Stumbling Towards Perfect

Let me get right to the point: there is no way I'm going to be able to afford socks if I can't figure out a way to save money on toilet paper. I pulled into the gas station this morning to fill my tank. Gas today was $3.36 a gallon. $3.36 a gallon! Which makes me feel curmudgeonly complaining about it but you should know when I started driving it was something like 16 cents a gallon.  Sixteen cents! Believe it or not, I don't like feeling curmudgeonly even though most people assume I do because of the perpetual crease in my forehead but it's not me glaring at you, I swear - I just can't hear or see very well and I have to focus really hard on what's going on, resulting in the aforementioned Glare Creases. And plus my mind is always wandering so I have to really, really focus on what people are saying which causes the Glare Creases to deepen and make me look really pissed off. But I'm not, I swear. Well, sometimes I actually am really pissed off but the

I quickly ran to town and left the baby in the very capable hands of the Bean. When I left, he looked like this: When I came back, he looked like this: Who says your hairstyle doesn't affect your demeanor? I half expected him to flip me the bird. "How can I control my life when I can't control my hair?" ~ Unknown 

Before I knew Big V existed on this planet he bought a house. This is the house I, along with my two girls, moved in to. After I met him, I mean. It's not like I just picked up my kids and made my way into some stranger's house, I mean, I was invited. Anyway, Big V had been living with his parents and partaking in the whole I'll-live-in-your-basement-and-never-pay-you-rent-while-you-ignore-the-girl-sleeping-in-my-bed way of life when something snapped and he decided to buy a house. He probably figured it would be easier to keep girls in his bed without his mom walking in, so, two weeks later he bought the house. He got a really great deal. Perhaps because of the house fire and the fact the homeowners did most the work themselves so they didn't need a lot of money from the sale to pay off pesky remodel bills. Or, perhaps because the police had incarcerated most of the previous tenants during a SWAT raid. (Less people to have to share the profits with.) Needless to say

I'm almost positive I've told you before that growing up I thought menstrual cramps was a big load of BS meant only to save weak, lazy high school girls from participating in gym class. My monthly torture lasted maybe 24 hours so I just didn't get it. Then God spoke to me saying, "Stop being so judgmental!" And I was all, "oh, puh-LEASE! She just wants attention." Then God spoke further saying, "Just wait until I put you in your place, young lady." Fast forward three kids and twenty years later and ohdeargodinheaven can I actually overdose on Midol? Because I'm thinking that's where this is headed. And guess what? I asked my Mom if she'd write a note excusing me from parenting today and she said no. God wins. ** Sorry to the two male readers I have. Or used to have before they read this post. Come back in a few days and I'll be normal again. I promise. Well, not normal in the average societal definition of the word

Last night I accidently lost brain cells by getting sucked in to a show on MTV called "The Riot on the Bayou: My mother hates my boyfriend." The reality show followed the lives of Mama Tiff and Daddy Cain and their 4 children: Clint (19), Kathleen (18), April (17, and also the narrator of the episode) and Colette (16). They live in the bayou where it's legal to drink alcohol underage as long as you have your Mama's consent which means basically that all these kids were drunk the entire time. Clint aspires to be a bull rider - he stayed up 2 seconds before he busted up his arm. Clint: (several hours later) Why's it all green like that? Mama: That's what happens when bones get broke. (walks out of room to refill beer) Kathleen is pretty and all the guys like her. She used to date Nick but he was mean and treated her like crap and cheated on her so they broke up. Then they got back together after he saw her shaking her groove thang on stage at a local conc

Obviously, you people don't know me because if you did you would know I'm not rich and therefore cannot afford a Dyson vacuum system and will be sweeping up the tumblehairs that amass throughout our house with the old fashioned straw broom I swiped from the janitor's closet at work. Just kidding. I didn't swipe anything from the janitor's closet at work because that would be stealing from the comppany and then I'd be fired and I need the health insurance so you might want to think twice about snagging those post-it notes on your way out. And also they don't even have old, twiggy brooms in there - they only have cool stuff. Trust me on this. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you'll have to pause for a second and read all about how vacuum cleaners hate me then you can come back and I'll tell you about how I posted that particular blog link to my facebook page and everyone was all you've just got to get yourself a Dyson! and now I&

I sweep my carpet. There. I said it. I sweep my carpet and I'm not even freaking Amish! I can totally say that without being offensive because the Amish don't blog so they'll never see this. At least, I don't think they blog. They don't blog, do they? There's nothing wrong if they do blog. In fact, if they did I'd really like to read their blog because I watched a documentary about the Amish recently called Amish at the Alter and I have questions about it so if they did blog and I read it I could probably ask them questions in the comment section like how do you make your noodles? Look, I believe in machines and electricity. I believe in vacuum cleaners. In fact, I strongly believe in the self-propelled vacuum cleaners because then I don't have to exert too much physical energy sucking up the living room rug. But vacuum cleaners do not believe in me . In the past three years we have gone through 4 vacuum cleaners. Hoover. Eureka. Bissel. Some of

My beautiful, brave, intelligent, courageous, friend Lena, has just given birth to her very first child. This morning when I logged on to Facebook I read a post on my wall from her -- typed at some ridiculous hour of the night: my. god. how did you ever sleep? My Dear, Sweet, Silly Lena, Forget about sleep. You will never get it again. At least, not in any regular and discernable pattern. In time, you will find yourself scheduling unnecessary dental procedures for the 20-minute nitrous oxide gas nap and announcing you've got a bad case of irritable bowel syndrome which will provide you exactly twelve minutes of pretend diarrhea time while you actually sleep on the bathroom rug (any longer and someone will come looking for you, blowing your cover), but for now, at this moment, sleep is utterly elusive. Sure, people will tell you to nap when the baby naps, but let's be honest: four days of old sweat, rank body odor and dried breast milk caked on the inside of your

The Bean stepped on a piece of glass at the Sadie Hawkins Dance this past Saturday. It was right at the end of the dance when her feet had been completely blackened by the barefoot dancing she had partaken in. Partook. Whatever. She was dancing barefoot. Her feet were filthy. When it was time to go so she stood up and went "AGGGHHHH! MY FOOT!" and quickly sat back down to examine her foot. One of the chaperone's walked by and said, "It's time to go!" and she said, "oh my god! oh my god! My foot is bleeding! I think I stepped on a piece of glass!" and the chaperone looked at her and yelled, "IT'S TIME TO GO!" so she hobbled out of the dance with a dirty foot dripping blood. At home we washed her foot with warm, soapy water, and then attacked the hell out of it with a tweezers. We must not have done a good job because I got a call from the school Monday morning telling me there was still a piece of glass in it and it's green. I su

We were all huddled around the television, anxiously waiting for the start of the Super Bowl. Actress/singer Lea Michele from the television show Glee came on to sing America the Beautiful . After which, singer Christina Aguilar appeared to sing the national anthem, The Star Spangled Banner - a totally different sounding song than the first one, I might add. Halfway through the national anthem my beautiful, perfectly coiffed, 15-year old daughter turned to me and asked, "Why are they singing the same song again? Is it like an American Idol contest?" Obviously something is lacking in her American History education. It's a shame kids these days don't get the proper schooling. At least that's what I was thinking right up to the point Big V chimed in with, "Wait. So we have two national anthems?" It's a shame those who were kids twenty years ago didn't get the proper schooling.... In an attempt to teach the Bean something (anything) about

Great things come from writing a blog. For instance, people read it and comment and that makes me feel really good because everyone knows I thrive on attention making an impact on someone's life. Also, sometimes people will read my blog and organize an intervention. Which is exactly what happened when my cousin, David, read my blog. First he laughed and then he cried out in fear for me. Funny blog. I laughed. But I'm also worried about you.... especially after reading that you and Big V installed your own washer and dryer. What do you mean? Didn't you read? We got it done! Uh... does your washer actually drain onto the basement floor? Uh, no. It technically drains into this really old, iron laundry tub thing. And then that fills up and overflows because it doesn't drain. And then the water drains on the floor.... Well, technically it's just sort of flowing over onto the floor. Can we say flowing? Because flowing sounds so much prettier than draining. It

Big V's most prized possession is his California King Bed. Except it's not a California King, it's just a regular king, and no amount of fitted sheets can convince him otherwise. In typical male fashion (yes, I just said that) he wholeheartedly believes 'bigger is better' - never mind the fact when you squeeze that big of a bed in our smaller sized bedroom we end up totally rocking the Fat Man in a Little Coat Decor, which happens not to allow for end tables. Some people would believe a king bed would make us happy, but it doesn't. There's actually too much room: I wouldn't mind so much... I remember having to share a bed with my sister when we were little, but Big V doesn't get the whole "making sparks with the socks on our feet" thing that makes sharing a bed fun. He keeps thinking it's code for something else. It's not. I tried to teach him: hold the sheets and run , kind of like the sheets are the pavement - and soon you'

The last time Big V and I went out alone (meaning without kids) was on the car ride to the hospital to give birth to Cletus the Used to Be Fetus. Cletus is now 16 months old. I think. (Give me a break; he's the third child - half of you can't remember your third child's name much less how old they are.) Suffice it to say, we've earned a date night. Except we're old and tired and boring (that's what happens after three kids and 30) and the only thing we could come up with is attempting to stay awake long enough to watch the 10:00pm news. God sensed we were quickly morphing into Edith and Archie Bunker so he sent  Stebnitz Builders  to save our relationship. Stebnitz Builders  is a local construction company that specializes in building/transforming your home into your every desire and prides themselves in what they call "The Art of Perfect Listening," which is what Big V could totally benefit from because I've lost count of how many times I'

It started with opening my door and finding this: Due to creative drifting we had about a seven inch space between the wall of our house and the wall of snow encompassing our house. Thankfully we live on the top of a slight hill; I've seen pictures where people opened the doors to their homes and the snow was over their heads. Crazy. I snapped this picture with my cell phone and went back inside. Being stuck inside a confined space with a teenager for two days is not as much fun when you are no longer a teenager and can no longer find the fun in slamming doors, rolling eyes, stomping feet and yelling you're ruining my life! at the top of your lungs. I can proudly announce that no one was murdered or seriously maimed in or near our house during the blizzard. Personally, that was quite an accomplishment. While I was spending my snowdays making and consuming large amounts of chili, some people (crazy people, that is) were out and about in this nonsense. I believe this vide

I suppose I could talk about the big blizzard coming to Wisconsin, except that I live in Wisconsin and it snows all. the. time. I guess I've kind of grown to expect and accept that come winter time there will be times when we have to shovel actual snow, have the tips of our fingers fall off and cuss at your partner because he was supposed to pick up the milk and now we're all snowbound with no freaking magic to fill the baby bottles. Guess who's staying up all night with that kid? Not it. Now, if there was some real newsworthy weather prediction to look forward to - like 90-degrees and sunny in February, I'd be as excited as the next person stockpiling sun block and the necessary ingredients to mix rum runners. But it's snowing in Wisconsin in February. That's nothing new. (Not-so-interesting fact: I have not owned a pair of snow boots once for the past 20 years. Can you tell I don't spend that much time outside in the snow? That means I don't shovel