It's A Schmitty Life

Sleep Is So Overrated

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Fri, 02 Aug 2013 03:07:00 +0000

I don't know why but when I turned 40 I stopped sleeping. Well, not completely, as by now I'd probably be dead or at least in an asylum somewhere. But the days of restful sleep ended for me as I entered into my fourth decade of life.

From age 40-43ish were the worst. I damn near lost my mind and the mere fact that I am still married just proves that I snagged a good one. I alternated between Xanax and Lunesta during that time just so I could grab enough winks to tend to my little ones. I never took either prescription for too many days in a row for fear that I would become dependent.

Once that phase passed, sleep seemed to come a little easier at night, though I still go through bouts of restless nights. Such has been the past week.

Last night it came to a head and I almost went postal.

I suffer from restless leg syndrome and when it acts up I can guarantee sleep will be difficult. But I can not completely blame the uncontrollable leg jerks and heebie jeebie feelings in my left leg for last night's prevention of shut eye. Yes, it began my plight, but the circus main attraction that is my life is to blame for the almost explosion of my head.

I went up to bed with Mr. Schmitty at 10:30. My leg was annoying me and I knew it was my body's way of saying it was time to rest. The oldest was in bed watching YouTube videos on his iPod and after I threatened him with taking away all electronics the next day, he promised not to stay up ALL night. The middle child was tucked in and his eyes were already closing and the youngest had gotten into her sleep position now that her book was confiscated and placed in my room. She'll totally stay up and read all night if we don't take it away.

Yeah, can you believe that I get upset that she wants to READ all night. In a few years she'll be climbing out of the window to meet up with her boyfriend or her BFF's to go drinking. Then I'll wish she had a book.

One last look at the clock, 10:45....lights out....let's do this!

Poke, poke in my cheek....huh, WTF?!!

R. was staring at me in the dark. "The kids were talking about Bloody Mary today, I'm scared, I want to sleep with you."

Fucking Bloody Mary. That story scared me as a kid and it has come back to haunt me as a parent.

Mr. Schmitty grabbed his pillows and swapped them and beds with her. It was 11:55. At least I had fallen asleep quickly, perhaps it will happen again. Well, once Miss gabberjaw stops talking. Sigh.

The last I remember the clock read 12:42.

You know those dreams that make you feel like you are falling? Yeah, well I wasn't having one of those, I was actually on the verge of falling....out of my bed. The munchkin, all size 6 of her, had managed to take over most of the queen sized bed and I was moments from hitting the floor. I scooted her back over to her side and rolled onto my back. 1:13.

Then? I felt a sudden, crushing weight on my chest. Anxiety? Angina?! HEART ATTACK?! No! The furball cat decided she wanted some loving. After I yanked her claws out of my boobs, I tossed her off the bed. Then I heard a noise. I sat up and listened. Nothing. I put my head back on the pillow. I heard it again, this time purposely louder so I would hear it. It was a whine but it was not human.

I got up and walked into the hallway and there she was, the dog, with her nose under the door to R.'s room. She was whining that her master was on the other side without her. Are you kidding me?! I did not want to wake Mr. Schmitty as he had to work in the morning, so I did what you would expect, I tossed my bra on the floor for Ruby to guard.

What?! Doesn't your dog protect your dirty undergarments?

I got back into bed and under the covers, 2:00. Then the real tossing and turning began. Left side, right side, flat on my back, propped up....I even pushed the twins under the armpits and tried sleeping on my stomach. Those who know me are like, "WHAAAAAT?!"

Yes, I was THAT desperate.

Finally at 3:30 I got up and with a pillow and a fuzzy throw blanket, I sat in the living room recliner, flipped up the foot rest and leaned all the way back. I closed my eyes. Ssssqqqquuuuueeeekkk. The boy's bedroom door opened and I remembered I needed to find that can of WD40. W.'s shadow crossed the hallway and SLAM! went the bathroom door. I tried to get up to ward off any more noise from the teen but I couldn't move my legs. Izzy the cat had decided to curl up on top of the blanket between my calves.

By the time I freed myself W. was already back in his room and T. was emerging, pillows and a blanket in his arms, "Can I sleep down there with you?"

"Sure honey, join the party!"

He gave me an unsure look as he passed me to get to the couch. I am sure he thought I had gone mad. He was not far off base. I pulled the blanket up to my chin only to push it to the floor a moment later when a hot flash hit.

Sure! Why not add that to the mix?

Click. Click. Click. Clickity clickity click. I kept my eyes closed tight as Ruby's nails tapped on the hardwood floors. It was like Chinese water torture. Click. Click. Click. Clickity clickity click. What was she doing? And then it dawned on me. Oh hellz no! Don't do it! Don't you do it dog!!!

Scratch scratch at the back door. Guess who had to shit?!

Gritting my teeth I turned on the outside light and let the "designer" mutt out into the yard. "Go to the bathroom!!!" I sneered. She quickly ran down the wooden steps and did her business as though she understood that my mental health was on the line. She then proceeded to sniff ever inch of grass in the yard for the next 15 minutes and totally ignored my hushed screams of, "get your ass in here!" and "Come! You pain in my ass!"

Her Majesty finally came in and I settled back into the recliner. I looked at the digital clock on the cable box. 4:30 in the morning. Mr. Schmitty's alarm would be waking him in 30 minutes for work. I pictured him coming down the stairs looking totally refreshed from a good night's sleep. In the dark I heard his snoring from R.'s room. If I weren't so tired I would probably have smothered him with a pillow, but instead, I drifted off.....finally.

Call Me Dr. Dolittle

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 01:45:00 +0000

You have probably noticed the boxes to the right of my posts. As you can see, they are divided into categories of those living (or have lived) in the Schmitty home; some are humans, most are not.

I have somehow been coerced into starting my own petting zoo.

I am most certainly an animal lover, as are my children; though, unless a kid is a future serial killer, don't MOST kids love animals? I never expected that one day Mr. Schmitty and I would become outnumbered by children much less by animals in our own home.

We started off innocently enough, we really did. A little less than six years ago we introduced our family to a puppy we named Ruby. Our children, who were young at the time, chose her name because of a favorite cartoon, "Max & Ruby".

After Ruby came Izzy (a character from the cartoon "Total Drama Island") the cat. We had no intentions of adopting a kitten but I made the mistake of taking the kids with me to the local pet store when I dropped Ruby off for a grooming. "Can we just go look at the kitties?" They asked. "Sure, but we are only looking!" I replied. Yea, looking.

On a side note, you will begin to see a pattern develop regarding pet names. It seems children's television characters are quite popular or maybe just really easy to reference. As a matter of fact I, myself, named almost every pet I had as a child, Ernie. You know from Sesame Street? There was Ernie the puppy, Ernie the rabbit, and so on, and so on. It was always *Ernie, Ernie, Ernie. It apparently caused my father a bit of confusion because instead of walking the puppy on a leash, my dad used to take the bunny for walks in the neighborhood. In front of the neighbors. With a big, stupid grin on his face. Now that I think of it, it probably wasn't the overuse of the name but the massive consumption of the booze.

But, I digress.

Next came the Beta Fish, each child wanted their own: Esperez (W. likes to make up unusual names for his pets...that boy, forever marching to the beat of his own drum), Simon (after the Chipmunk), and Sam. They all did really well for quite some time and believe it or not, Izzy even left them alone. She simply watched them from time to time.

Sam was the first to go belly up after a playdate gone wrong. Our 8 year old guest, unbeknownst to us, had dumped half of a jar of food into his bowl. I think he ate himself to death or he was overtaken by the stench. Sam belonged to R. and there was a lot of crying and drama as my daughter learned about losing something she loved. We gave him a burial service at sea and headed out to the pet store.

Oscar (we had just seen the movie "Chimpanzee") was Sam's replacement. I believe Oscar may have been a lemon as he did not last very long. More drama and crying and another trip to the pet store. Casper, the friendly, white Beta was chosen this time and thankfully is still going strong.

Fingers crossed.

It was shortly after Sam went to the big fishbowl in the sky, or toilet bowl in the bathroom, your pick, that Esperez began to develop a growth in his stomach. It grew and grew and grew. I began to wonder if he was a she and she was pregnant. But how could that be? Beta's live alone. Was it an immaculate conception? Or did a horny Simon know and he jumped bowls?

He/she looked ready to pop. It was like a festering zit you wanted to squeeze. The lump got so big that Esperez began to float like a buoy. And then one day, while the kids were in school, he/she died. Mr. Schmitty and I decided to find a look-a-like and not say anything. Would they notice? How long would it take if they did?

It was like our own little experiment.

Needless to say we could not find a twin to Esperez but did the best we could with what we had to work with. We released this new fish, who later became known as Esperez, Jr. (but of coarse), into his new home. Mr. Schmitty and I looked at each other. He looked NOTHING like the previous tenant except that he was red. This one had a white stripe on his tail and was about half the size of Esperez. Oh, and he no longer had a Buddha Belly. We shrugged and went about our business. Later that night I heard a commotion upstairs. It was T. and he was yelling, "Quick everyone, come here!!! Esperez popped and it made him shrink!!

Ahhhhhh, my gifted and talented child, I had such high hopes for you.

Then poor Simon died, I assume of natural causes or perhaps a broken heart when he learned that Esperez Jr. was an imposter. T. chose George to take Simon's place.

And finally, the fate of Esperez, Jr. and George can be blamed on Mr. Schmitty who was the last to have contact with them. We don't know what happened, maybe it was the shock of having clean bowls or maybe Mr. Schmitty was not responsible at all. Maybe, just maybe, they made a suicide pact because they died pretty much at the exact same moment.

It still remains a mystery.

So, as if a dog, cat, and the multitude of incoming and outgoing fish wasn't enough, I had the brilliant idea to bring not one, not two, not even three, but four baby guinea pigs into the mix.

I think I am truly insane.

To be continued.....

*Mr. Schmitty's middle name is Ernest. Coincidence? I think not.

"The Suitcase"

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Wed, 27 Feb 2013 20:58:00 +0000

I didn't post this Everybody Loves Raymond clip because I, well, love Raymond. I mean I DO love Raymond....everybody does....but my reasoning is more to shed some light on the shenanigans that occur in the Schmitty House. And as we do not have our own sitcom with YouTube clips at my disposal, I went with the next best thing.

On a side note, I am totally contemplating video camera installation in every room. Or maybe one of those NannyCams. No one would think twice about another dust mite infested stuffed animal in this house!

So, no, I didn't seek this video out for entertainment purposes but rather, to show a glimpse into the life of yours truly. Consider it a bit of an art imitates life concept.

Mr. Schmitty and I often mention this episode entitled "Baggage", however we fondly refer to it as "The Suitcase". We made a true connection with Ray and Debra as we watched them ignore the big elephant-sized suitcase in the room. Sure, we laughed together for 30 minutes at their ridiculous antics. I mean really, what married couple would be so stubborn as to refuse to put something away for weeks on sheer principle?

Heh.

Ok, OK! So I laughed along with him, but yes, I admit it! In my head I was secretly rooting for Debra. I felt her pain.

Dammit Schmitty, I mean Ray, don't you see it?! You practically tripped over it! Your the man, for God's sake, lift it up and put it away!!

After empathizing with Debra, I followed her lead and began to "not see" the things I had so politely asked Mr. Schmitty to take care of for me. I asked once, maybe twice, probably a gazillion times and then I stopped asking. I just left it there in plain sight taking bets with myself on how many inches of dust would accumulate on it before it was dealt with.

As of today there are only three items that need attention:

This classy looking cooler that screams, "Yea, we drink beers!", has been sitting on my back steps forever. It has been so long that I can't remember what we last used it for. It is unzipped so rain has gotten in there. Snow too. I am afraid to flip the lid up as something may crawl out. I am sure it can be classified as a hazardous material by now or at least a science experiment.

These green buckets housed Christmas decorations. Shortly after the New Year, I purged the decades of accumulated ornaments and holiday knick knacks that I no longer wanted. These two containers were left empty to be stored away until I had something new to put into them. They are in my downstairs computer/family room just inches from the crawlspace doors. For a few weeks I kept willing them with my mind to roll across the floor, open the doors, and put themselves away. No dice. Finally I decided to keep them there and put them to good use.They are now storing bags of clothes that need to be saved for the school's spring clothing drive. Mr. Schmitty must have known I would need them. He's such a genius!

And last but not least, this helium tank is sitting in my bedroom. I am not sure how I am to dispose of it. I asked Mr. Schmitty to find out so we don't cause injury to anyone. I'm sure he is getting around to making a phone call; these things take time after all. Maybe there is some helium left, perhaps I can use it when my daughter's birthday rolls around again in October.

Mmmhhhmmm....OCTOBER.

And like Debra Barone, I have come to recognize that turning a blind eye on the problem is not going to solve anything. No, the suitcase will forever be in the middle of the stairway landing no matter how long you try to hold out from saying anything.

The solution? There can be only one. Nag the shit out of him!

Posted with Blogsy

Betcha You'll Be Singing That All Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 12:30:00 +0000

In a little over a month from today it will be 2 years since I have last written on this blog. The last entry? My 500th post. I am completely proud of that milestone.

Yet, why has it been almost two whole years? I am really not sure. I just stopped writing. It wasn't intentional.

It certainly was not because I was some award winning Blogger who planned on ending my glamorous career (heh) while I was at the top of my game. I mean I have followers, but not a bus load. More like a minivan full. Oh okay, maybe a Mini Cooper full.

Yea, so ego didn't play a part.

Nope, I guess life just got in the way. The past two years have been busy, busy, BUSY. No great change occurred. No excitement out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, A Schmitty Life is just that....ordinary. But just BUSY.

Either that or I just am getting too old to keep up with it all.

With three kids, a hubby, a household, family, friends, the kids' schools, my PTA volunteering, and our small petting zoo (yea, did you see the list? That's a whole other post in itself!) I think blogging just took a backseat.

And though I am still crazy busy, totally overwhelmed on a daily basis, and usually on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I must admit besides being an obsessive compulsive basket case; I have been missing this place a lot lately. I miss the creativeness. I miss the outlet. I miss picking on those I love in a public forum and also letting the world in on my demented sense of humor.

Yet, I worry. Will the addition of another thing to my plate cause me to stress just a little bit more? Hubby will be thrilled with that notion. Will it cause me to drink my beautiful, beautiful wine to excess? Will one more ball in the air turn me into a stay-at-home wino instead of the June Cleaver wife and mother that I am? Those who know me would be horrified!

Excuse me, sorry about that, I needed a moment to collect myself. My hysterical laughter caused me to have to breathe into a paper bag before I passed out from lack of oxygen. That second to last sentence did me in.

Ahem. Where was I? Oh yea....my blog.

Not only is my to do list a mile long, there is also the fact that my kids are older. Will they want to harm me in my sleep if I write about them now? I am not keen on the idea of trying to get my beauty rest with one eye open.

I have also given much thought regarding those I know in real life. Some are readers of this blog. Will that hold me back from writing the stories I have in my head? That sucks. For me and for you, because I am truly surrounded by ~~a bunch of tools~~ an array of characters, ones who may or may not wish to be written about.

So, will I be able to write, keep a certain lid on it, and enjoy the process while still entertaining those who wish to toss me a bone and read my posts?

Can you tell me?

Should I Stay or Should I Go? (I swear, ever since I was in high school I can not say that without hearing The Clash in my head!)

My 500th Post!

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 10:19:00 +0000

I can't believe it.

I have written 500 entries and placed them on this blog since I started it on January 4, 2007.

4 years ago?

Wow. Time does fly.

In honor of this milestone, I read through my entries. I laughed. I cried. I remembered.

So, today, I would like to share some of my favorites with you. Most of the posts are funny. A few are not. But they all are a part of me.

I hope you enjoy the memories as much as I did.

So tell me, which is YOUR favorite?

I Wonder How Long It Will Take Him To Notice

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 17:21:00 +0000

It's no secret that Mr. Schmitty and I take pleasure in busting each other's chops. Our marriage thrives on laughter and what could be more entertaining than poking fun at your significant other? Thus, every once in a while, when things get a bit stressful and a bit too serious around here, I find the need to amuse myself.

I have a bit of a twisted, child-like sense of humor. It doesn't take much for me to double over in sheer cackling delight.

In other words, I can be completely immature.

For instance, when I needed a little pick me up, all it took was the hubby's cell phone and I was happy again. And I will never forget the fun I had with this one!

Finding pleasure at Mr. Schmitty's expense can be a total euphoric experience.

It's a regular Romper Room around here at times, I tell you. Well, Romper Room with a dash of slapstick comedy teetering on the inappropriate.

Okay, so some of it is COMPLETELY tasteless but we get each other, so it works.

Lately, I've been in the mood for some tomfoolery. I've developed a twitch in my left eye and that usually indicates I'm a bit tense.

Now, before I divulge how I spent my day, let me give you some back story.

Mr. Schmitty has an Xbox Live addiction, most in particular, he needs his Call of Duty fix on a regular basis or he'll quite possibly implode.

He can become quite immersed in character during game play. You should see him sitting in the recliner, which he moves right in front of our flatscreen, wearing his helicopter pilot-looking headset with mic. His gamertag has the word Bulldog in it, you know, so he sounds tough.

Heh.

So, there he'll sit, he and his bad self, playing into the wee hours of the morning without so much as a yawn to slow him down. Something, I might add, that drives me nuts because when he and I spend "quality couple time" together, I'm usually prying the remote from his sleep induced grip of steel and wiping the drool off of my shoulder.

But I should understand; Xbox is the shit, yo.

Not wanting to be the wife that interferes with her husbands hobbies, I went online today to renew his yearly gold membership.

While I was online, I noticed his avatar:

It is actually a very good likeness of him.

Then I noticed something else. And the evil thoughts began to manipulate the computer mouse. I had no control.

Really.

The final results produced this new and improved version of Mr. Schmitty:I'm hoping to be present to see the look on his face when he finally realizes his "persona" looks a bit like Dwayne Schneider on psychedelics.

I'm thinking he might want to change his gamertag to something a little more hip. Maybe something with RicoSauve in it.

I'm sure the "buddies" he plays with will have fun helping him choose an appropriate moniker!

Eh, I Don't Care Why You Click It, Just "LIKE" Me!

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 14:47:00 +0000

If you have a Facebook page, you probably know that there are a ton of groups, causes, and such that you can follow, simply by clicking on "LIKE".

If you don't have a Facebook page, you probably have no idea what I am talking about, in which case, you are excused from reading this post. Now, go directly to Facebook and jump into 2011, um, k? Oh, and don't forget to "LIKE" "It's A Schmitty Life".

Anyway.....

I have a tendency to "LIKE" many things, such as; Sutter Homies, Moms who need wine, and OMG I so need a glass of wine or I'm gonna sell my kids.

I think I'm detecting a pattern here.

I'm not just about the wine though, really. I follow important stuff too; A Day for Hearts: Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Day, Marching for Maddie, and Violence Unsilenced.

See? I'm not a complete waste OR completely wasted, for that matter.

But I've got a question for you. Did you ever "LIKE" something and not know what you were, well, LIKING?

(P.S. I just looked up LIKING on Dictionary.com. Has a word ever just LOOKED funny to you when you typed it? I kept thinking it was LICKING. But that would have been weird because I'm sure you would have known what you were LICKING. Well, I hope you would anyway.)

But back to my question.

The reason for my question is due to a conversation I had yesterday. It came to my attention that some of you are LIKING "It's A Schmitty Life" on Facebook, yet? You have NO IDEA what it actually is.

I went to the school to pick up my youngest children and met up with two moms that I know. I just love these two women and enjoy chatting with them as we wait for our kids to get dismissed.

D: "I saw your Facebook status, you are so funny!" She said to me.

Me: "Funny how? I mean funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I'm here to effin' amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how?"

JUST KIDDING! I didn't say that, but that would have been a riot, am I right? Good 'ole Joe Pesci, that line is classic!

What I really bashfully said was, "Awww, thanks, I try".

D: "Really! You should have a blog!"

Blink. Blink.

Me: "I DO! Don't you follow me?" I asked, although I already KNEW that they BOTH did.

T: "How do I not know this?" Pipes up the other mom.

D: "OH! That "It's A Schmitty Life" thing?"

T: "OH! That's what that is?!"

Blink. Blink.

POP! Pffffffffffffffffffffft.

That, my friends? That would be the burst and deflation of my ego.

My Favorite Pictures From 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 20:34:00 +0000

See? They don't always fight, sometimes, they just love each other!

R. and two of her BFFs walking in the mall.
So freaking cute!

W. dressed up for his music class concert.
The theme was Chills and Thrills.

T. does NOT like his picture taken. That expression? It totally captures how he is feeling about posing for yet another picture.

We did a lot of swimming this past summer. R., a whopping 34 lbs., had enough floats on her to keep an elephant from drowning.

The release of our butterflies. We watched over 30 caterpillars transform into beautiful Painted Ladies.

T. allowed for this picture because he was in hiding.
This shot made the 2010 Christmas card.

Another picture from our butterfly release. This one loved R. and stayed with her for over an hour before it flew away.

W.'s self portrait done in shadow.

A rare smile caught with my camera. AND he knew I was taking his picture. Imagine that!

This photo also made the 2010 Christmas card. I think my daughter looks so sweet and precious here.

W.'s first time fishing. HE LOVED IT!!

This photo cracks me up every time I see it. We were at the boardwalk and the kids thought it would be a good idea to feed the rats with wings some pretzel.

R. and my nephew, J., share the same birthday. I love that they get to blow out candles together.

This was from our trip to the Great Wolf Lodge. W. was having a blast!

And last, but not least, Daddy and his little girl.
This truly melts my heart.

Resolutions, Smezolutions

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 15:18:00 +0000

So, how many of you have given in and made a New Year's Resolution? Or better yet, we are 7 days into 2011, how many of you have KEPT those resolutions so far?

How many have not?

See, I decided this year there will be no positive resolutions; no commitment to a Mrs. Schmitty overhaul. I'm simply not going to make any promises that I can't keep.

In other words, there will be no writing checks my ass can't cash.

Year after year I gear up for the new me to emerge. I will lose weight, I will get in shape, I will be more healthy, I will save more money, I will pay down more debt, I will organize this house, I will spend more time with family and friends, I will take more time for myself, I will, I will, I will.

"HA!" I say.

Each and every one of those resolutions? EPIC FAIL.

Why kid myself when usually the opposite of what I say I will do actually happens? Why set myself up for a fall that is clearly inevitable?

That's too depressing, right?

Instead, I believe a little reverse psychology is in order. I have officially resolved myself as being a giant flop. I'm gonna be a lazy, unhealthy, broke-ass, disheveled, antisocial, fatigued and overburdened slob.

Mark my words, if I put that to the test, I will be sitting quite pretty by December. Just you wait, I'm going to be King of the World!

Either that, or homeless and living in a cardboard box by myself. At least, I'll get some me time.

There's One In Every Group

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 16:09:00 +0000

My middle child, T., is the smartypants of our clan. Count on him to be the one to antagonize, instigate, throw a zinger of a comment here and there, and basically be the master of pushing buttons.

He loves to torment, especially his little sister.

Case in point, R. made a craft foam ornament at school. It was an adorable gingerbread girl. I removed it from her school folder and told her what a great job she had done on it.

Isn't it cute?

We have two Christmas Trees in our house. Our family tree, which is in the living room, and a small 4 foot tree we keep in our computer room that the kids call "Their Tree". R. wanted to place her ornament on "Their Tree" as soon as she finished her homework. I placed the little gingerbread girl on the dining room table where her brother, T., was also seated doing homework.

That is where I made my mistake.

As in grand T. fashion, the minute R. and I weren't looking, well, he went to work...and did this:

See what I'm up against?

A few weeks ago, I purchased some really cute glass sun catchers. The set of 4, hand-painted, Christmas themed tiles would be perfect for my backdoor window which is a frame of small panes.

I placed my tiles in the window and thought they looked completely charming. I especially like when the sun shines through them in the mornings; they really light up.

Just this morning, however, I noticed that the 4th tile was a little off. I looked at it quite puzzled; a frown creased my forehead.

How could I not have noticed this before?!

My eyes grew larger. What was the artist, who created these tiles, thinking? I thought of my middle child and giggled. He would appreciate the humor, I thought to myself.

The artist MUST have a personality like my son, who else could give a Cardinal a set of balls like that?!

A Retraction, An Apology, and A Lesson Learned

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 14:25:00 +0000

Once upon a time there was a woman who completely made an ass of herself. You see, this woman has a major flaw in her personality. When she gets pissed off she has a tendency to vent before thinking. She says things, that really, if she cooled off first and gathered her thoughts, well, she would never say them in the first place.

That woman? Well, she'd be me.

It was recently brought to my attention that I, once again, blew off steam without using my brain cells. In essence? I stuck my size 8 1/2 foot into my ginormous mouth.

About a year and a half ago, I wrote on It's A Schmitty Life, about someone who had angered me. I addressed an incident that had taken place that I was less than thrilled with. And while I will not apologize for the fact that I was unhappy and do feel that I had every right to be, I will apologize for the way that I reacted.

I was basically rude, obnoxious, and mean. All the things I hate to see in people. All the things I claim not to be.

And I did it all here on this blog. For the world to see.

Now, when I wrote the post, which I have since taken down, I was writing to the Internets. The faceless readers that I do not know. And though that is no excuse for my actions, I never thought in a million years that my readership would grow to include those I would know in real life. I truly thought that I could bare my soul and talk about anything because no one knew me or the subjects I was writing about.

I was wrong.

I had forgotten about the incident in question; thus, I had also forgotten that I had even written about it. If I had remembered, I would have deleted it long ago.

I am honestly sorry for the way I handled my anger. I've learned a little bit about myself and also quite a valuable lesson.

I hope to be forgiven.

To be continued.......

What Happens To An Unemployed Elf?

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 09:31:00 +0000

On Facebook, everyone was talking about the Elf on the Shelf. This little Elf would bring happiness to the lives of all parents across the globe, simply by sitting on a shelf in your home.

The Elf comes with a storybook which explains that he is sent from the North Pole to watch and make sure that all the children are being nice instead of naughty. At night, when all are asleep, he reports back to the boss man, aka Santa, and gives him the scoop. In the morning, the Elf returns to the home and hides, only to be found by the joyful children who live there; so excited are they to know of his return.

"Oh, how could I get this wonderful Elf to come to stay at the Schmitty house?" I wondered, thinking I too could experience a holiday full of rainbows and unicorns.

I searched and searched and finally, I found him. Our Elf we would name Spencer.

He took his spot on a shelf in our dining room where he was discovered by my children. We read the story and I waited to see the world around me brighten and to hear the singing of the angels.

Instead I heard crickets chirping.

"BWWAHHHAAHA!" Escaped from the mouth of my oldest who immediately picked Spencer up and shook him.

"He's creepy looking!" Exclaimed my middle child.

And R., my baby, she just stared at him with a look of fear.

I replaced Spencer on the shelf and told them that he was cute and not creepy at all; that he was Santa's helper and not an evil little troll.

Okay, so I might have also whispered to W. that I would break his fingers if he touched it again. But then again, I might not have.

They shrugged, lost interest, and went to play.

The next day, upon waking, they searched for the Elf. He had indeed returned from Santa's Workshop and was now perched on the coffee table.

"Wow, that's it?" Asked T., "He only moved to the table? He's not very good at hiding."

He approached the couch to sit and in doing so he bumped the table. Spencer fell over.

"Don't touch him," I said. "He will lose his magic if you do!" I shot W. a look and cracked all of the knuckles in my hands.

I left the Elf on his side, not wanting to sit him up until there were no children around. My husband did not follow my lead. Apparently, he decided this was a great time to mess with them. Every time they were distracted, he would move the Elf into a new position.

He found it hilarious. They? Well, they did not.

"Oh My God!!" Shouted T. "It moved!!! Mom, that thing is freaking me out!!"

Mr. Schmitty, hiding like a coward in the kitchen, was hysterical.

I glared at him, "You, my friend, YOU will be getting up with them in the middle of the night!"

When bedtime approached, I noticed that R. kept looking sideways at the Elf. She was eyeing him up and I knew it was coming.

"Daddy, he's scaring me. HIS EYES ARE FOLLOWING ME! Get rid of him!!"

So, alas, Spencer was given his walking papers and was sent packing back to the North Pole.

Now, gone are my dreams of a stress free holiday season. Gone are the visions of gathering around the tree, singing Christmas carols, and stringing popcorn garland. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Damn Elf.

The Holiday Card

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 23:30:00 +0000

Every year, usually around August, I begin to plan how my Holiday card will look.

Yes, August.

You see, I have a reputation to uphold. It seems that some of my husband's relatives can't wait to see what I will come up with. He has one aunt who, after receiving it in the mail, displays it promptly on her refrigerator. It is the only card, she says, that she will place there.

I feel so flattered and quite honored.

Yet, with this honor, there is a feeling of pressure. Can I think of something cool? Can I top last year's card?

Here are some of my favorites from past years:

2001: This one pulls at my heartstrings. Our card that year was a tribute to those lost on 9/11.

2002: This card was created by my oldest, W. He drew a picture of our family. Notice the baby in my belly, which, of course, was T.

2006: I think this is my absolute favorite. I got creative with Photoshop. The quote inside the card read, "The children were nestled all snug in their beds".

2008: This card took us FOREVER to get right. I knew what I wanted and I think I drove those kids crazy trying to perfect it! Hey, at least they got candy out of the deal.

2009: Last year's card was fun, though our photo session did not start out that way. I wanted a nice picture of my children. They were less than cooperative. So, when all else fails, why not join them?

With this last card, I would like to ask for your help. I have taken the photo that was used to create last year's card and entered into Disney's A Very Merry Christmas Contest.

I need votes.

If you like our photo, won't you please click on it and vote for us?

Please?!! I will love you forever and ever!!

The Quail-Lady Almost Ruins Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 17:10:00 +0000

The woman who delivers our mail makes me giggle every day.

She is a petite woman who wears a floppy hat, much like this one, which I believe is at least a size too large for her.The hat alone is not what makes me chuckle. It's also the way she scurries.

Yes, I said scurries.

Have you ever seen a quail run? That is EXACTLY the way she makes her way across the lawns as she delivers the mail.

Much like this:

I watch her going from house to house and I just can't help thinking she looks like a little quail the way her legs move at such a rapid pace.

It cracks me up.

I've dubbed her the Quail-Lady instead of the Mail-Lady.

I've told you before, I'm twelve.

Now, I love the Quail-Lady because she amuses me and makes me smile. However, I do have a bone to pick with her.

Santa called and said that he needed to send me something to hold on to for Christmas. He informed me that he would be sending the items to a friend who lives close by.

You know, so none of the Schmitty kids could "accidentally" open the package. 'Cause that would just botch the whole surprise aspect of the holiday.

Apparently that idea is lost on some people. Because as luck would have it, the Quail-Lady took it upon herself to deliver Santa's package to the Schmitty residence.

Um-hum, yes, she did.

Knock-Knock.

"Yes?" I asked her.

"This was addressed wrong!" She proudly exclaimed, "I fixed it and here you go!"

She was beaming as though she had just saved the world.

"It was SUPPOSE to go to the other address," I said through clenched teeth and a smile, "That's why it says C/O."

Blink. Blink.

She tried to hand me the package. I looked over my shoulder for any ~~nosy~~ curious children.

I pushed it back at her.

Blank look. Mouth open to speak. Nothing.

"TAKE IT!" I said as I heard footsteps coming closer.

Blink. Blink.

I began to stammer as I heard young voices getting louder and closer, "Christmas....gifts.....TAKE.ACROSS.STREET!!!"

Blink.Blink.

"OH FORGET IT!!" I practically screamed as I grabbed the package and ran to my room.

So, now I am totally convinced she is part quail. Not only does she run like one, she's got a bird-brain to boot!

PMDD Can Suck It

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 23:42:00 +0000

I have PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder).

I have read that PMDD is PMS times a zillion.

That was a quote from a doctor, not someone who suffers from PMDD.

I quite agree with that doctor.

Actually, I think that doctor is an absolute genius.

Today my PMDD is rearing its big, fat, ugly head.

You may have heard of the funny meanings of PMS; Pass My Shotgun, Pester My Spouse, Potential Murder Suspect.

But what about PMDD?

Popping My Depression Drugs, Pardon My Detestable Demeanor, or Probable Murder; Downright Defendable seems most fitting.

It's days like this that make me totally okay with the fact that some animals eat their young and certain insects kill their mates.

Stressed? Add Some Comic Relief!

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 13:49:00 +0000

The Schmitty house (aka the Schmitt house, which we will use solely for this post) has been pretty stressful lately.

Mr. Schmitty has been stressed with work. W. has been stressed with homework and studying. T. and R. have been stressed with each other. And I? Well, I've been stressed about EVERYTHING.

There have been few laughs exchanged with one another. We have been at each other's throats and it's really getting on my last nerve.

Dinners around here are a nightmare. I hate planning meals because SOMEONE will always complain about the menu. R. can't sit long enough to eat her food while it's still warm. The boys can't stop being obnoxious and rambunctious.

Its enough to make me want to scream. Well, I do scream. A Lot.

So last night I sat down, determined to have a nice conversation with my family, while we ate.

"Mom," said W., "Guess what I'm reading about for school."

I took a few guesses and then asked him to tell me.

"The witch trials!"

"Very cool!" I said.

He talked a little more and somehow the conversation lead into whether or not we might have ancestors that lived through the witch trials.

T. asked who our ancestors were. Mr. Schmitty and I grinned at each other.

"Well, there was our American Indian ancestor "Igottataka," I replied.

"And don't forget we had some really tall ancestors, one was nicknamed Big," Mr. Schmitty added.

"Oh, and there was the guy who owned a farm and cleaned up after the animals, they called him Stinky!" I said as I winked at my immature partner in crime.

My children looked baffled. You could see the wheels turning in W.'s head. Finally a small smirk emerged on his lips.

"OH!! I get it!!" And he began to laugh.

T. and R. still looked puzzled.

W. explained, "Get it? Igottataka Schmitt, Big Schmitt, Stinky Schmitt?"

There was laughter all around. But then, as par for the course, we realized we had opened a can of worms.

"Hot Schmitt!" "Little Schmitt!" "Fat Schmitt!" Was being shouted out by W. and each time a new name was exclaimed, T. and R. would pause, think, and then laugh. They must have been repeating it in their heads, but instead of using Schmitt, they were using the "inappropriate" word.

Suddenly, R. climbed up my chair and whispered loudly in my ear. Apparently she wanted to add to our collection of names.

"Mommy, what about the man who worked at the zoo?"

I looked at her waiting for the punchline.

"His name was Elephant Schmitt!"

I almost peed my pants.

In A Perfect World....

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Sat, 30 Oct 2010 12:11:00 +0000

My son T. likes to make books with his little sister. I found this one on the kitchen counter yesterday morning.

The story and illustrations pulled at my heartstrings. Bullying seems to be in the forefront lately; it's on the news, on the covers of magazines, I hear of my children's friends being tormented, and I have been dealing with the issue in my own household.

I, myself, was bullied as a child and know the hell a bully can put you through.

Maybe some day tolerance and acceptance will allow for an outcome, like my son has portrayed in his story, for everyone.

We can only hope and pray.

The Incident

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 18:14:00 +0000

Mr. Schmitty and I are lucky enough to have really, REALLY great friends. Our best friends, specifically, well, we'd be lost without them.

Now, to backtrack a bit, the relationship we have with this couple has a history. And before any of you start grinning, get your minds outta the gutter....we don't "SWING" that way.

Mr. Schmitty and Mr. F. have been best friends since they were young children. Their families were close and they pretty much grew up together.

I met Mr. Schmitty the summer before Senior year of high school. I met Mr. F. the same summer, however, on a different occasion. We talked, they talked, we found out we all knew each other, small world, blah, blah, blah.

I then dated Mr. F. for about a year and a half. We attended the Senior Prom together. Mr. Schmitty, who was not only Mr. F's best friend, but had become mine, went to the Senior Prom with MY best girl friend in high school.

We liked to keep each other close.

So, long story short......Mr. F. and I broke up, he dated his now wife, I started dating Mr. Schmitty (but not for quite a few years later), we got married, they got married, we all hung out, Mrs. F. and I became best friends, they had kids, we had kids, they became my son's Godparents, my kid's love their kids, their kid's love mine, blah, blah, blah.

Now? We spend a lot of time together. We are like a big family.

Sometimes though, no matter how close you are to your family, you keep certain things quiet, right? I mean there are plenty of things you wouldn't want whispered about, at say, Thanksgiving dinner.

Get my drift?

I share a lot about the antics of the Schmitty Clan on this blog. Plenty of those things are embarrassing. My motto is, if you can't laugh at yourself, or make fun of your family, what's the point?

I do, however, keep a few topics locked up. You know the saying, "Zip it, lock it, and put it in your pocket." I mean my MOTHER reads my blog. There are shenanigans that go on, that I really don't want her reading about. And I'm sure she'd rather not burn her eyes with the details of particular situations in mine and Mr. Schmitty's life.

Be that as it may, there are times when I get together with my best friend, and after the wine begins to pour and pour and pour, there comes a moment that I begin to say too much. I begin to over share.

I believe the terminology is TMI.

Before you know it, the two of us are laughing hysterically like we are twelve years old and I kind of wish I had stopped at that last glass of White Zinfandel. Maybe then I could have kept my trap shut (no pun intended).

I tell her to keep it to herself. I KNOW she won't. I KNOW that she's going to tell her hubby. It's not that I don't trust her or that she's betraying me. It's just that it's too darned funny not to!

Hell, I'd tell Mr. Schmitty if roles were reversed.

The secret that I will not EVER reveal here. I don't care how much you beg and plead, has been dubbed "The Incident".

My friends suggested I write about it on my blog. I don't think they thought I would. Tee Hee.

"The Incident" is brought up in conversation constantly. No matter what is being discussed, one of us will eventually say, "Oh, I thought you were talking about The Incident!" or "Must we always go back to The Incident?"

I'm thinking of trademarking the name, you know, like Mike "The Situation" did.

So, unless I find new best friends, I believe I will be hearing about "The Incident" until I'm 80 years old, whether I want to or not.

As for you who are reading this, just take my advice, never turn your back. You just never know when "The Incident" will sneak up on YOU!

Me? Versatile? Who Woulda Thunk It?

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 09:52:00 +0000

Through blogging I have "met" a lot of people over the past few years. Some of these people I have come to consider friends.

I know that we've been told to be careful when "talking" to strangers on the Internet. And I am.

I don't give out my address and other vital, personal information to just any random stalker/serial killer. I'm very picky.

Hey, it's just the way I am.

There are a select few women that I have come to love. And, seriously, I am not worried that they are lying about their identities.

I don't believe they are actually big, fat, hairy, men just looking for a victim. I don't envision them sitting behind their computer screens sweating and Tweeting to me as they play our eleventy-thousandths Words With Friends game.

How could they be? We have been bantering back and forth for a few years now, so if they wanted to come murder me, well, THAT would have been done a long time ago.

RIGHT?!

*looks over shoulder*

Anyway, I learned last week that one of those women likes me too. She really does!

And how do I know this? She has bestowed unto me this award!

Mrs. Priss of The RHOK (The Real Housewives of Oklahoma) aka Jonni Baloney of That's Baloney picked me! And I was at the top of the list! No more last kid picked for the kickball game for me.

No, not me, I was numero uno.

SQUEEEEEE!

You see Mrs. Priss, along with Mrs. Albright aka Dawn of Dawn's Diversions makes me want to uproot from Jersey and move to Oklahoma. I heart them that much!

Okay, who sounds like the stalker now? MUAAAHHHAHHHA!

Ahem.

Well, back to the award. Thank you Mrs. Priss (which really? I'm not sure is an accurate pseudonym. You should SEE some of the words she uses playing WWF!).

I shall now wind this post up by fulfilling my awards requirements.

I must tell you 7 truths about myself.

I married my best friend; after I dated half of his friends, back in the day. Gross, right?
I have a huge fear of sharp objects, especially aluminum can lids. I hate using a can opener and seeing that sharp edge of the lid. I immediately imagine slicing open a finger or two. Maybe I died tragically in a previous life while making tuna salad.
I once was robbed, at gunpoint, while I worked as a bank teller. Ironically, after posting #2, I am NOT afraid of guns and am actually a pretty good shot.
It took me 5 years to conceive my first son and 4 1/2 years to conceive my second son, both with the help of fertility doctors, medication, and procedures. It took me exactly 6 weeks to conceive my daughter. She and son #2 are 10 months apart. You do the math.
I love Rocher Candy. I would love one or a baker's dozen right about now.
I have both PCOS and PMDD. I tell my husband, monthly, that he is not to "eff" with me during certain weeks of the month because I could totally use my condition as a defense in court. Did I also say I love Rocher Candy? Oh, and that I'd like some right now? CAN'T SOMEONE JUST GET ME SOME EFFING CANDY?!!
I don't know how to accept compliments. I usually blush and get totally embarrassed. You can't see it, but my face is a total shade of pink. But then again, that could just be the hot flashes.

I shall now pay forward my award to 7 bloggers:

Kimberlee at Autism Mommy - Therapist and I went to the same high school. She has two young sons on the spectrum. She? Is a strong, amazing woman. I am in awe.
Audrey at I'm Barking Mad is an inspiration. She has been to hell and back and is now in the process of trying to focus on herself. She has touched my heart with her story.
Liz at This Full House is my fellow Joisey girl. Need I say more? She ROCKS!
Meleah at Momma Mia, Mea Culpa is another Joisey girl that I adore. Heeeeey guuuurl ~ Fist Pump!!
Christy at Tiddly Inks is a very, VERY talented lady. I believe her work should be seen in books, on store shelves, and EVERYWHERE in between.
Jonni Baloney at That's Baloney (how could I NOT include her personal blog?) is a lady I want to become BFF's with over drinks, lots and lots of drinks. I know we'd have laughs a plenty.
Dawn at Dawn's Diversions would have to join Baloney and I because I would not feel complete without her. Yes, Dawn....you complete me.

And there you have it. Be sure to tell me YOUR 7 truths!

Shouting From The Rooftops

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 14:24:00 +0000

This is me when I was 25 years old.
(Yea, I know, I was emulating Farrah.)
I am holding my niece Candace.

This is Candace all grown up.
My beautiful niece is now 25 years old.

Here she is with her baby, Rob.

The oldest cousin and the youngest cousin.
Candace is holding my baby.

And this.....this is a photo of Candace's BABY!

I shall now resume crying tears of joy.

Flip Flops Should Come With A Disclaimer

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Thu, 16 Sep 2010 16:05:00 +0000

This is not the post I set out to write today. I was going to write about (i.e. mock) one of my children. But apparently, there is some bitch named Karma out there and she cut me off at the pass.

So, seeing as I am totally able to ridicule myself as well as I can the next guy, I am changing the subject of today's post.

No matter what my kids may say, I am fair.

This morning started out glorious. The kids got ready for school on time AND without me even so much as threatening to beat them. The sun was shining and it was a cool 63 or so degrees.

Perfect walking weather.

My two younger ones grabbed their backpacks and I slipped on my flip flops.

(cue music: dun-dun-dun)

We headed out the door, stopping once to pick up our neighbors, before continuing on our way.

My daughter and her best friend, holding hands, frolicked ahead of us. They were greeted at the corner by their third BFF and their group was complete. The "Bad Girls", as they have declared themselves, (that, my friends, is another post entirely) skipped ahead not caring if we were still behind them or not.

My friend and I chatted, as T. walked along beside me. We approached the school and that's when it happened.

Do you know when you watch TV and you see someone falling in slow motion? Think of that as I describe this scene.

The toe of my *$#%! flip flop caught on the small rise of the *$#%! *$#%! sidewalk. I felt myself beginning fall.

No wait. I caught myself.

No wait. I didn't.

WHAM! I fell on the right side of my body. My side, right below my ribcage hit the pavement. I think I bounced. There is something to be said for extra weight around your middle. Next, somehow, I flipped and I rolled right into the street next to the curb.

Did you think about that in slo-mo? No? Read it again, I'll wait.

Funnier, wasn't it?

Now, besides our Principal, there are only three other men in our school. As luck would have it, all three of those men stand directing the buses into the parking lot, IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO WHERE I ~~MADE AN ASS OF MYSELF~~ FELL.

The gym teacher and his assistant (a young and very CUTE one) ran to my side and asked me if I was okay. I went to speak, I couldn't. The wind had been completely knocked out of me. I tried again. Nothing.

All I could think about was ~~whether or not the new gym teacher would have to give me mouth to mouth resuscitation~~ my son who was standing there staring at me. I didn't want him to be any more afraid than he already seemed (my son, not the gym teacher).

On a side note, my daughter? Totally gone. She skipped her self right into school because, well, she was with her friends.

Nice to know where I rank.

Anyway, I finally caught my breath and got up. I wanted to shout, "Ta-Da!" but I just laughed instead. My son's face relaxed (so did the gym teacher's) and he smiled (my son, not the gym teacher).

After being taunted for a few minutes by the male teachers, something that I am sure is not over, I walked my son into school. Only then did I shed a tear or two as I examined my injuries.

Thankfully those were minor. A scraped toe, ankle, and arm. A little sidewalk burn. Nothing a few Bandaids and Neosporin wouldn't fix.

I am hurting a bit from the impact though.

Shit, maybe I ruptured my spleen!

I could be bleeding internally right not and not even know it! I also have wicked heartburn, I think I shot my stomach into my throat when I landed. A ruptured spleen AND a misplaced stomach?! That can't be good. Hold on, I have to Google this.

Okay, your spleen is on your left side.

Oh, did I mention, I also screwed up my toenail polish? Damn it, right?!

To make myself feel better, I purchased a scratch off lottery ticket, which seems dumb because I just almost killed myself. And who buys a lottery ticket when luck really doesn't seem to be on their side.

Anyway, Karma, IN YOUR FACE because I won fifty bucks!!

Now I can get a pedicure.....or a new pair of shoes.

Is It Possible To Choose What You Come Back As?

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 16:36:00 +0000

Because if it is.....I want to be reincarnated as this full of attitude cat!

Just so you know, that last part? I'm SO NOT doing that!

Just Tie The Noose Around My Neck

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 18:15:00 +0000

The Schmitty household is a very "connected" household.

You can usually find one or more of us, at any given time, connected to the Internet, to an iPod, to a DSi, to a cell phone, and/or connected to an Xbox or a Wii.

Some might say we are technologically savvy. Others may say we need to disconnect.

I agree with them both.

So, periodically, I make my kids shut off the electronics and I, GOD FORBID, ask them to have some family time. I have even been known to coax Mr. Schmitty into putting down the remote once in a while. I then get him to engage in some good old fashioned games and activities.

Heh.

Around here we like to color a lot and just recently we assembled a 750 piece puzzle on the dining room table. Mr. Schmitty and I like games such as Rummikub and we are currently hooked on Bananagrams. On the weekends we will even crack open a bottle of wine with our friends and play *dirty word Bananagrams a few rounds.

*Okay, that was only once because the wine flowed a little too freely that night. And besides, the kids were out of earshot and it was funny as shit.

Anyway, a few days ago I was in my favorite store, Tar-Jay, and I came across some really cute notepads. One was the Dot to Dot Game, another was Tic Tac Toe, and the last was Hangman. They were perfect because each package contained three notepads; one for each of my offspring, which meant: There would be NO fighting over them.

Of course, I needed to write their names on the backer so we didn't go down the road of, "That's Mine!!" "NO, IT'S MINE!!" When the pad was empty.

Last night R. and I began playing Hangman. She's doing really well with her reading, but her spelling is not quite up to par, so I knew that I was pretty much going to be losing every game.

Ahhh, the sacrifices a mother will make.

During our last game she drew five dashes to represent the word she was thinking of. I began guessing and asked if there was an "S".

"NOPE! You've got a head!!" She shouted as she drew a circle on the pad.

"Um, T!"

"There are two T's! Good job mommy!"

I proceeded to call out vowels. "A!" "E!" "I!" "O!" "U!"

"No!" "No!" "No!" "No!" "No!" As she drew a body, two arms, and two legs. "You lose!" She announced triumphantly.

"Hey, wait a minute!" I said, "All words have a vowel in them. Are you sure?"

She looked at her dashes again and went into deep thought.

"Oh! Silly me!" She exclaimed as she erased the mark she had made on the letter "O". She then filled in the dashes and erased a leg.

"There! You won!"

Puzzled, I looked at her paper.

She went into hysterics and said, "Mom, Tooot! It's like a fart!"

Who Wants A Hundred Bucks?

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 15:20:00 +0000

Who doesn't, am I right?!

Well, I'm not giving you a hundred smackeroos. I'm Broke.

Uh-huh, with a big 'ol capital B.

But what I am doing is hosting the BlogHer $100 Question! BlogHer has asked me to supply them with a question and all you have to do is visit my post on their site, sign in or register, and answer my question in the comment section (make sure your contact email is up-to-date). You have until 5 p.m., Thursday, August 26, to be eligible and then the great ladies at BlogHer will enter all the comments into a randomizer and choose one lucky winner! You can read the official rules here.

That's easier than hitting that Staples button. Because really, who even owns one of those? And the best part of all of this? It won't cost me a cent.

LOOOOOVE that!

Now, you are probably thinking, "What's the question, ALREADY?!" Okay, keep your shirt on!

Sheesh.

Do you truly LIKE your children's friends?

Loaded question, I know. But don't worry, I won't out you, I promise. *fingers crossed behind my back*

I generally love children ~~they taste great on a cracker or in a good hearty stew~~. That being said, YES, I do truly like my children's friends. I guess I'm lucky that my kid's friends are all pretty good eggs. Now, don't get me wrong, we've had our fair share of issues, but for the most part they ~~don't bug me too much~~ are polite and well behaved. They spend a lot of time at my house so I can ~~spy on them~~ keep an eye on things. They know that if they step into my home, they are going to follow my rules, no matter what they may be allowed to do at home. ~~Or I'll beat them.~~ They ~~are scared shitless of me~~ know I have no problem speaking to them if they break a rule and also know, that if they don't like it, well, ~~I'll be throwing their little asses out~~ there's the door, don't let it hit you in the butt on your way out!

So, what about you? Tell BlogHer and I what you're thinking.

It could win you some moolah!

During Our Summer......

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs. Schmitty) — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 02:46:00 +0000

We Vacationed,

Enjoyed Ice Cream,

Created,

and Celebrated.

We (glitter) Tattooed,

Marveled at Nature,

and Did a Little Fishin'.

We Slipped

and We Slided.

We Dove,

Floated,

Cooled Off,

And just had a ball!

So, What Did You Do?