Don't make me count to three!

My book is FREEEE!!

2012-11-29T16:41:00.000-08:00

Ladies and germs! Run, don't walk, to the Kindle store on Amazon.com and download a copy of my book, Tales From The Pantry: Random Rants & Musings of a Stay-At-Home Mom for FREEEEE until Dec 3rd! Hurry before the price goes back up!

Disregard previous post...

2012-11-28T10:25:00.000-08:00

Ass is back. Thank you, that is all.

Damn summer! I blame summer and all of it's summerness. Could have had something to do with all of the time at the pool. This was the first year that mama did NOT have to be in the pool the entire time! Sissy is now a swimmer (woo-to-the-flingin'-flangin'-HOOOO!) and Bubba has an awesome Bubba-proof swimmy thingy. So there was me, basking in my glory, eating snacks while watching the kiddos swim. I even got in SEVERAL times, but obviously not enough to work off the snackage. Damn. How many times am I going to lose the same 10 lbs, I ask you!?!! We just had pics taken for our family Christmas cards and I look like Jabba the Hut. Pitiful. No camera angle is going to hide those chins, I tell ya. And I'd like to know why I feel the need to bulk up right before the most picture taking-est time of year!! Never snapped even one pic of my skinny self back in June. Next time I lose weight, I'm snapping photos like a mo' fo', so just expect some in your mailbox. :)

Ok, so back on the bandwagon. Because, you know, historically the holidays are the time for LOSING weight! Ugh. I haven't even started into my yearly Christmas fudge-a-thon yet! Fudge is kind of my thang. I've made probably a hundred lbs. over the years so I've got it down, and people will scream at me if they don't get their fudge. I'll be strong. I'll resist. I'll eat a carrot. Hey, Slimfast makes a fudge flavor, right? I'm sure it tastes the same.

Ass be gone!

2012-05-05T16:40:00.000-07:00

Ok, people. We need to take a moment here. Take a moment and give a big shout out to the WW. (Weight Watchers for all of you newbies and skinny bitches.) I was cleaning out my closet and decided to try on an old pair of jeans. You know the pair, the ones that are completely out of style but you keep them around as a measuring tool. The 'remember when' pair. The pair that snaps you back to reality if you ever start getting too cocky and thinking you’re wasting away to nothing. The pair that you swear you are going to LIGHT ON FIRE because they seem to be shrinking a whole size every few months. Right now some of you, that know what I'm talking about, are thinking, "DANGER! DANGER! MAY RESULT IN SEVERE DEPRESSION, LOCKING YOURSELF IN THE PANTRY AND EATING CHOCOLATE CHIPS RIGHT OUT OF THE BAG!" Well, today I stared that beast down and made peace with this pair of good-for-nothing jeans! THEY FIT! I haven’t had these suckers on since before I had kids! Woooo-to-the-flingin’-flangin’-HOOOOO!! I’ve still got about 8 lbs before I hit my goal but I’m on my way! And I owe it all to the WW, and more importantly, Jersey Mike’s. I swear I’m going to be the new Jared! Remember the Subway dude that lost all that weight eating sandwiches? Jersey Mike’s turkey sub without oil and vinegar (might I suggest adding mustard, pickles and peppercinni's for a bit of tang?) is a ton of food for very little calories. Do yourself a favor and check it out if you have the means. “It is so choice.” (You get bonus points right here if you know that quote!) :) Ok, well I gotta run because the wind is blowing and mama needs to put a rock in her pocket. Ba dum bum! (Because I’m so skinny, remember? And the wind...will blow me away...because of my thinness...get it?) I know, I'm a hoot. :D

So thank you WW for helping me find my ass! I knew it was buried in there somewhere!

What fresh hell is this?

2012-03-31T09:03:00.001-07:00

Apparently we've entered a new "phase". We have a "situation". An "issue". (For some reason I'm visualizing Joey from Friends and his "air quotes", then Ms. Chanandler Bong saying, "You're doing it wrong, Joe." Ok, back to hell...this morning at the crack o' early, I felt this little hand patting my bed. Patting...patting...I wondered what it was but was so tired that I said a quick prayer that the situation would resolve itself. That is, until I heard, "Morning Sissy!" Ummm, WTH? Mr. Man and I sat straight up in bed, dazed and confused. Holyyyyy CRAP!! Bubba had jumped out of his crib! I mean, he's almost 4 feet tall...it was bound to happen. But I had put if off for so long, and honestly, I'm just not ready. Not ready. I just wanted him to stay in that crib until he was like 3 1/2 and his little legs were sticking out through the slats because he was so tall. I need this boy CONTAINED!! Now, what to do!?! He has given me his 2 1/2 year old promise, more like a "pwomise", that he will never jump out again...and I think he means it. Ok, he doesn't mean it, but it's early and I'm tired and have I mentioned that I'm not ready to deal with this? He's only been sleeping through the night for 3 months, which mean I HAVE ONLY BEEN SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT FOR 3 MONTHS!

I can hear my mother's voice in my head, frantic that he will hurt himself jumping out of the crib. This does not concern me considering he jumps from the top of the slide without a problem. (Maybe a non-life threatening injury will slow him down! I KID! (not really) Did I just quote within a quote? Party foul! Sorry!) My boy is very athletic, so maybe this mama just needs to have faith in his athletic abilities and write this off to just a "whim"...it's a "fluke", right? He probably won't do it again. Just wanted to see if he could. Yeah, that's it. That's all this was. Just curiosity, and now that he knows he can, he will have no interest in doing it again. Whew. Thanks, guys. I was scared there for a second. #denial #prayforme

Mother Fluffer!

2012-03-28T14:50:00.000-07:00

Woke up 498 times last night because my husband kept fluffing the blankets! Makes. me. crazy!!! I was sleeping so nice and warm and cozy, and Mr. Man would roll over every 20 minutes and fluff up the covers, thus sending a blast of freezing cold air into my warm little pocket I had carved out for myself. AAGGHHH!!! Then I'd have to start all over, making sure there were no gaps that could let out the heat. Twenty minutes later...MOTHER FLUFFER! I'm sure he thought I was talking in my sleep at first. 1:00 am..."Stop fluffing my pocket." 2:15 am ... "You're letting in all of the cold air." 2:50 am..."DUDE!" (we actually say these things in Cali.) 3:30 am ... "I am about to rain down a wrath upon your head, the likes of which you've never known." Now let's just add this to the fact that Bubba, at almost 3 years old, has decided that the last 3 nights, instead of sleeping, he's going to scream bloody murder. I don't even think he's fully awake when he's screaming. Have I mentioned that he screams as loud as a full grown person? Because I'm feeling the need to drive that point home again. And again. He is very loud. Like blow-your-hair-back loud. Like be-in-a-sound-sleep-and-sit-bolt-upright-in-bed-not-knowing-where-the-hell-you-are-and-why-you're-being-yelled-at loud. Like Full-Metal-Jacket-I-love-the-smell-of-napalm-in-the-morning loud. And he's down the hall behind a closed door! We have NEVER turned the volume up on the video monitor. Oh yes, we have video. MUST have video. That little sucker is cagey. Gotta keep an eye on him 24/7.

So today I am pooped and it is a yoga pants kinda day. What I REALLY want is a yoga pants, eat myself sick in chocolate chip cookies, kinda day. Weight Watchers won't let me. Apparently, they are watching.......and weighing. #meanies

I'm going to hell. Have a nice day.

2012-02-16T09:10:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was a lady who pushed her dog in a stroller. This lady lives in my neighborhood. I have seen her pushing this dog in his own personal stroller for a few years now. You might remember reading about this in my book. The dog showed no signs of missing any limbs and I mused (Ranted? Mused!) about how I would need to wear a big orange vest and carry a big orange cone if I was pushing a dog in a stroller to announce to the world that I was, in fact, not a complete IDIOT who pushes a DOG in a STROLLER! It would have to say something like, "WARNING! DOG HAS HEART CONDITION AND MUST BE PUSHED IN THIS RIDICULOUS STROLLER!" Something like that. I might have a flare, too. Yeah. Definitely need flares.

Ok, so let us now fast forward to a few weeks ago. I was waiting in front of my daughter's school to pick her up when I hear my girlfriend frantically calling my name, "SHARI!" ~huffing, puffing~ "SHAAAAARRRIIIIII!!" She's running towards me, her red hair flailing in the wind, and she is panicked! In between trying to catch her breath, I catch these few words..."The dog...has...NO LEGS!!!!" ~sound of screeching tires in my head, followed by complete silence...slight ringing...possibly the sound of my pounding heart in my ears, although it could have been the battle cry of El Diablo telling me that I'm going to hell, and here's my hand basket.~ I am able to mutter a pitiful, whisper of a "whaaaat?" :-/ She repeats, "No legs. Dog has no back legs. Lady takes him to the park and he scoots around on his butt because he has...no...legs." What else could I say? "Punch me in the face. Punch me right now. Punch then pray, for I fear I am on my way south. Pearly gates just slammed shut on the woman who dissed a no-legged dog." Apparently my friend was at the park chatting it up with a few of her mommy friends and talk turned to Dog Pusher Lady and my friend giggled and mentioned my hilarious commentary in the book. To which they responded, "Oh, he doesn't have any back legs." True story.

So as I am wallowing in my self hatred, a ray of light...a beacon in the night, if you will. On the way back to the car I run into another mom friend that I don't know very well, but we pass each other daily and exchange pleasantries. (Sounds so civilized, doesn't it? Yeah, if I wasn't an evil dog dissing bastard.) I explain to her that I am the scum that grows on bottom-dwellers bellies because I wrote about this lady with her dog and now I find out that the dog has no back legs. To which this angel, sent from God, says to me, "Don't worry, you did nothing wrong. I know that dog. He's an asshole." It was at this moment that I knew. She is my people. Anyone who could call a dog an asshole is alright by me! :D Jury is still out on my reservations for hell, but it might be that my transgressions weren't as bad as previously thought. I'm sure PETA would see it otherwise, for I don't think PETA peeps would call a dog an asshole, so let's just keep this between us. They are not my people.

Sliding Doors (and not the cool Gwenyth Paltrow kind)

2012-02-05T11:12:00.000-08:00

What makes the track of the sliding screen door so attractive? This is prime real estate in my home. It is the place my children most long to be. Not IN the house, not OUT of the house, but in this narrow space, letting in every bug in the tri-state area. It's like there's a magnet in their butts that draws them to the doorway, leaving them dangling with thoughts of "do I want in or do I want out?" It's the sort of indecision I haven't seen since Brett Favre. JUST MAKE UP YOUR MIND!! Then I find myself sounding EXACTLY like my mother when I say, "IN or OUT!!" It's a bit disturbing and comforting at the same time. Comforting that at least I know she was feeling the same thing, but nobody likes to sound like their mother. Sorry Mom...it's da troof. :)

Yesterday my 5 year old was literally laying across the track of the door with the top half of her body in the house and the lower half outside. As my 2 year old was attempting to lay on top of her, I believe my head exploded. After dealing with this situation 14 times a day, for what feels like every day of my life, I finally blew... ~scary whisper voice~ "Geeeeet OUT!!!"

These are the little moments in a mother's day that make her feel like she's being pecked to death by chickens.

I think I'm going to homeschool...

2012-01-17T07:39:00.000-08:00

You read that right. Calm down. Every day between 6:45am and 6:54am I entertain the thought of homeschooling. This is the 9 minutes of torture between the alarm going off and the snooze alarm, when in my exhausted haze I think how wonderful it would be to homeschool and not have to wake to an alarm. Aaaaaahhhhhh. But inevitably, as the sleepy starts to wear off, I start to realize that would mean that the precious treasure known as my children would be spending their entire day with me...every day...and then the day after that...and then the day after that. That's when I realize that dragging my tired butt out of bed is but a small price to pay to have a few hours of quiet.

I'm sure you're shocked and surprised to find that I don't already homeschool. You're probably thinking, "Shari, with your penchant for patience and calm demeanor, why aren't you homeschooling? Why aren't you pouring all of your love and understanding upon your precious children every waking moment of your day?" I'll agree, it is a puzzlement. But as my husband points out, if I were to homeschool, my kids wouldn't be able to do even one pull-up. **Backstory** When I was a senior in high school I was called up on stage with other kids to receive the Presidential Academic Fitness Award. I was floored! I leaned over to a friend standing next to me and said, "Wow! This is so unexpected! I couldn't even do one pull-up!" He looked confused for a second and then he says, "ACADEMIC fitness, you idiot." OOOOHHH!!! Nevermind. :) This is hubby's favorite story in the whole wide world. #notjustapurdyface

I Have A Policy...

2012-01-13T11:22:00.000-08:00

I have found that my life runs smoother with certain policies. And by policies, I mean rules made up BY me, FOR me! I find that it helps me stick to certain things and avoid aggravation. For example, I have a policy that I will always check the bag before I drive away from the drive-thru window, to make sure they got my order right. NOTHING makes me more hostile than pulling away and realizing that they gave Sissy nuggets when she wanted a cheeseburger, or that they gave Bubba apple slices that taste like nail polish (Sissy once said, "Mom, these apples taste like nail polish. Yeah, they're GOOD!") instead of french fries. So I sit there and go through each and every little bag to make sure that in their haste, I didn't get screwed. Sometimes you will begin to feel the pressure to move that car, but don't you do it! In moments of uncertainty, I just remind myself that I have a policy! Because I am NOT going in that store. That would require me to park...get 2 kids out of the car...get the stroller because Bubba will take off running for the hills if I don't, then standing in LINE to make them fix the order that they screwed up in the first place. I will NOT be that guy! Therefore, I have established a policy that I shall check the baggage! I enjoy telling the window person about my policy if they give me the "lady, what is your deal" face. I simply say, "I have a policy that I check the bag for accuracy before pulling away from the dock. Please hold." (I enjoy saying "Please Hold" because it is said to me on so many occasions, so I like to pay it forward. Besides, it's funny. ) You'd be surprised at how using the word 'policy' affects people. Window Person usually just says a surprised, "Oh! Ok." Like if by using that word it makes it more official. I don't know, it's just my policy.

Another policy that I have and highly recommend to everyone is, I do not answer the door if I don't know you. Never. Ever. Even if you have flowers because I am not that stupid as to be fooled by some perp trying to gain access into my house by bringing me a vase of flowers. (I use this example because according to the law enforcement peeps in my family, this works every time!) And just because you have official badges and a van, well guess what?!! I can go to Kinko's too, you sonofa%&$*!! Oh, ok. Maybe that was a little harsh. But I get so aggravated that in this day and age, with all of the crime and home invasion robberies, that people would continue to go door-to-door to sell crap that none of us needs or asked for! I figure, you have my address, mail me a letter! If I want what you are selling, I'll call YOU! If not, go away!

This situation happened to me yesterday and it just makes me so mad! My 5 year old was yelling upstairs, "Mom! Someone's at the door!" I looked out the window and saw two men with suits and name badges. Big whoop! Not opening the door, sucker! Because like hubby says, "Nothing good can come of it. Only bad! Once you open that door, they are in if they want to be." And I've got 2 little kids to think of. I have been known to talk through the door and explain that "I have a policy to not open the door to strangers. Have a nice day." Or in the words of Jack Nicholson, "go sell crazy somewhere else, we're all full up here!"

I also have a no pen policy. Meaning that I don't use community pens when I am out in stores and ESPECIALLY when I am at the doctor's office!! I mean, really!?! You've got people in the waiting room with everything from strep to the mange and you want me to touch the pen that they just fingered? Not thanks! I find that during cold and flu season, whipping out my very own pen is an easy way to avoid unnecessary illness. As opposed to those illnesses that are necessary. :) I'm not an OCD clean freak, by any means. But this just makes good sense, doesn't it? And besides, it's my policy.

My final policy (who am I kidding?! I've got a million of them! ) is that I do not donate to any organization outside of stores. Leave. Me. Alone! Bad enough that they are knocking on my door, but now they are attacking me when I am trying to shop!?! I groan when I pull into the parking lot and see someone camped out with their pop up table in front of the store. Ugh. Leave me alone! I donate to the food pantry through school, I buy Girl Scout cookies from my friends, I am a Partner in Hope for Saint Jude's every month, and besides all of that, I give where I see a need. I don't need the checker person asking me at EVERY transaction if I want to donate to this, that, or the other! And while I'm on the subject, I'm realizing that I need to amend this policy to cover those freakin' carts in the middle of the mall!! DO NOT approach me to try your hand cream or sit in your chair so you can fry my hair with your flat iron, people!!! I am shopping, or chatting, or enjoying some semblance of calm and I don't want to be sold to! What? What's that you say? Why yes, I used to be in sales...what's your point? I used to annoy myself with my sales pitches and that is why I now have a policy that I won't buy something from solicitors! I will not encourage this behavior. If I walk into your store or up to your cart, then I'm fair game. Otherwise, back off!

I encourage you to give it a go! Develop a few policies for yourself and report back! #policiessavelives

Sticky McStickerson...

2011-06-30T13:20:00.000-07:00

I am starting to wonder if I will be sticky for the rest of my life. I never really paid much attention to how often I was sticky before having kids. Probably because I wasn't ever sticky. Or if I was sticky, I would wash my hands and be done with it for another year or so. But after having children I find that sticky has become a way of life. I am forever sticky...gummy...tacky...and not in that tacky "I'm wearing teal toe nail polish" kind of way. (I mention that because I just made this poor choice today. Not sure what I was thinking. I think I got caught up in my imaginary "Carrie Bradshaw" life again. Shari Bradshaw, if you will. I have a closet full of clothes, shoes and handbags that were purchased when I was under this influence. Then I come back to reality and find my teal toes sticking to the floor.) FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!! Where does this crap come from?!! Raisins? Granola Bars? Cheerios? Juice? I wash these children. I swear that I do. Constantly washing. Wiping. Rinsing. Can't seem to keep up. And when I do get MYSELF cleaned up, it is inevitable that within 10 minutes I will touch something or step in something that I missed. It's like they do it to taunt me. Like little sticky gremlins who are trying to see how much more it will take before I end up hiding in the pantry in the fetal position. #Imightnevercomeout #notabadmomjuststucktothefloor . My favorite part is when Daddy gets home and in his most shocked voice says, "Why is the refrigerator sticky?!". I'm breathing...I'm breathing...and in scary whisper I say, "Be...cause...IIIIIIIIII AMMMMMMM STICKYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!".

Howard the Translator...

2011-06-28T20:24:00.003-07:00

Howard Cosell has now become Howard the Translator. Adam talks nonstop. Non. Stop. As in, never stops talking. In case you didn't get that...he talks alot. So now not only do I hear, "Mommy, tika tika blah blah cookie, monkey george, outside, water, ickies, milk, go bye bye, Abby, Sissy" x a bazillion, but it is always followed by Howard's translations, "Mom, he said he wants a salami sandwich at Disneyland", "Mom, he said he wants to go to Target and get a water balloon made of cheese. Oh, and an ICEE". You know when you watch the U.N. (cuz you know you do) and the translator starts talking before the foreign dude is even finished? Yeah, it's like that.

Twitter revelation!

2011-06-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

Twitter. WTH. I cannot understand this thing! I get the concept, and I am really not that dense in the technology dept., but what with all of the '#' and '@RT's', I just get lost. The most time I have ever spent on Twitter was when I was following Jeff Probst's live tweeting during Survivor. Even then I was getting lost trying to figure out where the comments were that he was responding to. But one thing that stuck with me, and actually brings me great joy, is the '#'. I had someone explain it to me and apparently, if you are searching Twitter for something in particular, like comments about chocolate souffle', you would type #chocolatesouffle and those comments will appear. If you want other people to be able to search your comments about chocolate souffle' you would type #chocolatesouffle after you reviewed a recipe, visited a restaurant, jumped on the scale. "I gained 4 lbs this week! #chocolatesouffle". :)

Let me tell you, lots of fun to be had with '#'. #thisisahoot. See what I just did there? :) Why does this bring me such joy, I ask you! #wherehaveyoubeenallmylife. I just can't stop. #Shariisabouttogetannoying. Try it. You'll like it! #Don'tknowwhatyouaremissing.

It is kind of like the subliminal message that you want to convey but don't want to come right out and say. For example, you are at the soccer field and Gossip McGossipson is running her mouth. So you tweet, "People need to grow up and stop gossiping. It isn't nice and sends the wrong message to our children. #bitchgonnagetafootupherass." :) Aaaaahhhh, that feels good, doesn't it?

Picture day or root canal? Tough call.

2011-06-15T21:49:00.000-07:00

Today was picture day. Yearly picture day. Adam is 2. I could probably end this story here because if you have children, you know this story is not a happy one. But I can feel that you really want me to share, so I will. Maybe it will be cathartic for me. Maybe it will purge the pain from my body. Or maybe I will be returned to that day in my mind and slam my head through a plate glass window. We'll see. Should be fun.

Now let me be clear, this day was made much worse by the fact that I am not the picture person in the family, meaning the one who gives a crap about the pictures. That would be hubby. It could be said that I am not the picture person because I am the one who has to haul these children to have their picture taken! If he had to take them, he might discover that he isn't the picture person that he thinks he is! Not that I don't enjoy pics of my kids, but as any mother can tell you, we see these captured moments of our children with their upturned cherub-like faces and all we can think is, "Boy, he was a shit that day!", or "Right after this was taken, I put her on eBay". It takes years to forget the trauma and nausea that often accompanies 'picture day'. It must take more than 4 years because my daughter is 5 and the experience of her 1 year photo shoot is still embedded in my mind. I tell myself that it fades with time. I have no proof of this. It's just what I tell myself to get through. I see it all so clearly. Where's Alzheimer's when ya need it?

Being the non-picture-person that I am, and the fact that I am absolutely DREADING this day, I haven't purchased special clothes for the kids. Probably out of denial that this day is coming or maybe because I refuse to pay any more money for outfits that they will wear for 10 minutes. (10 minutes because I am a 'Shock and Awe' type of mother. But more on that later.) So I find myself on picture morning digging through their closets and drawers to find 2 outfits that look decent together. I do. I rock. Cue the angels. Now on to hair and makeup. (No makeup but I enjoy the ring to it.) It isn't until this moment that I realize it is like Cowlickapalooza up in here! Good LORD! Not enough gel in the world to deal with all of this. I comb this way and that way, spike, and consider a razor, before just leaving it in God's hands. If he wants my boy to look like Dennis the Menace, so be it. Actually, that isn't too far off. So on to the studio. A 20 minute drive. Oh joy.

Now about the Shock and Awe, I have a speech that I give to all who photograph my kids. "I am going to put this child down. The minute this tush hits the chair, you start clicking. I mean you click like you have never clicked before. Click like you are on FIRE, MAN!! Because once the screaming begins, there's no turning back. There is no 'calm down and go back to pictures in a few minutes'. This is as good as it is going to get and if my children are going to get out of here without a beating, I need to remove them from the area when the screaming commences." By the look on the photog's face, I become Psychic Sue and can deduce whether or not they have children. Adam was better than Kaitlyn at 2 in the attitude dept. but worse in the 'can't sit still' dept. He was crawling out of my arms to get onto the picture platform, but after about 3 1/2 seconds there, couldn't wait to get down. And then the lady tried to POSE HIM!! HAVE YOU HEARD NOTHING THAT I HAVE SAID?!! DOES 'SHOCK AND AWE' RING A BELL? I believe I blurted, "NO POSING! CLICK, WOMAN!". Those of you that know me, know that I would say something like this. It's kind of like Outspoken Tourette's. It runs in the family. Not my fault. But it seems to get the job done. I follow it up with a funny little ditty, when time allows. :)

I think the pictures took all of 6 minutes, including pics of Adam alone and some with the two kids. I wish this thing had audio because you just can't translate the sheer VOLUME through the written word. So we had pushing, wriggling, screaming and photos, oh my. The only way we got through the choosing-of-the-pictures portion of the program was thanks to Skittles. Skittles and their artificial colors and flavors that ended up all over the picture clothes and me. But hey, at least I didn't end up with poop on my face. That seems to be the benchmark of bad days for me. What's that you say? You don't know this story? Well, that is due in part to the post traumatic stress disorder that the 'Poop Incident of 2009' inflicted on me. I have tried to write this story on several occasions but can only get through bits and pieces at a time. Some day I will finish it. Probably as the book is going to print. I mean, I shared the pee story, why not tell #2. Literally. ;)

So pics are done for another year. HALLELUJAH! Got some cute ones, or maybe they are just cute to me because they are done. Neither here nor there. All that matters is that next year Adam will be 3 and he HAS to be easier, right? Right? If you aren't agreeing, you must leave. Mommy can't look at you right now.

Hot Potato...

2011-06-12T16:03:00.000-07:00

You wanna piss off a mom? Give her some french fries hot out of the fryer!! There is not a mom out there who doesn't know what I am talking about! You decide to treat the kids...be the hero...you know, try to be Dad for a few minutes. So you hit the drive thru, wait for what seems like an eternity while listening to your restless 2 year old scream and his 5 year old sister yell at him to stop screaming, just knowing that quiet bliss is but moments away. And then they give you the bag. As you sit it on your lap and feel the pangs of 2nd degree burns, you know this is NOT gonna be good. Nothing like sitting in the parking lot, with 60 degree temps outside, and the a/c blasting as you hold up french fries to the vent as those mother effers are burning the flesh right off of your fingers. Enduring the confused looks of men who drive by. LOOK AWAY, BUDDY. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A MOTHER. The sheer depth, range and scope of ridiculous crap that we have to deal with. It is a constant bombardment on the brain of creativity. How to get through the day with the least amount of screams and tantrums, and the kids act up sometimes as well. (ba-dum-BUM!) :)

But seriously, fresh is NOT GOOD when it comes to children. Give me the fries that have been sitting out for 10 minutes or so. Nothing thrills me like a lukewarm nugget! I am ashamed to admit that I know not to go through the drive-thru at 11:30am. EVERYTHING is hot!! If you are sitting there judging me, then you are a) not a mother, b) you have a huge support system, or c) just a judgemental b-hole who needs to spend a few hours with my youngest. :) I know, you don't have to say it...I'm sweet.

Stop staring at me!

2011-04-17T17:11:00.000-07:00

Death to the highchair!! Seriously, I'm over it. That flippin' thing has been in my face since November 2005. Mind you, my first child wasn't born until the end of Feb. 2006. And babies don't sit in highchairs until they are at least 6 months old...which would be August...of 2006!

Right about now you are asking yourself, "Why would the highchair be set up in November BEFORE the baby was born?". To which I would reply, "WHAT'S YOUR POINT?!" It's because I'm an over anxious pain in the ass, that's why!! It was our first baby gift and it arrived on the doorstep in November. So of course, being who I am, I sat my pregnant butt down on the floor and put the damn thing together IMMEDIATELY!! Not realizing it was the size of my first car...and my apartment was not much bigger than my first car. Not realizing you can't take these mothers apart once they are put together! Don't get me wrong, it is a beautiful highchair. It was the chosen ONE. The highchair that was to fulfill all of my highchair dreams. The one that was so perfect in it's perfection that it would inspire my child to crave brussel sprouts and organic legumes. You know, THAT highchair.

So here we are, 5 1/2 years, 5,682 meals later and I want to light the mother effer on FIRE!! But realistically, I probably have at least 6 months left. I will have to suck it up. I think I can...I think I can...and then I'm gonna beat it...I'm gonna pound it with a mallet...except I don't have a malllet. I will go BUY a mallet, THEN I will pound it within an inch of it's life! I shall put on my big boots and kick the crap out of it...and it will be glorious. Just thinking about it gives me the warm fuzzies. :) Babycrapbegone!!

The Penis Crusher...

2011-02-24T20:58:00.000-08:00

So I'm doing this Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred...or it is doing me. Haven't quite worked that out yet. Not a big fan of Jillian. Personally, I think she's a man, baby. She's one of those chicks that acts like she is pissed she wasn't born a dude. Like she is always trying to prove that she is tough. I noticed during my 'shredding' that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. BIG SURPRISE!!! Let me save her years of therapy and break it down for her...HEY JILLIAN! YOU SCARE PEOPLE!

Which brings me to a question I have always had. Why do some women feel the need to act so tough? Do they think that it is attractive to a man? If a woman acts like a man to attract a man...wouldn't she be attracting another woman? I mean, a man is a man so if he is heterosexual, why would he want a woman who acts like a man? He wants a woman to be a woman, right? It all gets very confusing at this point. I once had a friend who was like this and I never understood it. She would pine away, wanting a man...need a man...gotta have a man...then when she would snag herself a man, she would act like a MAN. She would put on this tough-guy act and get so mean and bitchy, like she was going to make this guy pay for the fact that she has gone so long w/ out a man. And guess what...no more man. I watched this happen several times and the guy would just look at me like "WTH?". I would just shrug my shoulders as if to say, "Sorry, dude. No clue." Needless-to-say, no longer friends w/ The Penis Crusher, as she was affectionately known. And she has yet to marry...hmmm...imagine that.   I think her story was that she had been hurt so many times before, yadda yadda yadda. At some point you just have to put on your big girl panties and say hey, whether a guy stays or leaves, I'm going to be ok. But while he is here, let's have a good time. Of course, it took my first husband cheating on me and me leaving to come to this epiphany that being alone is A-OK! I think if you can hit that phase before you get married, all the better. It just helps you leave the excess baggage at the door. I don't worry about my husband leaving me because if he did, I'd be ok. I'd be sad for a while, but I know I'd be ok. I think that makes me a better wife, actually. Takes the pressure off of both of us. I'm not clingy, he's not clingy. No cling.

But back to my shred! So I'm feeling these same Penis Crusher vibes from Jillian, is all I'm trying to say. And as for the shredding...well, it's only day 3 so at this point I'm really just more of a rough chop.   :)

You're good enough, you're smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like you!

2011-01-30T14:56:00.000-08:00

Can we talk for just a minute? Just between us chipmunks? (Don't ask. If you don't know me by now, let me just explain that sometimes there is no explanation for what flies out of my mouth.) Anywho...I have to say that I am honestly sick and tired of seeing articles, books, and shows about 'Women Learning to Love Themselves', and 'Finding the Beauty Within'. It's not that I'm against women learning these things, I guess I just wish it wasn't necessary. Do we not know that beauty is within? Why don't men have these problems? Like women don't have enough to deal with, without having to worry about this? Can't we all just put on our Big Girl Panties and try to be good people and kind to our fellow neighbor, and the other crap be damned? Maybe it comes from being a chipmunk (there it is again) but I am just so sick of hearing about it. I have had days when I have felt down, of course. But it just seems like an epidemic these days. It must sell lots of magazines and give the talk shows great ratings or I guess they wouldn't talk about it so much.

I remember when I was in 6th grade and I was starting to see the dynamics happening between boys and girls. I knew I wasn't one of the pretty girls. I mean, I wasn't homely, but definitely not a head turner. Several of my friends got a ton of boy attention, and I didn't, except to be friends. I remember thinking to myself, "Ok Shari, looks aren't your thing, so you better work on that personality!" I vividly remember thinking this. So I did. And I knew I was smart. So I decided to work on the positives and accept what I had to work with. I had a friend who wasn't the best looking girl, but people were drawn to her because she was so much fun and smiled all the time. Bingo! That would be me! I didn't attract all of the boys, but I believe I attracted the ones that mattered, and in the end, isn't that what's important?

Here's what I wonder...when we have moments that we aren't feeling so great about ourselves, what if we went out and did something nice for someone else? I'm not trying to get all Pollyanna on your ass, but I wonder if it is possible to be depressed about your own life when you're volunteering at a homeless shelter, battered women's home, or donating food and clothing. This is an honest question, I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad about themselves, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!! Wouldn't THAT be counterproductive?! But that brings up another thought...why should what someone says make somebody feel bad about themselves, unless it is directly addressed at that person. (Like if someone said, "Shari, you are an idiot." Offensive. But if someone said, "All bloggers are idiots.", I'm not offended by that because I know I'm not an idiot.) I mention this because there are many times where someone's Facebook status or blog post has ruffled feathers. It's one thing to disagree, but often people become so irate and you can only assume it is because they have personalized comments that weren't directed at them. Are they feeling judged, or are they judging themselves? I just find it interesting because I don't think people can be offended unless deep inside they think the same thing of themselves. And if someone is judging you, why do we care? I am caring less and less as I get older. I think that is one gift of age. Counter balances the acts of gravity that are just rude.

Ok, back to fun and frolic in the next blog, I promise! First I hit you with ratios...and now this! What is this...SCHOOL?! Forgive me! 20 lashes with a wet noodle. But not the Toy Story noodle, just the regular kind with extra cheese. :)

Mini Me...

2011-01-25T21:13:00.000-08:00

It's time to discuss ratios. We've avoided it long enough, people. You knew we couldn't go on all willy nilly forever, didn't you? Well, let us put on our big girl (or boy) panties and dive in, shall we? Trust me, you'll be glad you did.

Never thought about ratios before having children, but now I find myself faced with them on a daily basis. The ratio of 2 parents to 1 child, and the difference it made when the ratio became 2:2. (I believe that ' : ' is the international sign for ratio's, although I'm not sure...pretty sure, but not 100%. I didn't ask my staff to research it before launching this project. My bad. By the way, where is my staff? Note to self...get staff.) But now we've gotten off on a tangent, haven't we? I know what you are trying to do. You're trying to distract me with all of your questions. Well it won't work, MISTER! RATIOS!!!

Let's take the mini M&M's for example, it seems as though they would taste the same as regular sized M&M's and yet they do not. Why is that? Ratio. Something to do with the amount of chocolate vs. the candy coating and it all went wonky. The jury is still out on whether or not I like them. I mean, I wouldn't kick them out of bed for eating...uh...ok, bad analogy, but I think I'm a purist and enjoy the traditional M's. Now mini-Oreos!! WHOLE other
story!!! WOW!! Ratio made those its BEYOTCH! :) Pour those little bad boys into a bowl, covered in milk and you've got the Breakfast of Champions!! Of course I have never done this, I'm just sayin'. (Sidebar... isn't it interesting how everything has gone mini these days? Seems like when mini people came into my life, so did this mini food business. Coincidence? I think not.) And these little Ritz bits peanut butter cracker mini's?!!! HURT ME!! Love those. Mini cheese? Not so much. Now why is that? Ratio = no go!

Well now you've done it, I'm hungry. I should mention that you must take care when eating minis. For some strange reason, these mini contraptions pack maxi calories. So fair warning! Too much mini make too much Shari!

Incompetent...or incapable? THAT is the question!

2011-01-18T20:40:00.000-08:00

Is it just me, or is there an awful lot more screw ups these days? I'm talking...getting cheese on your sandwich when you specifically said no cheese because Weight Watchers frowns on cheese, not because you don't like cheese, you are just forbidden from IT...giving you REAL Coke when you ordered diet...leggings that SAY they are a size 6 but really they are a size 5 so as your daughter is walking into her classroom and she bends down to pick something up you see baby butt crack so now you try to return them and the store confirms that yes, they are marked wrong but you now have all these tops to go w/ the leggings but the store won't return the tops because the tops aren't mismarked but you have no bottoms and your daughter is built like a pole so she can't wear jeans because she is too tall and now you have all of these tops and no bottoms. Ok, that one is likely just me. But what about ordering something through the mail and it arrives broken...or boots w/ 2 right feet...or charging you for the $80 pedicure when your giftcard CLEARLY STATED IT WAS $80 FOR A MANI/PEDI so then you still owe $35 ~faints~ (ok...that one might be just me again).

Can't just be me. Seems as though this is becoming an epidemic. Nobody cares, or they are all stupid. Which is it? One of my Facebook friends recently made a wish that stupidity was painful. Wouldn't. That. Be. AWESOME!?!!!!! Omg! I would LOVE that. I could sit outside of Hot Topics and watch all of these kids saying, "Ow...Ow...OOWWWWW!!!" :D Or I could call Time Warner and hear, "Due to a large volume of ...OW!...calls, wait times are...OW!! ...longer than usual...OWW!! You're call is very...OWW!!...important to us. CRAP! OW!!". That would bring me joy. Because really, who are the stupid people hurting now? ME! Enough, I say!

To the preschool teacher that serves my child her snack at 8:30am when she walks in the door... ENOUGH!!! To the drive thru person who speaks so fast I have no clue what they are saying and NO I DON'T WANT A YUMBO YACK, ENOUGH!!! To the sales clerk who wipes her nose with her hand and then proceeds to hand me my change, ENOUGH! To the receptionist at the doctor's office who acts like she's the one who went to medical school instead of smokin' her cigs behind the 7-11 trying to get someone to buy her beer, ENOUGH!! I'm taking a stand, people!! I will not dumb myself down. Raise the standards! Insist that life rise up to meet you! I am sick and tired of battling and arguing with people who just don't seem to have the sense that God gave a goose! TELL ME it's not just me!!

Happy New Year, I'm drawing a blank.

2011-01-03T10:16:00.000-08:00

Monday, January 3, 2011

Nothing. I got nothing...maybeeeeeee...nope. Nada. Kicking off 2011 w/ a bang, I tell ya! Maybe there's just a log jam of rants. Watched Ax Men last night and learned that logs get jammed and clog up the process. Thinkin' I have a log jammed. I get little trickles of thought and inspiration, but the big gushers seem to be few and far between. Probably because I've just got too much jammed up in there. I know I've got a log marked 'Christmas Tree' because although I took all the decor down 4 or 5 days ago, this tree is still sitting here. Staring at me. With it's lights on. I mean, it's right here next to me. Staring. Cuz to have a tree sitting, staring, WITHOUT lights on is just sad. This is a tad less sad. But it's like he's saying, "Get off your lazy butt and take me DOWN already!! This is getting embarrassing!!". I know this is what he's saying. Stop looking at me! Stupid tree! I'll turn those lights out. Don't think I won't!

The reason this tree has not come down yet is because of log #2, which is cooking. Since we had zero plans for the New Year and since my mom is laid up with a broken leg, I decided to be festive and cook some fun stuff. So that involved menu planning, shopping, cooking, cleaning and delivering. Mix into that logs #3 and #4 which are Kaitlyn and Adam. Had to take care of them in betwixt and between. Ok, then there's the laundry log...the "Gymboree mismarked several pairs of their leggings as size 6 when they are really only a 4 or 5 so I have to go through, measure and return them" log, the "it's Sunday and hubby has the kids so I better get out while the gettin's good" log, the "Kaitlyn is in school and baby is napping so you better keep your New Year's resolution and blog more even though you haven't had a shower yet" log. Let's see, what else...oh, the "I have a new Kindle that I love and have no time to read like I want to because I have all of these logs" log, the "Kaitlyn wet the bed last night so we have emergency laundry that has to cut ahead of all the other laundry" log and in the meantime I realized that there's a new log today marked, "My new everyday sweater that I love is DRY CLEAN ONLY which does NOT make it an everyday sweater anymore!". I am a mother, dammat!!! We do not DO 'dry clean only'! Can I get an amen!?!

See, told ya there was a rant in there somewhere. This is a testament to the fact that I can go on and on with nothing...about nothing...to infinity and beyond. Maybe in the process of this nothingness I have unjammed a log or two. Blog is done, now off to change laundry and shower! But first I have to go slap this tree.

Here's a tip...

2010-12-29T10:24:00.000-08:00

If you find yourself out of time in the morning, and think it would be a good idea to put makeup on in the car at a stoplight, think again. Might as well just stick your head in your makeup bag and shake it around. If you can't get your happy little self up 5 minutes early to slap on some powder and mascara, don't bother. I guarantee, the look you are going for will not be found in a 3"x6" mirror w/ bad lighting. You're gonna end up looking like and old French whore. FOCUS ON THE ROAD, LADY!!

I froze!

2010-12-27T20:00:00.000-08:00

I've gotta be honest, I got a little bit of stage fright. I felt like Cindy Brady, staring at that red light from the camera, unable to move. What caused such terror, you ask? Well, first I peed...then I posted. Peed, then posted, then watched as over 4,000...ok, who am I kidding? Like I don't know the EXACT amount! 4,158 people read my post. Then retweeted and reposted 77 times. It was exhilarating! But then the pressure set in. I felt like there were expectations...assumptions...and other 'tions' that I can't quite think of right now, but I know they are there.

I've heard of this sort of thing happening before with actors, musicians, you know artsy folk like myself. :) You have a great first album and then you hit the Sophomore Slump. Michael Jackson once said that Thriller was his undoing because he spent the rest of his life trying to top it. Sometimes things just happen and we shouldn't try to top them. We should just enjoy the ride and move on. Easier said than done. I feel ya, Mike. Word. You had Thriller and I... I... I peed.

So hear me now and believe me later! From this day forward I shall write like nobody's watching! And dance like I can't hear the music...or run like I don't need the shoes...or some crap like that. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING!! I can't always be your hero. I am just little old me. Just a girl, standing in front of a boy...computer, asking it to love her. :) (can you name that movie?! I will be impressed!!)

My goal for 2011 is to be here 3-4 times per week w/ my thoughts, wonderings and queries. It may not always be spectacular or thought provoking, but it will be honest and it will be me.

My Disneyland recap...

2010-12-20T10:19:00.000-08:00

I realize I've been MIA for about 3 weeks. The shame of it all. :( But the day we went to Disneyland, my mom was watching Adam and long story short, fell down the stairs and broke her leg. So things have been a little busy around these parts, and with Christmas coming...well, ok...excuse out of the way. Moving on...

Back to Disneyland...

"Get your 20-something ASS out of Fantasyland!!" is what I wanted to say. Allow me to wrap up Fantasyland for you young adults out there so that you can move on with your life;

#1 - Prince Charming isn't coming. Trust me. Trust US! (Look at the faces of all the 40-something mothers in line for 45 minutes with their children. Do these look like the faces of women who have been SAVED?! So do us the small favor of taking your "Juicy" butt to another 'land'!) Prince Charming is living in his mama's house playing X-box and hoping for Kinectimals from Santa. Guess what...he's gonna get it!

#2 - The glass slipper might fit, but buy your own damn shoes so you don't have to rely on someone else.

#3 - I'M your fairy godmother and I have an important message for you...GET A LIFE!

Where you should be headed is Tommorowland, as in ..."TOMORROW I needs to find me a job to pay for my shoes so I don't have random TUESDAYS to spend at the Magic Kingdom where I dropped $150 before I reached Sleeping Beauty's Castle!"

And filming the parade?...Really? Really. Gonna TRY to push my baby out of the way so you can see the PEOPLE DRESSED UP AS POOH AND TIGGER!??! News Flash: THEY AREN'T REAL!!!!!!! In line for the Princess Meet & Greet? Really? Nothing better to do? Nada? How about this idea, let me put on my Imagineer helmet for a second and imagine 2 lines to meet the princesses. One line for little 2-8 year old girls and their tired, haggard, want-to-jump-off-the-Matterhorn parents. And one line entitiled, "Pitiful Bastards". I'm thinking a 5-1 ratio. Five little girls to 1 pitiful bastard. Sounds fair. I can hear it now, "Ok girls, it's your turn! And we have 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 sweet little girls...and 1 pitiful bastard."

Please God, let me have this job! I believe me and my wooden spoon are up to the task!

There, but for Camille Grammer, go I.

2010-11-27T09:54:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention that there may be some things that I neglected to mention. Not intentionally, I just didn't think about it until one night when a few friends close to the situation, pointed it out to me. And then it hit me. Like a TON. OF. BRICKS!...I could have been Camille Grammer. True story.

So there I was...circa 1991, a fresh faced 21 year old, little Miss Sassy, doing my thang at the Red Onion. That's a restaurant/nightclub that used to be the ONLY hang out in the area. I was just dancing, enjoying a little Vanilla Ice, because... I mean...who doesn't?! Am I right?! ;) When this man comes up to me and says he has a friend who wants to meet me. Hmmmm...interesante'. So I was intrigued because this guy was dressed in a suit, and in a world full of Hammer pants, he stood out like a ho' in church. When we got to the bar...who was sitting there?! None other than KELSEY GRAMMER. I kid. you. not. This wasn't the tidy Kelsey of late. This was the-last-season-of-Cheers-w/-the-long-straggly-hair-and-bad-coke-habit Kelsey. Not attractive. So did I maintain my composure, you ask? Did I conduct myself as though this sort of thing was not unusual and happened to me all the time? But of course I didn't. My exact words were...~insert high shrill voice of a teenager~ "WELL LOOK WHO YOU ARE?!!!". He glanced up at me over his drink and said in his sad, defeated voice, "Who am I?". I said, "You're Frazier Crane!!". So pretty much the romance died right there at the bar of the Red Onion. He bought me a drink and I walked away. ~whispers~ Foreverrrrrr.

So, cut to me having drinks last week w/ some girlfriends and telling this story. When I finished a few ladies where staring at me with their mouths open. What?! This is when they chastised me for not disclosing this tidbit of info on my blog. Never occurred to me!! But then I started putting the pieces together. Camille was a dancer...I was dancing! Camille was a young 20's girl w/ big hair in the early 90's...I was a 21 year old, big-haired girl! OMG! So close! Whew! Kinda made me sweat for a second. Dodged a bullet on that one, my friends! Not saying that Kelsey is unattractive now, but back in the day...eeeek! And I had no desire to be the drug addict's savior. That's God's job, not mine.

So thinking about all of my rantings and ravings about this hollowed out, shell of a woman (Camille, not me!), could this just be sour grapes? The green-eyed monster having its way with me. And it is entirely possible that I have suppressed and suppressed until it has shown itself in the form of beating her Botoxed, so-you-think-you-can-dance-but-not-without-a-pole, insecure self about the head & shoulders. Maybe it is time to reflect. Look SHARI in the eyes and see what's behind all of this Camille angst...aaaaaannnnnnd, we're done. NOPE, no jealousy. Just the overwhelming urge to slap her. :) Thank you and goodnight.

I peed my pants. I literally peed. on. myself.

2010-11-17T10:43:00.000-08:00

Whomp, there it is. Me, in all my glory. This is what my life has come to. Two degrees, small business owner, wife and mother of 2, and now I will only be known as The Urinator. I accept defeat WORLD!! YOU WIN! I peed the fight right out of me. How did I find myself in such a situation, you ask? Well, pardon the pun but it all started because I was pissed. Literally and figuratively. Let's take a look back, shall we?...~cue wobbly screen and Mike Meyers~ "biddily-doo, biddily-doo, biddily-doo".

So there I was, waiting on the refrigerator repairman for visit # 14. I. kid. you. not. And if you are saying, "Shari! There's a lemon law! Insist on a new refrigerator!!", then I need you to give me your address so that I can come over and punch you in the face. Don't worry, I won't stay long. I'll just ring the bell, you'll answer, PUNCH, back in my car, and I'm gone. I do not have the strength to go into the entire story w/ you, just like I didn't have the strength to tell repairman # 8 what was wrong w/ my fridge. I told him, "You are not Kevin. Kevin is my repairman. He knows what is wrong. Last time they sent Robert. Robert had to call Kevin because he knows what is wrong. Robert didn't know. He called Kevin. Robert and Kevin spent 2 1/2 hours trying to fix it. Needed another part. Kevin said he would come back because he knows what's going on. You do not. I will not tell you what is going on for fear of flying into a rage that I may never recover from. I'm sure your family loves you and will miss you when you are gone. If I have to repeat my story to one more person, that person may not live to tell the tale. Save yourself and go get KEVIN!!! Of course then he said that Kevin could come tomorrow (I'M NOT WASTING ONE MORE DAY!!) and it was already 6:30pm...my window was 1-5pm. Which is why he was here at 6:30pm. They enjoy showing up 90 minutes past the window. I know this. I have done extensive research on this in the form of scheduling FOURTEEN VISITS!!!!!!!!! Now in Kevin's defense, his company has only been on 6 of the 14 calls. The previous visits were split between 4 different companies. None of them spoke English, only Russian. I, unfortunately, do not speak Russian. It's not that I wouldn't LIKE to speak Russian, it just never came up. As a child, had I have known that someday Russian would be imperative to the repair of my appliances, I would have sought books, tutors, scholars, to aid me in my quest. But coulda, shoulda, woulda. I have now come to discover that it isn't that Moscow has a huge billboard that says, "Go to America, Fix Appliance". It's that 4 brothers own 4 repair companies. They share one warehouse and start all of their companies w/ the letter A. That way, when you Google or look them up in the phone book, their company is at the top. (sorry, I'm having a hard time writing right now because for some reason, when thinking of Russia I want to talk in short, choppy sentences. Like...come fix fridge. Fridge no work. Piece of crap. What is borscht? Is it just me?...oh no, wait...Just me. That's better.)

Back to the pee. SO, I've completely forgotten where I was in the story and I'm too damned tired to read what I wrote so here goes...window is 1pm-5pm. At 2:30pm I get a call that he'll be here closer to 5pm. Of course he will. ~rolls eyes~ Now this screws up my program because I needed to go to my mom's house to do laundry. (WHOLE OTHER OPRAH!! Brand new Maytag washing machine is on the fritz, too! Serenity NOW!) AND mom was going to make dinner for me and the kids since hubby was working late. Scratch all that, because now I have to make dinner for the kids and have no clue when hubby is going to get his panties washed. (He doesn't really wear panties, that I know of. I just use that phrase when I'm mad. For example, "Don't get your panties in a bunch", "Calm down, you're running around here like your panties are on fire!" It calms me. It's an outlet. What can I say?) So it's a little after 5 and I finally have 2 seconds to pee. I've had to pee for over an hour, but I've got 2 little kids so it's not always an option. Wouldn't you know, JUST as I start to go...the phone rings. It's the repairman, I just know it!! If I don't answer, he won't come!! O.M.G. I try to stop peeing...wth?...can't stop...too much pee...must get phone...STOP PEEING!!!!...I grab tissue...baby's in the way...MOVE ADAM!!!...OMG!!!...3rd ring...SONOFA$^%&*..."HELLO?!!"...this is when he tells me that he is Peter, NOT Kevin, and I go into my whole "Who do I have to sleep with to get Kevin here ON TIME?!!" shpeel. (It was a dark day, my friends. I'm not gonna lie to you.) And now I'm thinking...why am I wet?...what's wet?...there's wetness...all while having this convo w/ Peter. Then I realize O.M.G. Did I just pee myself? What THE...where's Adam? What's that noise?...OMG! Adam is in the bathroom, splashing in the toilet. Water is everywhere. Or is that pee? O.M.G. PLEASE, somebody knock me out. I want to be unconscious RIGHT NOW. Still having convo w/ Peter...washing Adam...changing MY OWN pants...cuz I peed myself, ya know...still having convo. And now I'm shaking because I'm so pissed. HA! Yeah. That phrase takes on a whole new meaning.

Thank God for mothers because I called my mom, she came and got the laundry, and took it to her house. Peter showed up at 6:30pm, not knowing what sort of hell he was walking into. Fortunately for him, I had my breakdown before he got here and was in some altered state of numbness by the time he showed up. Post Traumatic Pee Disorder. PTPD, for those in the industry. So he installs the part while telling me that he's never done this before. All I could muster was a "that's nice". At least I still had my wits about me enough not to finish w/ a ..."I peed my pants."