So, I warmed up my (king-sized) wax strips in my hot little hands and slapped em on my very upper thigh/crease region. Took a few deep breaths and ripped that sucker right off my body. Swore like a sailor and went for the second strip. More cursing. And now I have these beautiful bright red strips of skin at the very top of my leg. I'm a freaking professional!

Until I realize I still have wax sticking to me. No problem. The wax kit has these handy dandy little wipes which clean the mess right up.

OR...the wipes stick to the wax...and my fingers. The more I wipe, the more the wax spreads over my upper leg region.

Hmm, what to do, what to do?

In the meantime, my legs are starting to tingle (aka burn slightly) because my mental timer has gone off and is rapidly approaching meltdown mode.

Well, I need to take a shower, so I shed the underwear. Well, I attempt to shed the underwear, but there's wax on me AND the underwear, so as I pull them down, the wax spreads. To places I do not want wax to be. I now have to YANK the underwear down, and in the process they become covered in the cream that is singeing my legs. That pair is a lost cause.

So, now I'm extra sticky, with wax in places I had no intention of waxing. Water should help, right? It'll just rinse the pesky wax right off.

Oh, no it won't. Neither will soap.

Started to get a little anxious, so I slapped on some of the cream hair remover. No dice...except for a few more burn bites to some rather sensitive skin.

Never fear, I have an electric razor. I'll just have to trim a little closer than usual. The razor is not in reach, of course, so I have to hop out of the shower and rummage through my drawer. No luck. That's right. It's in my overnight bag. Upstairs. I'll be damned if I'm going to ruin a towel with wax and the kids are a lost cause when it comes to actually locating necessary items (ie. their own shoes on their own feet). So, standard razor it is. Which, of course, requires sight, so I must stand, dripping wet and shivering, over the sink so I can put in my contacts.

Back in the shower. Razor in hand. Not the sharpest razor. There is tugging involved. And there's still friggin' wax...friggin' everywhere.

I toss one razor head when it can stand no more. Back out of the shower to look for more razor heads. Thumping noises are coming from outside the bathroom, because by this point I've been in the shower at least 20 minutes. My razor has no more razor heads. Locate another razor in the shower. Also dull. Grit my teeth and hack through wax tangled hairs that should NEVER be hacked. Locate 2 new razor heads. Breathe a sigh of relief. Realize the new heads do not fit on either razor located in the shower. Thumping outside the bathroom door grows louder. Lady bits are very angry at me and hot water is officially out.

Just call me Patches.

Inherent Truths

I sort of got this idea from a friend of mine...temorgan.blogspot.com. The idea of Truth is an interesting one...for him, it's what he's named his penis. I don't have a penis, so I can't name mine, and I'm not calling my vagina a liar, but I haven't named that either.

Anywho...

As I've gotten older, gotten married, become a mom and all that jazz, I've become familiar with some of my Truths.  Here are some, in no particular order:

1. I am a horrible housekeeper. I never had any intention of being a housekeeper, so I suppose it's ultimately ok that I suck at it. I do what you might call "good enough cleaning". Which essentially means if I get done sweeping and mopping the floors and I come across a rogue Cheerio, that bitch is getting kicked right under the couch. Where it will then stay for at least 3 weeks.

2. I am not a morning person. Not even a little bit. My husband is a morning person. And my children wake up in the morning and although they are tiny people, I'm certain in a past life they were both elephants and ring masters, the way they run around the house and shout. The house literally shakes. I have come to accept the Truth about not being a morning person...essentially...tough shit. Oh, and there will be payback when the little people turn into teenagers. Mwahaha.

3. I need caffeine. I think that's pretty self-explanatory.

4. I am one of those moms at the playground reading her Kindle. Yes, that may offend you hugely. But I don't care. The playground is made for the children, not for me. I don't need to be crawling around or hanging from monkey bars. I did that when I was a kid. I know my kids voices, I look up from my Kindle every 45 seconds or so and I never go to a crowded playground. If someone gets hurt, I get up and check out the situation. Usually all it requires is a kiss. It's good enough for me. If you want to play on the equipment, more power to you. I won't judge you. But I will still be reading my Kindle.

5. I almost constantly feel guilty that my husband is out working his body into the ground, while I stay home "just watching the kids". I don't believe I'm actually "just" watching the kids, but I've still got the guilt thing going. I blame it on a Catholic upbringing, but it probably applies to pretty much any religion.

6. Some days, I really am Super Woman. There are days I run errands, get to the kids to and from school, make all the meals for the day from scratch, get the house cleaned, do 5 loads of laundry and still have time to write my blog.

7. Some days, I totally suck. There are days when I am crabby as hell, the kids make me nuts, the dog eats the air conditioner, I have no clean clothes, the kids refuse to wear pants, my husband gets moldy bread on his sandwich and I need a glass of wine by 10:30 a.m. I'm not saying I actually drink the wine at 10:30 a.m., but I may start it chilling at 9 a.m.

8. I need quiet, I get burnt out and there's a 99% chance I will wait until I am a raging crazy person before I realize, "Hey, it's been like 3 months since I took a weekend away from the kids. And I better do it this weekend or some of us will not survive." The husband is always supportive of these weekends...mostly because he realizes the raging crazy person will be the one to survive.

9. I have to read. Every day. And I'm not talking kid books. I'm talking books where people get murdered or there's a few raunchy sex scenes or historical fiction...where people get murdered and there's more than a few raunchy sex scenes.

10. I'm a pretty good mom. And I'm a pretty good wife. I'm not saying I'm perfect...as you can see from my previous Truths. But I try, every day, to be good to my kids and to be good to my husband. Some days, I rock it out of the park. Other days, they encourage me to go to bed early. But on the whole, I'm pretty good at the roles. And I'm pretty proud of that.

And you, dear Reader? Do you have any Truths to impart?

Oh the Things You Can Do

So, yesterday I was in the bathroom. And as I sat there (yes, women actually do use toilets, even if their male counterparts refuse to acknowledge it), I started doing things. No, not things attached to my elimination system. But other kinds of things. Do you have any idea what a woman can do while she's on toilet? I've compiled a small list, just to give you a idea of the things I can do:

1. Sort laundry.

2. Restock the toilet paper.

3. Yell at the kids.

4. Yell at the dogs.

5. Yell at the cats.

6. If there happens to be a pen and paper nearby, I can make one of my many, many lists.

7. Teach the kids how to knock on a door BEFORE entering.

8. Brush my hair.

9. Empty the wastebasket.

10. Try really hard to take a nap. But we don't have one of those cushy toilet seats, so that's a tough one. And if it actually does happen, chances are my legs will fall asleep and then I'll give myself a concussion when I crash into the sink when I try to stand up.

Multi-tasking from the bathroom. Give it a try. See what you can do!

Candy Hearts and Chocolate Kisses

I like Valentine's Day.

Now, just hang on a minute. Don't shoot the messenger. Hear me out and then get all up in arms, if you must.

I like Valentine's Day. I take no issue with those of you who thinks it's purely a consumer holiday meant to cost men lots of money while their women complain about their gifts. Personally, if I knew any of those people, I'd hate Valentine's Day too.

I take no issue with those of you who don't want to spend an arm and a leg on an expensive dinner in a crowded restaurant. I worked in restaurants for years. Valentine's Day dinner out is a complete pain in the ass. It's overpriced, too rich, crowded and loud. Here's an idea...don't do it. Cook something at home. Order a damn pizza. Just relax already!

I take no issue with the dentists who object to the amount of candy consumed today.

I take no issue with the Victoria Secret models who look like THAT in THOSE, when I look like THIS in THESE. Ok, I might take a small issue with the models, but good god, have you seen those women?

I take no issue with the people who believe love is for everyday and if you're only going to show your love on one day a year, then you're probably a douche bag. They're right...you probably are. You should work on that.

Here's why I like Valentine's Day:

1. My kids get really excited about it. They're still young enough that they all give each other Valentine's and are genuinely happy to share their love with the whole class.

2. It gives people an extra chance to show a little extra love. Sure, I show my husband I love him most of the time. But if I can show him, or the kids (or the mailman...I jest!) a little extra love on this particular day, why not take advantage?

3. It's perfectly reasonable to eat candy...and donuts for breakfast. Who's going to argue with me on that one?

4. My husband and I have been together long enough that when we tell each other we're not getting each other gifts for Valentine's, we mean it. Well, I mostly mean it. I usually have to get him at least a piece of candy or something.

5. Not that I need one, but it gives me a reason to make something extravagant, like lasagna, on a Tuesday night. Even when we have swimming lessons the same night. The floors might stay sticky, but dadgummit, there will be lasagna.

If you hate Valentine's Day, hate away. If you love it, enjoy your day. If you love it only for expensive gifts and fancy restaurants, you've got issues, but I probably can't help you with that.

Bad Ass Mama

So, if you actually know me, you know I'm about as far as bad ass as you can get. But deep down, I feel I am a bad ass. And I do certain things, during the day, that definitely qualify as bad ass.

1. Sometimes, I sneak in a nap.

2. Sometimes, when I cook, it's from the frozen food section.

3. All meals do not contain all 4 (or however many there are now) food groups.

4. If we don't have to go anywhere, I don't get dressed. Neither do the kids. That's double bad ass. Gotta start 'em young, right?

5. If I don't want to go to the store, I've been known to call the husband and ask him to pick up a specific something on the way home. It's generally wine...or medication.

6. I don't always wait till 5pm to pour a drink.

7. I've been known to tell the Middle One to put on the Oldest One's underwear, if the Middle One doesn't have any in her drawer.

8. Unless it's summer, there's a good chance my kids aren't getting bathed on a daily basis.

9. I've never joined a Mom's Club or Mommy and Me or any of those kinds of groups.

10. My children have heard me swear...more than once.

That's just a small list of the bad-assness that is me.

And you, dear Reader, how do you show your own bad assness?

Write on Edge

I've been following a new page: Write on Edge

I've been following this page in hopes of getting my lazy (ok, not actually lazy, because I am home with 3 kids, doing some freelance work, there's piles of laundry, everyone insists on eating, blah, blah, blah) ass working on writing on a regular basis.

This is my virgin prompt for Write on Edge. This week, they asked us to write a title and tagline for ourselves, for some moment in time, either now or some time in the past.

Here goes:

The Mommy Monologues

Because I spend a lot of time talking to myself.

What do you think?

Cheers to 2012

Sayonara 2011. You were sort of a crazy year. You watched my kids turn 5, 4 and 1. You watched me turn 35. You watched us lose one dog and gain another. You saw my baby sister get married and buy a house. You saw my oldest start kindergarten. You saw some massive family strife. You saw me take a realistic stab at becoming a writer. You watched me start to earn a little money as a freelance writer. You saw the baby learn to walk and talk. You saw the middle one move up to preschool. You saw my husband work his ass of everyday for us. You saw us love each other (I'm hoping you didn't take pictures) and have the occasional squabble, but mostly you saw us muddle through to the best of our abilities.

I'm not sorry to see you go, 2011. I try not to spend too much time looking backward. It's fun to reminisce sometimes, but if all you do is look back, you're bound to crack your head walking into something.

Are you ready for me 2012? I don't know much about this Mayan calendar thing, but I'm pretty sure the year will make a strong showing. I hope you'll see me becoming healthier, both mentally and physically. I hope you'll watch me mend a relationship or two, to the best of my ability. I know you'll see me spend plenty of time with the kids; I hope that time with be more about quality and less about quantity. You will see me read voraciously. You'll see me try out some new recipes. You'll see me work on my writing with a vigilance and a vengeance I've yet to exhibit. You'll watch me do mundane, stupid things like laundry, scrubbing toilets and emptying litter boxes. You'll watch me walk the kids to school, make lunches and pick them up. You'll see me drive them to swim lessons and feed them many, many, MANY times (in the same day). You'll see me start at least one new business venture, possibly 3.

I don't know where I stand on resolutions. I think they're a great idea, but I hate the idea of having to beat myself up because I said I was going to lose 10 pounds and went to McDonalds for lunch instead. Instead, I think I'll set myself some goals and do what I can with them, when I'm able.

Here goes:

1. I will be gentler with myself. I will not try to be perfect. On the days I'm crabby, I'll try not to take it out on other people, but if I do, I will be sure to apologize.

2. I will be more stringent in my eating and exercise habits. I do not need to be a size 2 and sometimes I will eat naughty foods, but I will try and keep that to a lesser degree and the exercising to a higher degree.

3. I will not worry so much about what people think of me. It's not up to me to change or control peoples' opinions.

4. I will love my family to the best of my ability. And if that means I can't love some of them anymore, so be it.

5. I will focus on my writing. I will keep blogging. I will work on story lines, time lines. I will study. I will make a concerted effort to do at least one writing related project per day.

6. I will concentrate on kicking procrastination's ass.

That seems like a good start for me. I'm sure some will be more important some days than others. And maybe I'll have to add some later in the year.

For you, my Chickens, I wish you a year filled with laughter that makes you wet your pants and possibly shit them too, love that makes you so tongue-tied we can literally see the knot, happiness that is so excessive whenever someone sees you they think, "What the hell's that idiot smiling about?"

And finally, darling Chickens, I wish you the best year of your lives. May your dreams come true, may your burdens be light, may love and happiness surround you and may you sleep soundly at night.

Cheers!

Addiction Makes Me Stabby

At this very moment, my uncle is in ICU. I won't go into too many graphic details, but the man likes his drink and his drugs and has for WAY too long. He's most definitely an addict. I think he knows this, but I don't believe he would ever admit it out loud. Thus my current level of stabbiness.

He went into the hospital Christmas Day. He's currently restrained (literally) to his hospital bed, is on a ventilator and has a feeding tube. He's a big guy and he's a pisser of the highest order. I love the man to death, but he's not a teddy bear by any stretch of the imagination. He went into the hospital with renal failure and is now in the throes of withdrawal. It makes him a mean son of a bitch and this is coming from someone who actually likes the guy. I'm amazed one of the hospital staff hasn't clocked him yet. Because I can assure you, at least one of them wants to. I bet a few of them have left his room feeling a little stabby.

Everyone has their issues. Lord knows I'm not perfect. And I sincerely believe addiction is a disease. And while it's not curable, per se, it is most definitely treatable. And this is the part that makes me stabby - the innate selfishness of the disease. It's ability to completely take over a family, no matter what issues anyone else may have. The fact that it can easily ruin a Christmas dinner or birthday or anniversary or a freaking Tuesday. The fact that you know the person could die, or kill someone else, at the drop of a hat. The fact that you can't let the person hold your baby because s/he might drop the kid. The fact that they smell...horrible. The fact that you have to question your own drinking habits on a habitual basis. The list of facts is endless.

My family has been bludgeoned by the addiction stick. Both sides have raging alcoholics and a plethora of other addictions. Some have been through treatment. Few were successful. And most have died from it. Some family members choose the denial route and make excuses for the addict. Some go to Al-Anon meeting when the addict is in treatment. Some just turn a blind eye and refuse to even admit there's an issue. Others join in the addiction party. Makes for very interesting holiday parties, let me tell you. (One year an uncle bought wine coolers for the kids...I was about 8) And the funerals? Well, those are something else. (Picture, if you will, a procession of nieces and nephews wearing beer t-shirts over funeral garb will walking down the aisle of a Catholic church. No, I'm not kidding even a little bit. And the t-shirts were not new. Shudder.)

I'm far too familiar with addiction. Not through my own choice, but because it's been thrust upon me from all sides. It's unfair, all-encompassing, irritating, humorous at times (because it has to be), obscene, ridiculous and stab-inducing. I've never actually stabbed anyone because of it, but it does tend to put my imagination in overdrive.

The New Year is fast approaching. I don't know if my uncle will have the chance to make any resolutions, or if he would choose to. That is so sad to me. And it makes me so angry.

I realize this post probably makes me sound self-obsessed, judgmental, mean-hearted, cold, unsympathetic. I can assure you I am none of those things, but I am angry and sad and I'm having a hard time getting through the day.

The anger part is easier to deal with though, so I'm going to stay stabby for a while longer.

Ahh, the Holidays

I'm feeling far less muckity today. And I think everyone in my house is breathing a sigh of relief. I know I am. Oh yeah, and my husband's bringing me home some wine shortly.

Holidays are stressful. When I was young, I don't think I ever realized how stressful they can be. I just went where my parents told me and enjoyed the presents along the way. Now that I am the parent...holy hell! Here's an impromptu, albeit brief (I've been cleaning all damn day and I've still got some shopping to do) list of things parents (guardians, etc.) have to do for the holidays.

1. Figure out what the kids wants from Santa this year. And pray for no last minute changes. Because if there are, you're screwed.

2. Pray the kid doesn't want this year's hottest item(s). Because if they do, you'll be paying double...also known as getting screwed.

3. Negotiate the family arrangements. It's the holidays. And while the grandparents could care less about seeing you, the fruit of their loins, you can bet they'll pay in blood to spend time with the fruit of your loins. And if you're families live far away from each other...yep, screwed.

4. Keep the kids from getting too cranky. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That one's Screwed with a capital "S".

5. Keep the spouse from getting cranky. That one's easy...even if you do end up screwed 6 ways from Sunday.

Muckity Muck Muck Muck

Now, take all those "M"s in the title, change them to "F"s and you'll get where my head is today.

Today is actually a better day. Yesterday, I was so uncontrollably crabby I didn't even want to be with myself. When you want to get away from your own self, you're having a bad damn day. I didn't get my post written (hand slap), nor did I do my 1000 words (another hand slap). I was so pissy, I couldn't have written a sentence if you paid me.

Why so cranky? I think there's a bunch of reasons (and none of them are pms, although I wouldn't be at all surprised if that little bitch decided to sneak in early). My Christmas shopping isn't done and I'm feeling uninspired this year. And I LOVE Christmas shopping, so this is totally out of left field for me. Bills are due and yet checks are not arriving. That's always a good way to up the stress level to Code Red. It's almost Christmas vacation for the kids and while I'm excited to have some more time to spend with them, I feel I already have enough gray hair and I'm not really looking to add to the current count. We had stomach flu palooza last week, and although I did lose about 10 lbs, I'm still trying to catch up on laundry from that freak show. There are a couple family issues (I'll save for another post), the ever present "should I go back to work or keep trying for this writing thing" debate. We need a new house. The children eat at least 12 hours a day. Husband works about that long too. The seasonal change is killer in our house, at least for the adults. We get all mopey and not so fun to be around. I think it's mostly just one of those weeks, but it's the end of the week and I've about had it.

So, somebody's either gonna have to come inhabit my body, so I can get a little holiday cheer going (I'm thinking the Lollipop Guild), or I'm going to have to spend the next 4 days watching Rescue Me non-stop (because that's always a feel good kind of show).

Sorry to bum you out. If you're not grinchy this year, more power to you. And if you feel like me, fake it till ya make it, right?