My children...a constant source of embarrassment!

So as any parent of young children knows, your children will embarrass you like it is their job!!  Here are just a few recent situations where my children have made me want to curl up in the fetal position and just ignore the world.

• I was at the store recently and was asking the manager where a certain item was located.  I was holding Emily and not really paying that much attention to her.  Mistake #1!  She was kind of fiddling with my shirt.  Anyway, when I walked away and put her back in the shopping cart I noticed she had managed to pull my shirt down and get it lodged under my bra strap.  ON THE BOTTOM!!  So a whole boob was out on display for the world to see.  Thankfully I was in Wal-Mart and since that is kind of the Wal-Mart shoppers uniform no one seemed to notice.
• Again, this one takes place at a store.  Shaws to be exact.  I was just running to the store to grab a few things.  I had a list with everything I needed.  Anna asked to be in charge of the list.  Sure I said.  So we were in the frozen food aisle trying to decide on ice-cream.  Sara and I are down at one end and Anna and Emmie are in the cart at the other end.  Anna starts reading items from the list.  “Mom, do have paper towels?”  Yep.  “Mom, did you get Crystal Light yet?” Yeah.  “Hey mom, what does T-A-M-P-O-N-S spell?”  Of course she asks this when a guy walks into the aisle.  He immediately turns around and walks away.  I walk over to her and tell her it spells tampons.  She asks what they are.  I tell her…they already know because as a mother I never get a second to myself…not even in the bathroom.  They know all there is to know about being a girl.  So I walk back to the ice-creams and they she says in her Irish Whisper…”So mom, did you get the tampons yet?”  Yes Anna.  “Where are the tampons?  What box are they in?”.  I wanted to die.  So Anna has also recently started using air quotes.  So as we turn into the really crowded bread aisle she asks me if I got my “tampons” with air quotes.  I told her yes, I already told you I did.  She says “Oh, OK…you got your ‘tampons’” in air quotes again.  I am getting the oddest looks from people. They are probably thinking I used the word tampon as a cover for what I was really purchasing.  Like I wrote tampons on the list but I was really buying Jiff Peanut Butter or something.  Like I would use that as my code word!  I will stick to having Chuck do the grocery shopping. 
• I took the girls to go see the new movie Inside Out…AWESOME by the way.  Towards the end they get a new control panel.  One of the buttons says “PUBERTY” on it.  Anna blurts out kind of loud, “what is puberty?”  I try to explain quickly and quietly because I didn’t want to miss the movie.  So Sara hears me and she chimes in asking what puberty is.  There was a dad in front of me with his 2 small daughters, younger than mine.  He kind of chuckles at my expense.  I just wanted to tell him to wait…just wait…they are cute and innocent now, but once they are a little older they are going to ask you the most embarrassing stuff at the absolute worst time.  But you know what?   I didn’t warn him.  I decided that for his little laugh I am going to let him figure it out the hard way.  Hey dad, check back in with me in say 3 years.  Then we’ll talk!
• Another shopping anecdote... Anna (I am starting to see a trend here) and I were out shopping.  I needed a good sports bra.  So we head to Dick’s Sporting Goods to get one.  I find the sales girl and enlist her help.  She tells me they don’t sell my size here but I should try the biggest one they have…it should work.  OK I say.  I mean she is a teenager making minimum wage at the local mall.  She is probably an expert when it comes to properly fitting women for sports bras.  Right, what could go wrong?  So I try the first one on…it is a super cute pink one that zips up the front.  I put it on and there is a good 5 inch gap from side to side.  The teenager told me it should work despite being about 4 sizes too small.  I go for it.  Anna looks at me and says, “Are you sure you want to do that?”  Oh, and keep in mind, it is a single dressing room right in the middle of the store.  It is open on the top so anyone walking by can hear you.  I should have taken heed when a 5 year has a look of concern on her face.  I zip it up, I may or may not have cracked a rib or two in the process…my boobs are pushed so far up my torso my head is resting right on them.  I could barely breathe.  I feel like I look like a zit about to pop.  Anna is laughing hysterically.  “Mommy, you have no neck anymore…can you even move your head?”  she asks between laughing fits.  So I take that one off and try another one.  This one is a simple black racer back one that you pull over your head.  It was a cluster f*ck from the get go.  I get stuck in it.  Literally stuck.  One boob is stuck up over my shoulder and the other one has some managed to get stuck under my arm and around to my back.  Anna is in tears now.  I am trying to stay calm…I don’t want to start sweating…then I would have to buy this $68 sports bra that clearly does not fit.  I am now convinced the sales girl is a jack ass and probably bored out of her mind so she takes advantage of poor overweight suburban moms like me and convinces us to shove ourselves into these spandex human torture devices so she can get a cheap laugh.  Ha-f*cking-Ha-Ha bitch!  So Anna starts walking over to the door, she is laughing so hard and saying she is going to get the girl to help me get it off.  Oh sweet Jesus!  NO!!!  I would rather be hauled out of here in a body bag than ask the Dick’s staff for help.  I make Anna help me.  She is trying her best but she is laughing so hard she is no use.  It takes me, no word of a lie, 3 full minutes to get out of it.  It felt more like 30!  I didn’t bother trying the 3^rd bra on.  Oh, and I left all three of them in the dressing room, inside out, not on their hangers.  Also, as I was walking out of the sports bra section I mixed up a bunch of the sizes/styles as I passed by.  Take that you ass-clown!  Two can play that game!

I wish I could say these are infrequent occurrences.  But I can’t.  They happen all the time.  Thankfully I have a good sense of humor and laugh them off.  I do however keep a mental note of each and every one of them.  There is going to come a time, really soon, when my children will be embarrassed just to be seen with me, and when that time comes I am ready…and all I can say to my children is; Payback is a Bitch!!

 

 

The 30 inch Terrorist

It is next to impossible to turn on the TV and not hear anything about terrorism these days.  It is seemingly everywhere; several workers at the TSA are thought to have ties to terrorism, rouge terrorists tried to take out security guards at a controversial art exhibit down south, just last week a lot closer to home, a suspected terrorist was hanging around outside of a CVS...but for me it is much, much closer to home...I believe I may be living with a 30 inch terrorist...

I know in the past I may have mentioned I believe Emily has declared a fatwa on us and that she may or may not have forged a jihad against us.  Emily is forever getting into mischief, always blaming her older sisters for her misdeeds and always looks like the cat that swallowed the canary when you enter the room.  Well my friends, lately the evidence has become too compelling to ignore.

Though she is only 20 months old she is a smart little bugga.  Against my wishes she spends far too much time using the ipad.  She is kind of a wiz on it, I say that not to brag-- as I find it embarrassing that she spends so much time on it when the Academy of Pediatrics clearly states "no screen time under 2 years of age"...I will be returning my Child Development Degree to Wheelock...I no longer deserve it, but more to prove my point that she may be a terrorist in the making.  Somehow she found this cartoon she loves.  It is 2 young boys that look to be of Middle Eastern descent.  No problem with that...I want my children to be open to other cultures.  I can't understand most of what they say.  Again, no problem with that, however, at the start of their show they do say one word that I can make out...they say in unison, "Infidels", at least that is what I think they say...Sara and Anna think it is something more along the lines of, "kick the bells".  Just take that little nugget and sit with it a minute while I describe more...

Yesterday I caught her watching a Youtube video of the Philippine National Army practicing drills.  How the hell did she find that video?  Also, she is quite the little expert when it comes to climbing on the backyard jungle gym...I have seen the Al Qaeda training videos...there are ALWAYS monkey bars involved!!   Oh, I just remembered while she was "playing" on the play-gym she slammed into me nearly breaking my nose...coincidence?  Maybe...or she may just be perfecting her Krav maga skills.  My sweet, darling Anderson Cooper has been reporting lately that ISIS has been recruiting young people, targeting women especially,  through the use of social media...she may just be the youngest member indoctrinated so far.

Speaking of ISIS, the other day she walks into the TV room talking to herself.  She spots me and yells, "ISIS, ISIS, ISIS!"  Could she have been talking about my glass full of ice?  Possibly.  But I am still going to sleep with one eye open as I can not definitively prove otherwise. 

Recently my blog has been viewed from Indonesia, Palestine, Iran and Iraq.  I am grateful for all page views regardless of their origin, but again, is it a coincidence that since Emily has been fiddling around with the computer my page views have jumped in places that are considered "hot beds" of terrorist activity? There are a few too many "coincidences" to ignore.  To quote Ian Fleming;

“Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action"

 And there you have it my friends...apparently I am the mother of a mini terrorist.

Mother's Day...why should today be any different?

So today is Mother's Day.  It is my first mother's day without my mom.  I tried really hard to get all my sadness out yesterday.  I went to her grave and planted flowers and cried.  A lot.  But today I really wanted to focus on my girls and make a day of special memories with them.  So we make plans to go to this really cool park a little over an hour away.   Of course my life being mine, things are always just slightly off.

The girls are so excited to give me their presents.  All three of them made really cute pictures of their hand-prints at school and were so proud of their masterpieces.  They also got me a Bath and Body Works lavender spray set to help me sleep at night.  Their Auntie Jen helped them pick it out, though they told her I don't really need it because all I do is sleep.  Umm, not true!!  I mean SO not true!  I have been seeing a sleep psychologist for the past few weeks.  Yes, their are therapists devoted just to the psychology of sleep.  I average 4 hours a sleep a night.  My primary care doc sent me to a sleep specialist who in turn referred me to the sleep psychologist.  I just want to sleep...not delve into my deepest feelings about sleep.  Give me a flippin Unisom for Christ's sake!  Now, if I complained about a back ache I would be giving a prescription to treat it in no time.  But God forbid I get a script for sleep without having to see this guy every Thursday for 6 weeks.  But, I digress...that is a blog post for another time.  Anyway, I am very thankful for the lavender spray and I can't wait to try it out tonight!

So then I open my other present.  It is a lighted, magnifying mirror and a pair of really good tweezers.  Just what I wanted!  No, seriously...for real.  I have been dying for this mirror.  I was so excited, part of me wanted to stay home and test it out...but the girls were antsy to get going.  The mirror will have to wait.

So I finish packing up for our trip.  The park has a splash pad so I need to get the girls towels.  Of course we only have 3 towels in the closet.  Chuck goes downstairs but the towels were still in the washer and they will take over an hour to dry.  So we have to make do.  The girls are fine...they will each have a towel to dry off with at the splash park.  The issue being, I still have yet to take a shower.  So, yup...you guessed it!  Once again I was forced to be creative in my drying off process.  Tablecloth it is.    I pick the fancy white one...It is Mother's Day God damn it! I say to myself.  I want to at least have some shred of dignity on this day when I am supposed to be celebrated.  Though it is really hard to have any dignity at all when the reality of wandering through the house in a table linen hits you.  Oh well, why should today be any different?

We get out to the park and I go to grab the bag with the precious 3 towels in it and guess what?  Chuck never grabbed it when packing up the car!!  Yeah, that's about right for us!!  No worries, we have a great time anyway.

So they drop me off at home and head over to see Chuck's mom.  Yippee!!  I am home A.L.O.N.E!  I am dying to try out my new magnifying mirror.  Why all the excitement?  Well, I am entering that wonderful stage of life called menopause.  Sh*tty for me...lucky for all of you...I can almost guarantee there will be plenty of posts headed your way.  So due to the surge of some hormones and decrease of other, or however this whole sexy process works, I am slowly becoming a werewolf.  I need the super mirror to make sure I nip any stray hairs in the bud right away.  Sometime immediately after my 40th birthday...I mean within nanoseconds my eyesight sh*t the bed.  So a regular bathroom mirror won't cut it anymore.  The fact Chuck bought me the mirror and tweezers, that, that right there is true love.  I mean, no where in our vows did it say, "in waxed chins and in hairy"...I bet never in a million years did he think while sitting across from me on our first date, "she is going to be my wife one day and I am going to buy her a mirror so she can tweeze away her whiskers".  He is a good, good man.

So I sit down and turn the mirror on.  Now, I am not calling anyone out here but...what happened to the post 911 phrase, "if you see something, say something?"  Turns out I have been sporting a uni-brow.  Now, it is not a super obvious one like Bert from Sesame Street or anything, but it was there none the less.  I know my uni-brow is not on par with I don't know, say an unattended black duffel bag at the airport but come on...someone could have said something.  Don't even get me started on the random, inch long blond hairs randomly placed on my chin, neck and jaw line.  This menopause crap is gonna be fun!  Thank God for my new mirror...not sure what the hell I am going to do when the hot flashes start up in earnest...if you have been reading my blog for a while you know I  whole-heartedly believe I will, at some point, become the victim of spontaneous human combustion, but at least I will be beard free when I blow up.

So here I sit, brows freshly tweezed, plenty of towels in the closet thinking about my day.  I am glad I had my emotional, first mother's day without my mom- breakdown yesterday, and today I focused on my girls and was able to find the humor and joy in my life.  My mom would have wanted nothing less for me today.

P.S.--For the record I will wash the table cloth in a hot water wash with bleach...in case any of you were wondering!

Life lessons my children have yet to learn...

1.  If you write on something other than paper (the wall, the dresser, a chair, etc.) do not use your go-to drawing.  I know which child is famous for their butterflies, which one is known for their stars and which one just scribbles.  Mix it up a bit...extend your freedom by a few extra minutes while I try and figure out who the graffiti artist is.

2.  Dry shampoo is just a stop-gap measure until you can properly wash your hair.  It is not intended for daily use.

3.  For Emily, my cleavage is not a pocket.  Please stop trying to store things there.

4.  An animal print top with an animal print pant and animal print backpack, headband and shoes is not a good look.  For anyone.  Ever.

5.  Flush the toilet.  Your poop is not that special you need to save it. 

6.  Hounding me after I already give you "no" as an answer will not get me to change my mind.  Ever.  It will just make me more resolute in my answer.  (Your dad, however, will most likely give in so go bug him instead).

7.  If you are going to sneak candy before lunch-- hide the wrappers.  Learn to bury them in the trash or better yet put them in the recycling bin.  Leaving them out gives you away.  Wait, scratch that...don't put them in the recycling bin....that is where I put 75% of the worksheets you come home from school with.

8.  Every single paper you put a chicken scratch on does not need to be saved for infinity.  I save the important ones, but please don't go nuts if you see a 'busy work' paper in the trash.


I am sure there are many, many more life lessons they need to grasp...but, for now we will focus on these ones.

Hometown Hero

I know I often complain of living in such a small town and more often than not, I am daydreaming of moving to somewhere a bit more urban.  Today is not one of those days.  Today I am very proud of my small town.  Today we will say goodbye to one of our own.  Today our town will lay a hero to rest.

We live in a sleepy little town in the central part of the state.  It is an old mill town built along the Blackstone River.  It is full of hardworking people who really do care about one another.  In the 6 years or so that we have lived here I have seen and experienced first hand the community come together in hard times.  Within hours of  house fires emails are flying around coordinating donations for the displaced families, when the school override failed parents came together to raise funds to keep some of the activities from being cut and during the awful winter this year neighbors helped neighbors dig out from the snow.  When I had  complications after Emily was born and was in and out of the hospital people came out of the woodwork to help me...watching the girls for me, making dinners for us and even just standing next to my car in the morning so I didn't have to drag the baby out at school drop off.   Many of them I barely knew at the time...now I consider them friends. The term "salt of the earth" really fits for our town.

So when a 22 year old soldier from our town was killed in Afghanistan,  his death rocked our little town to it's core.  Bad things like that happen to other people, other places...not here.  Now, don't get me wrong, our town is not perfect, we have our issues too (break-ins, drug problems and our fair share of crazy), but the death of such a young, promising member of our community has hit hard.

Once again our town has pulled together to support his family.  Almost every house has an American flag proudly displayed, which were handed out by local veterans who stood in the town square for days making sure all who wanted one got one.  The firefighters worked tirelessly putting up flags and yellow ribbons all along the funeral procession route.  The little bridal shop in "downtown" has flags in their window, the cafe has messages of thanks on their sandwich board...so do several other businesses.  I have seen street sweepers coming through to clear away all the winter sand, volunteers decorating the traffic islands in red, white and blue and making sure our town looks its best for the soldier's family.  It is just a small way for us as a town to show his family our appreciation.  It gives me goose bumps every time I drive through town.

One thing that strikes me the most is that no one I have talked to in town knows this soldier or his family.  It doesn't matter.  When one of our own is hurting, we are all hurting.  Through all of this I have not heard any of the typical rhetoric, "we need to get the hell out of there"..."bomb them all"...because, again, it doesn't matter right now.  No matter what side of the aisle you sit on, a 22 year old died.  Showing his family our gratitude and respect is all that matters right now.

Later this morning I will be taking my girls out on this raw and rainy morning to stand and watch the funeral procession.  I want them to understand what a true hero is.  I think too often people look to sports stars and entertainers as role models.  I always hear the term "class act" thrown around when an athlete tosses a ball to a kid in the stands.  To me that is not a hero.  I am sure it is pretty easy to sign a contract awarding you millions of dollars to throw a football.  It takes unbelievable courage and bravery to sign your name on a military contract.  Many young men and women are literally signing their life away when they sign on that dotted line.  To me, a hero is an ordinary person who, when faced with an extraordinary circumstance rises to the challenge; soldiers, firefighters, police officers, doctors, nurses and teachers.  My girls like to listen to Taylor Swift and Katy Perry, that is ok...I think they have  good, positive messages for girls in their music.  However, when it comes to role models I will teach them about Malala Yousafza the young girl shot by the Taliban because she refused to back down in her idea that girls should receive an education, Mother Teresa for her dedication to helping the poor...the likes of them.

As I sit and type this post the girls are putting the finishing touches on the signs they plan to hold as the hearse and family ride by.  It is because of the sacrifices of this young man and so many men and women that have gone before him that I am able write about and post my opinions, that my girls are able to receive an education that has given them the ability to read and write their signs, and, that we have the freedom to walk down the end of our street to see his procession go by.  For that we are eternally grateful.  Rest easy Corporal John Dawson.  Thank you for your service.

Till Death Do Us Part?....What about a bad haircut?

 In this year of our Lord two thousand and fifteen, I can formally announce it has happened.  I know many of you thought this day had already come, but you can all rest assured it is now official....the world's worst hair cut ever has been given.  I am the lucky recipient.  In thinking of how I would describe this abomination to you I can honestly say words failed me.  I am having an incredibly difficult time finding the words to describe what has happened on top of my head.  I will try my best, but, in all fairness to my faithful readers, the words I type will in no way, shape or form truly convey the horror that is now my new style.

I have no one to blame but myself.  I haven't had my hair cut in a few months...it is a shorter hairstyle so realistically I should be in the salon every 5 weeks.  It was really shaggy and out of control.  I have been putting off making an appointment because I really haven't been in the mood to be out and about in society lately.  Plus, I can't justify spending $70 for a 10 minute hair cut when I have 3 kids.  The money can be put to better use.  So even though I know I am going to come out disappointed I strayed from the regular salon and opted for a more economical cut. 

I explain what I want to the stylist.  Stick to the same shape of the cut I have, just cut about 1/2 an inch off.  So she gets to work; washes, cuts and blow dries it.  It didn't look any different from when I walked in...in fact, it somehow looked even longer and scragglier.  I voiced my concerns in a very nice way...she wet it again and got to work.  I was only half paying attention because Sara decided to get her hair done also, so as I was getting cut I was chatting with Sara's stylist. Big Mistake!!  When I finally looked in the mirror I was horrified.  Somehow she managed to defy all laws of physics and cut the top short and leave the back and sides longer, yet there was a circle of longer hair that was standing at attention right in the center of my head.  Kind of like a 3 tiered cake.  I know you are thinking, oh, like a mullet?  I wish it were a mullet...then there would be at least a name for it.  A traditional mullet is short on the top AND sides while longer in the back.  This is short on the top and longer on the SIDES and back.  I know it is hard to picture so let's see if I can paint a more descriptive picture for you;  so imagine an old man--bald on top with long scraggly hair around his whole head....kind of like Friar Tuck.  Then take that same man and put a really short toupee on top making sure it is kind of off center and askew.  Yeah, that is a good start.  Oh, then add a cowlick right in the front.  In 42 years I have never had a cowlick there but magically one appeared after this chick's handy work. 

I wish that were the end of the worst hair cut ever, but no my friends...it is even better.  On the left hand side of my head she left about 30 hairs untouched.  I have a tuft of hair sticking out a good two inches longer than the rest.  Hmmm...what to do?  What to do?  I have a couple of fantastic options; 1.  I could leave it and just have it blowing in the wind and make people try and figure out if that were a special request on my part, 2.  I could braid it into a rat tail and bring the late 80's back, or 3. I could curl it into a pretty little tendril and place baby's breath throughout.  I decided to take scissors to it and cut that sh*t off.

So there I was sitting in the salon with what is unequivocally the worst hair cut ever when a dad walks in with his two young impressionable daughters.  I know they were looking at me, though trying to not look too closely for fear of their corneas burning off, wondering if I am the "before" or "after" version of myself.  Poor things...they had such pretty hair when they walked in...

When you see me out and about no need to tell me it really isn't "that bad".  I have spent most of last night and early this morning painstakingly cutting each individual hair to try and get it to at least blend  and not look like some futuristic, shelf looking, cheap toupee.  I keep telling myself it is only hair it will grow back.  For the next few weeks I will be going heavy on the eye make-up trying to distract the world and have them focus on my baby blues instead of the bird's nest atop my noggin.

So I am giving Chuck a free pass.  If he wants to divorce me I will not contest him.  It is not because I do not love him, quite the opposite I do very much.  In our vows I remember saying things to the effect of; for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health...I do not, however remember any caveat about in good hair and in bad.  This is about as bad as it gets.

Now, who knows?  Maybe she is fantastic at what she does and was just pissed off at me for questioning her stylistic abilities after her first go around with my hair.  Maybe this is just hair dresser karma.  Maybe I should have just left well enough alone.  Or maybe she flat out sucks.  I will never know for sure.  What I do know for sure is that you all can rest easy the next time you sit in your stylist's chair...you will get a decent hair cut.  The worst cut ever has come and gone, and I have taken one for the whole human race.  You are welcome!



 

#TBT #tiredhairymess #thankyou #whatthef*ckisahashtaganyway?

So I am not one to fall victim to trends or fads on Facebook. You will never see any #TBT pictures on my timeline.  I have never and will never "hash tag" anything....Oh, when did the pound sign become a hash tag?  And when for the love of God did the number sign change to a pound sign? I don’t pass along any of the electronic chain letters I get.  I don’t forward things to five friends.  I  won’t tell you how we met so you can assign me a number or whatever the heck people get assigned.    I also never get into the whole month of gratitude.  It always cracks me up seeing this poignant posts on people’s walls during November…I want to comment, “umm…I know you in real life…you are not that deep…you really are saying you are grateful for cozy socks, hot cider and a good book?...wasn’t it just last week you were complaining about the smell on the T, the jackass from the parent drop-off lane and the dumbass at Dunkin Donuts that can’t get your order right?”  Anyway, back to my post…I decided it was high time I share with all of you some of the things I am thankful for.

 

• Thank you Pop Tarts.  Just as I was feeling bad about eating two of your chocolate crap cakes for breakfast I saw right on the box you are cholesterol free.  So my breakfast was kind of healthy after all.
• Thank you Emily for waking me up at 5:03 a.m. EVERY.  DAY.  If you did not reach over and pull my eyelid open and stare at me while asking for “Peppa” I might forget to wake up and miss out on my day. 
• Thank you again to Emily for somehow finding your way into my bed each night.  It's not like I really want a good night's sleep anyway.
• Thank you to all of my children for staying up past 8 p.m.  If you went to bed on time I would actually get a chance to watch my crush, the one and only Anderson Cooper...thank you for taking away my 60 minutes of happiness.
• While we are talking about the lovely Anderson Cooper, thank you to the world for being so effed up I can’t watch the Coop while my children are awake.
• Thank you Anna for collecting and storing in Ziplock bags the cat whiskers, cat nail trimmings and rogue cat hair wisps you find around the house.  I may be the mother to a budding serial killer but at least the house is free of cat hair.
• Thank you to the TV channel TLC and your show My 600 lb. life.  If it weren’t for you I may have put down the bag of Doritoes after a few chips, but, thanks to your programming I ate the whole bag and felt validated in my decision to “go all in”…bring on the scooter!
• Thank you to first grade Common Core Math for solidifying my 7 year old’s burgeoning sense that her mother really doesn’t know everything.
• Thank you peri menopuase for effing up my body.  I really was hoping at some point to relive my teenage acne…oh, and I always had dreams of running away with the circus…thanks to you I am single-handedly keeping Clearasil in business and I am well on my way to being able to fill in for the bearded lady should she need to take a leave.  You are just awesome!

Thank you to anyone who made it through my cranky post.  #youarewaybetterthanme