Showing posts from April, 2011

I had 4 men in my bathroom and I wasn't wearing a bra. That's how I do business.

While Big V was working, I hung out with 4 men in my bathroom. I tried to get them to clean the toilet and mop the floors but they wanted nothing to do with that. Instead, we were all gathered together to perform some sort of meeting of the minds. A couple weeks ago, after sobbing hysterically that I was going to murder someone if I had to live one more blasted day with this bathroom inquiring about the remodeling process , I met with Dan from Stebnitz Builders  for what was called a Feasibility Walkthrough. This was when Dan was forced to listen to me ramble on non-stop about what I wanted to do with the house. I want to take this wall down and put one up over here and add lights there and win the lottery and lose ten pounds and have French doors open into a home office. Then Dan looked at me and said something along the lines of you need to fix that leak in the main bath before your whole house falls apart due to water damage . Since he's the professional, I figured he was r

How to Feed a Family of 5 on $80 a Week: Starve Them.

Some time ago I posted that Big V went grocery shopping with me and screwed the whole $80 per week grocery budget up by tossing boxes of Hostess Twinkies in the cart. Since then people have begged me to let them in on my secret: how do I feed a family of five on only $80 a week? Simple. I starve them. That way the children don't grow as fast and I don't have to keep buying them new clothes. And also then everyone is really lethargic and I don't have to take them to places like carnivals and fairs. Do you know how expensive those places can be for a family of five? I want cotton candy! I want to ride the ferris wheel! Geesh, you could spend a fortune in no time. I'm kidding. I don't starve my family. Although throughout the majority of the month both girls will have you convinced we have absolutely no food in the house. (What they really mean is that we don't have bags of cheese puffs and boxes of Oreos free for the taking.) I could try to convince you

You only want more Teen because you don't have more Teen.

As you know, I posted yesterday . I shared this text I received from my 15-year old daughter. And you people wanted more. Is that text even real? Why on earth did she ask that? Where was she when she asked that? Did you even reply? What on earth did you say? So, because it's obvious I'm the only person in the entire world who has a child like this and you are all captivated in this unique species, I shall now give you more. I don't blame you; it's how I am with conjoined twins. I'm absolutely fascinated with how they manage to adapt in order to function successfully in life. I was sitting at my desk at work when the text came in. The time was 12:07pm.  After reading the text, and subsequently requesting assistance in lifting my head up from my desk, I responded with a series of text message replies because I believe it's important to 'keep the lines of communication open' even if it kills me. " I would think the tampon would expand once

Teenagers: You never know when they're going to blindside you.

Here is a text message I received from the Bean today. If you are a guy & ur at a party & someone takes a tampon & soaks it in alcohol & shoves it up ur... u know.. Can u die? I am currently accepting donations to be used towards a nice, long quiet vacation without children. Or the co-pay needed for the mental institution.

There is nothing so maddening as losing a pair of shoes.

We lost the baby's shoes. His only pair. Gone. We looked everywhere. In the closets, under the beds, in the toy box, in the kitchen cabinets. The kid is mobile and loves to put his shoes on and take them off. In fact, he takes them off every single time we're in the car. So we looked in both vehicles. Under the seats. Under the car seat. Nothing. I've asked the girls to look in their rooms. And look in their rooms again. Especially the Bean. She can be, oh, how shall I say this? A disastrous housekeeper. She could have a live warthog in her bedroom and I'd never find it. So I really zoned in on the Bean. Did you look in your room? I mean, really look. Like, under things? Behind things? And still nothing. Last night I was on a mission to find those shoes. I cleaned. I organized. I set about mumbling passive comments loud enough for everyone to hear.   I'm going to be so pissed, Bean, if I look in your room and find them! Okay. Perhaps not so pas

Freezer Leaks: EXPOSED!

I don't normally write about work because I'm afraid I'll get fired and let's be honest: (1) I need the health insurance, and (2) I'm not nearly as clever as Dooce  and will probably never turn my firing into a multi-million dollar empire, so I was taking quite a chance yesterday by  unlocking the secrets of the office freezer. Imagine my shock (and slight horror) when, at lunch today, the boss stands up, goes to the freezer, opens it, and announces something along the lines of look at all these decrepit bananas; I shall, upon my most immediate convenience, take them home and bake them into a tasty banana bread for all to enjoy. Say what?! I sat dazed and confused, convinced I had been exposed and surely would be fired for my satirical view of the beloved freezer. She continued to announce the 4-year old popsicles ought to be dumped. Take a look at our newly cleaned freezer: The brick of butter is still there. And, so far, I'm still employed here. So,

Secrets of an Office Freezer

Lean Cuisine and Sandwiches . Obviously, it's someone's lunch. Obviously, it's not mine since it isn't piping hot and sitting in a take-out container. We also find an old banana that someone just couldn't dare part with. A box of French Fries . We don't have a deep fryer, but I'm sure thawed out at room temperature those babies are tasty. Ice cubes . Only one person uses ice cubes in the office. They must be prepared. Cake . Trust me on this one: cake tastes better frozen. Popsicles . No one actually eats these popsicles. At least, no one has since the fall of 2007. A pound of butter : you never know when you'll need to move heavy office furniture. Greasing the floor helps things slide. More old, black bananas : we feel bad wasting our rotten fruit. Please don't suggest baking banana bread because if someone hasn't had the urge to bake that in the past four years I doubt they'll find the urge now. Ice . Lots of Ice. Ice packs. Ice c

Safety First

Big V says he wants to move to the country so we can have dirt bikes and shoot things. I grew up in the country and know that these things can be serious. Serious fun and serious deadly. So I told him something along the lines of you know how some men just ooze safety? Like they'd be the dad taking their kids to Hunter Safety class and impressing upon their children that guns are never, ever to be taken lightly? Yeah, you're so not that guy . To which he was greatly offended, but then I reminded him about the time when I was mega pregnant, sitting on our front steps of our house as he test drove a motorcycle around the block and he came whipping by doing a wheelie. He giggled like a schoolgirl and I said this is why I don't think you ooze safety . And then he got even more offended and huffed and puffed saying he was too safe. So, ten minutes later I go out to the garage where he's cleaning out the back of his pick-up truck and he's got 18-month old Cletus the

Living God's Purpose in the Bathroom

I believe that God gave each and every one of us a purpose to be fulfilled in our time here on earth. Mine happens to be placing the rolls of toilet paper actually on the toilet paper holder. You see, not everyone can do this. It takes great physical strength and immense education to accomplish this feat on a regular basis. And, while it is true I get winded walking up a flight of stairs and I don't currently hold a PhD, God granted me enough brain cells to figure out the complicated contraption and enough muscular power to muster through the task. Where would my family be if not for me? Rolls of toilet paper would be left haphazardly on the bathroom counter, waiting anxiously for water to spill over and wilt its precious edges. Rolls would hang precariously off the edge of the toilet tank terrified of that final moment when some outside force causes it to plunge to its death, only to be found hours later, clogging the bowl, bloated like a dead cow in July. Or, as was the case

Think you know everything? You obviously don't have a Teen.

I am 37 years old. Which, according to my 15-year old daughter, means that I ought to be shopping for coffins instead of hip new sunglasses. Since my impending death from old age will obviously strike any day now, I figured we should spend more time communicating with each other. Which is really hard to do because (1) I don't text nearly as fast as she does, and (2) I have no idea what she's saying. It is at these moments, when Teen Speak has my head spinning like that creepy girl from The Exorcist, that she slows to Mom Speed and breaks it down . (Okay. I admit: she would never actually use the phrase "break it down." That was 100% me.) Last night we talked about boys. When I was going to school we would go out with different boys. Well, other girls would. I didn't. Because none of the boys wanted to go out with me. They actually preferred to go out with my beautiful, older, richly tanned sister - but, hey! I'm not bitter. If you were going out for

Looks to me like a fine day for a nervous breakdown.

You know how sometimes you're just standing in the middle of the kitchen, water on the stove boiling over, baby screaming at the top of his lungs while he attempts to open the fridge for the forty-seventh time to get into that can of shortening (again), pre-tween shouting how she can't possibly throw her dirty clothes into the laundry because her hands still hurt from horseback riding four days ago, the teen entering her second hour of showering with accompanied ghetto music blaring from down the hall, and you're imagining how peaceful the thinking gardens might be at the state mental hospital? No? Just me? Never mind.

Those Pork Rinds Totally Blew My Budget

You know what I'm never going to do again? Besides take a huge bite out of an onion and down it with a shot of whiskey just so I can dance the night away as opposed to staying in bed trying to sleep off a cold? Take Big V grocery shopping with me. Because that , my friends, was torture. First off, when I go shopping with the kids and they're trying to dump boxes of hostess cupcakes in the cart, I can snap at them at tell them to put it back or they're not going to watch TV for a week. Do you know how people look at you when you say that to a grown man ? Not very nicely, if I do say so myself. Instead, they're all shaking their heads muttering things like why do all the nice men end up with such bitchy women? Also, do you know how many aisles are in a grocery store? Way too many to hear, "Oh! I forgot about these! I really like these. We should get these." Again. And again. And again. And, like most Americans we're on a budget. A budget I had to remin

I might not rock it now, but I will totally rock my future old folks home.

I worked out, y'all. I think. I mean, it felt like it but I didn't pay any exorbitant gym fees so I'm not sure I can call it that. Regardless, my legs hurt and I can't lift my arms, so I'm pretty sure I worked out. Keep in mind I haven't participated in any form of physical activity since getting pregnant. (That sounds really funny but I am not going to change it.) My point is that: I am so lazy. I knew something had to change. So on Tuesday I took an adult beginner clogging class. Let me guess; you have no idea what clogging is, do you? Here, with a little help from clogging sensation All That , allow me to show you: My sister clogs. My oldest daughter was amazing - and then she quit because she's a teen and that's what teens do. And my younger daughter dances, too. Silly me thought it's just a beginner class; how hard can it be? I woke up with shin splints. For real. Which tells me that I am incredibly lazy and can expect one heck of a

I could out-talk Bristol Palin for half the cash.

So, Bristol Palin gets knocked up and now makes $260,000 a year speaking out against teen pregnancies. Who do I need to contact to let them know I'm willing to speak out against teen pregnancies and on some days I'd also talk out against most teens. Because I bet Bristol doesn't mention the hemmorhoids . Look, after three kids spaced 14 years apart I think I've pretty much covered it all, starting with "young, single mom with no insurance and no decent place to live."  But that's actually the easy part. The finding a place to live, figuring out you'll have to sell your Depeche Mode collection to subsidize the blood work, and yes, your body will actually bounce back pretty easy. Trust me. Try having a baby in a nearly 40-year old body. It won't bounce back; it'll just jiggle. A lot. The hard part isn't the pregnancy. Not with the cute maternity clothes and the super cute baby outfits you'll get at your shower that your BFF's th

Poulet à la Crème sur Biscuit

I approach cooking like I do exercise: I take the short cuts. Sure, I could probably start working out 5 times a week and running miles daily in minimalist shoes, but then again, there's Spanx. Likewise, I could spend 4 hours shopping for and cutting up a gazillion ingredients, only to have my masterpiece scarfed down by some guy who acts like he hasn't eaten ever, or I could take the short cut. This is one of my favorite short cuts. Because Big V considers this dish the Best in Show in the cooking division. It might be because I obnoxiously refer to it as Poulet à la Crème sur Biscuit using a haughty French accent and then tell him I will need peace and quiet in order to concentrate on such a masterpiece. In all actuality I'm tossing together some generic food items for 7 minutes and then watching the last half of House Hunters International so he doesn't catch on. Creamed Chicken over Biscuit 10 oz. chunk chicken breast. Yes, it comes in a can. Drained &

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!

There are days, much like today, when I think I just can't take this anymore! When I feel the crushing of the cruel world breaking every bone in my body. And then I remember the spring of 2002 and tell myself Hey, you! You can get through this! This is nothing... you survived a hemorrhoidectomy . Remember?! First of all, I didn't know what the hell hemorrhoids were. All I knew was that several months prior I had a baby and since then something just wasn't right. In the tail end, I mean. Uh, Doc... there seems to be something going on. Or, uh, out. Something coming out. And there's pain. Quite a bit of that, actually. And once in a while some blood. Which normally wouldn't concern me, seeming as I'm a girl and all, but this blood isn't coming from the proper opening. Know what I mean? And that's how I learned about hemorrhoids. And the fact that they are nothing to mess around with. Literally. Don't try pulling on those things, they ain't bu