May 23, 2017

Jetsetting

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You know your life is sexy when the recent thrills of the year include figuring out how to remove some mildew from your bathroom ceiling and finding your child's lovey that you thought was lost forever.  Seriously, I was SO excited for both.  It was a little scary.

Due to recent general life exhaustion, my sister and I decided to take an emergency "let's not let our kids make us have mental breakdown" trip last week to Florida.  And, lo, it was glorious.

I was so pleased to discover that I still know how to read AND sleep pass 6AM.  And, wow, did I forget the simple pleasure of eating a meal without simultaneously tearing up bits of food for two kids while trying to entertain them and not throw food across the room.  Sheer bliss.

I never fly these days, which is due to the fact that I never go anywhere, which is due to the fact that KIDS. But when I got on my second flight which I barely made because my first flight was so delayed, I was hungry because I totally missed lunch due to my delay.  Which reminded me of a flight I took a few years ago, armed with a breakfast burrito. After taking a few bites, I noticed the guy next to me staring at my burrito. Trying to be nice but NEVER thinking he would say "yes", I asked him if he wanted half of it. He said "Yes"...and I continue to be amazed by the sociological event to this day. I really wished someone would offer me a half of their burrito on that second plane to Florida. No such luck. I accidentally went 7 whole hours without eating. I am basically a survivor.

The only bad part of the trip was that I forgot my sweatpants because they give me life.  And maybe also my 10 inch rectangular sunburn by my armpit that totally defies sunscreen and logic.  I am not one with the sun.  

Did I mention we were staying in Juno Beach which by all accounts appeared to be a retirement community?  We took a step class one morning and burned at least 40 calories. And we were in the minority of people who did not have a bandaid holding at least one part of their skin together.  Yet somehow my calves were sore for 3 days afterward.,,moving on....

On a side, but travel related, note, is anyone disturbed by the Charlotte Airport bathroom attendants?  I appreciate the thought and the toxic amount of air freshener, but I simply do not need someone to bless me before,during, and after my urine stream.  I think they could go ahead and cut that from the budget.

I got back at high noon on Sunday and was already on my first load of someone else's laundry by 12:30.  Back to life, back to reality.

It feels so good to have my batteries recharged.  Right before school ends and I have 3 months of endless Katie.  I am already looking forward to my next vacation again in another 3 years!

April 27, 2017

Poor little underwear

Kids are the best/worst.  Sometimes it just does not seem like this can be real life.



I am probably just delirious from the worst night's sleep ever, but I cannot stop laughing right now and it's all because of poop.

Jack woke up around 2am last night (Oh, joy!) complaining of a stomach ache.  I wasn't surprised because he hadn't pooped all day.  I know he tried at school but quite frankly his tiny little butt is too small to fit on the toilet seat and I think he's afraid he will fall in.  Any way,  he wouldn't go back to sleep after several tries so we let/made him get in the bed to sleep with us/on my head.  It was already a super pleasant situation but it got even better around 4am when we heard a wet noise and Grant started freaking out.  I didn't really care because I was so tired and I am so  used to poop in the potty, in the diaper, in the yard, that I just wanted to sleep through it. 

Amazingly, Jack didn't wake up.  That is why I can't stop laughing. How can anyone sleep through their own shart that is not a drunk frat guy!?  Of course when we woke up this morning there was hell to pay in terms of laundry and butt crust.  But I will forever remain amazed at this event.

I had a similarly delirious laughing fit/is this real laugh event recently when we were headed back from Hickory.  Our kids are notoriously heinous in the car and we were so desperate towards the end of the journey that I told Grant to give Katie the ice scraper to play with.  He decided to take it a step further and use the ice scraper as a hand puppet.  You know, the old favorite muppet Mr. Ice Scraper.  What has become of us?

Did anyone else wake up one day in their 30's and think they were looking at a poor old dead person in the mirror?  I did and I am officially aging. 

You know how they say the eyes are the windows to the soul?  Well, my eyes look like our windows did that time Grant was weed eating and caused some sort of yard debris to fly into our window and shatter it into a million pieces.  Botox, I'm  coming for ya.

Also, I think my kids have made a secret agreement that they can never both be sweet at the same time.  At any given time one of them will be an angel baby and the other is biting me and screaming at me that something is "NOT DELICIOUS!" 

Katie regenerates more spunk every 30 minutes so she is hilarious but also quite an independent lady with an attitude.  Jack is potty trained with is officially the crowning achievement of my life, but he did shart in his underwear last night so I'm not writing my own book about it just yet.

So that's what's new with me.   Sharts, crows feet, and disbelief at my own life.  Yesterday I meant to grab a sparkling water from the fridge and accidentally got a Bud Light instead.  It hard to convince myself not to be that mom at the park with coldie.

And in case anyone was wondering why I never blog anymore, it's because I haven't had free time since before Katie was born and even to write this I am letting my kids eat markers and draw on themselves so I can have a minute of peace.  Sometimes you have to do what you have to do!

December 29, 2016

Hold Me

Happy Holidays!

I felt like such a kid earlier this month when I was making my Christmas list.  Until I realized that per my list, I am actually a geriatric.  I asked for orthodic athletic shoes since I had plantar fasciitis this year, a sun hat, lest the sun harm my alabaster skin, high waisted work out pants because love handles, and a car seat.  I'm 100 but with babies.


LOTS of QT with this two this week.

I've never understood why people say they get so stressed out about the holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas.  For me, it's the week after Christmas when there is no school for your kids that is truly a scary time of year. 

In an interesting turn of events, Katie is now the hilarious easy child while Jack has developed a second personality that, quite frankly, is an asshole.  I think I'm allowed to call me own child an asshole, right?  He also basically didn't give a shit about Santa during the whole entire month of December and now calls out for him to come back all day, presumably to make me feel bad.  At least he's still sweet half the time.

Katie started waking up at 5:30AM this week, Jack won't go to sleep until 9:00PM, and we have nothing to do all day.  My bloodstream still consists of 50% white wine and 50% pimento cheese from the holidays, so I'm fresh out of steam.  I did attempt my first post Christmas workout yesterday and I think at least a gallon of straight Sauvy B came out of my pores.  It's going to be a long week folks. 

Last night I got so excited about this fortuitous dwarfing of my wine cup in the dishwasher.  Now I can funnel it right down my throat...Send help.

But next week/2017 is when I dominate life.  Hopefully.  I'm 100% never having another child and I didn't have a baby that year so I'll be fresh out of excuses not to be a dime piece.  Until then, instead of finding $20 bills from last year in my coat pockets, I'm finding year old snotty tissues from my kids, which is a fitting metaphor for life now.

I hope the kids' teachers aren't alarmed when I run and jump into their arms next week when school starts again. 

December 16, 2016

Dreams really do come true

I, Marilyn, along with my sister Nancy, am finally going to see Mariah Carey in concert.

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It's been over 7 years in the making which involved a lot of highs: http://www.divasayswhat.com/2009/12/i-dreamed-dream.html link

And lows: http://www.divasayswhat.com/2009/12/butterfly-masacre.html link 

And a temporary boycott of Mariah because her ticket prices were absolutely insane.

And two not age appropriate memberships to the Honey B Fly fan club for access to pre sale tickets.

But it's really, really happening!

May 21 in Charlotte is the fateful date. I've got floor seats and enough excitement to make me explode...Now I just have to wait 5 months, find a place to stay, get a plane ticket for my sister, drive fours hours  to get there, and figure out who will parent my children the following Monday morning.  And that's it!

Mimi we are coming for you!

October 20, 2016

I think you have the wrong person

Current status: On the verge of a casual breakdown/in need of hibernation. 

Reasons:

Husbands. Can't live with them...end of sentence.



If I got paid a dollar for every time I found this scene in the shower when I got in for one of my world famous luxurious 45 second showers before the kids start really crying in their beds in the morning, I would have enough money to pay for the golf lesson that my husband took during his lunch break this week while I was sitting at home wrangling 2 little kids like a damn chump thinking he was hard at work.



Does anyone else's husband make a secondary pile of laundry on the floor next to the actual laundry basket? What godforsaken event could have occurred with these clothes to make them unworthy of sitting in the same basket as the regular dirty clothes?

On second thought, forget I asked.

I have decided I want to be more like a two year old and just do the most random shit ever. I already dress like one. I might as well act like one too. If they don't make any sense, why should I?! These are my people, after all.


This is a picture of Jack today while Katie was taking her morning nap.  He decided a ninja turtle helmet was absolutely necessary for consuming a quarter of a box of uncooked ninja turtle macaroni noodles. I know I could have stepped in to stop him or cook them, but there is a 100% guarantee that if I put time and effort into his food, he won't eat it. So I let him crunch away. 

I'ma be real with you. 

Somehow I thought that by the time I was in my 30's I would be rich, thin, and seemingly ageless. Something went terribly wrong.  I am currently 400 pounds over my "ideal" weight. I have no spare change. I am literally always tired. And I have stitches in my face because I wanted to get facelift at the plastic surgeon but all I could afford was to get two moles removed.

Later that day I went to the store to get something even though Grant offered to go. I was thinking that I should probably care a lot more about running into people with blood coming out of my face band aids. But my choices were that, or staying at home with the kids for the 2,000th hour of the day while Grant went. Naturally I chose to go scare the general public with my Frankenstein face.

The other day I bought a light bulb that was shockingly expensive.  I said to the sales woman, "Well, at least it lasts for 20 years." To which she responded, "Yes, you will never need another lightbulb again."  So, basically, I look like I'm 70?  Next time I will spring for the facelift.

Life is great and I am so lucky to have two adorable, funny, sweet kids and a hard working, involved husband. Trust me, I know that.  But damn life is intense right now. Half the time I am looking at my kids wondering how I got so lucky to have such good little angels. And the other half of the time I am getting yelled out because I couldn't fit all the play doh in Mr. Potato Head's butt,while counting down the seconds until either my husband comes home or until it is socially acceptable to start drinking. Unfortunately the latter always comes first. 

Maybe my 40's are when the smooth part of life begins. Until then, play doh and wine on repeat. 

I saw this picture in a magazine today.  They are selling David Yurman jewelry and absolute bull shit.



September 26, 2016

Oh My Adulthood

Wow.  Life.  It's gotten a little intense.

It has me asking all these questions like:

Am I a bad mom because I am only truly content when my kids are sleeping?

How can I lose 15 pounds while also drinking all the wine and eating only carbs?

When will I ever actually have a good nights sleep again?

How the FUCK do people have more than 2 kids?

You know, sweet stuff like that.

Adulthood is a tricky little bitch.  Adulthood is a series of lame victories like saving $400 on car insurance, only to then receive a $500 bill for medical expenses from your husbands vasectomy the very same day.  Adulthood is being totally ok with that damn unexpected bill because $500 is way less scary than having a 3rd child.  Plus I would spend way more than that on the wine I would have to drink to survive having another child.

And if adulthood is a tricky bitch, than parenthood is it's slutty little mistress.  So fun, so exciting, so new, but sooooo much baggage.

And by baggage I meant literal bags of human excrement.  All day every day.  The day I get to toss one of my diaper pails is going to be a good day.  It means I will be hauling 50% less human feces to the garbage every week!  Yay!  But I am far from that day.  The only progress I have had potty training Jack so far is when he wanted to go potty AFTER pooping in his diaper (unbeknownst to me) twice.  Which was messy.  And then saying, "I need treat" 4,fucking,000,000 times after that.

Parenthood also means thinking you are going to save money to buy a bigger house soon because your kids' shit is absoutely exploding from everywhere and your in laws have to sleep on the couch when they visit, but then realizing that spending your money on entertaining your kids and unloading them at preschool three days a week is WAY more life changing than more square footage, or even groceries for that matter.

The crazy thing about having two kids is that there is no such thing as down time anymore.  You can't pawn the one kid off on your spouse to be free because now there is always, always this OTHER kid that needs things.  And she can't walk or talk or eat sandwiches, despite how much she wants to, so you always have to hold her or make sure she doesn't swallow more than the safe amount of Play Doh and it's just absolutely exhausting.

So when your husband comes home, has a beer, then says he has a dry throat, then has a glass of wine, then says he needs to go to bed at 7pm without helping put the kids to bed, it isn't the best.  But then when he reappears when the kids go to bed to say that he thinks he has enough energy to eat half of a brownie, it's kind of the worst.  But it also means that you get the rest of the bottle of wine and to be alone for the rest of the night.  Which, if you are anything like me, is the closest you will get to paradise for the next decade.  So you sit back, drink that damn wine, watch that beautiful TV, and never forget that there is a half of a brownie somewhere in the kitchen.

And for today, that's enough.