Things I Find In My House X

Oh my god, what is that?

Oh my god.

OH MY GOD. WHAT IS THAT? 

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD.

WHATISTHATWHATISTHATWHATISTHATWHATISTHATWHATISTHATWHATISTHATWHATISTHAT?????????????

UPON

CLOSER

INSPECTION

Okay. That's that fake mustache we got at the bowling alley last week. That is NOT, in fact, a piece of poop.... lying on the floor... in Child 1's room.

Well.

I know what to do with THIS problem.

image courtesy of stockimages / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

---

Dinosaurs!! Fun for the kids! Educational! My biggest nightmare!

Run, Child 2!! RUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!

We're having a little staycation this week. Hubs is taking the week off and the boys both don't have camp. I have a little bit of work but not very much (I need more clients. *cough*). At first we were going to rent a house on the beach or something but I couldn't find anything for less than $600 for just a couple of days, so we decided to save our money and stay home, but have fun day trips every day. I figure wherever we go we're going to be spending a fuckload of money on fun day trips, anyway, this way we can still have them but get to sleep in our own beds at night. (At the end of this motherfucking staycation I'm going to add up everything we've spent on our goddamn motherfucking fun day trips, including the cost of motherfucking parking in the motherfucking Bay Area and I bet it adds up to much more than $600. Much, much more.)

Okay! So far we've been to the Aquarium of the Bay, in San Francisco. In the pouring rain. Awesome. And we've also been to our local science museum, where they have a dinosaur exhibit. Also awesome! There's a problem, though, with our museum having a dinosaur exhibit. (It might help you to go and read this post before I continue, that way what I'm about to say will make more sense. Then again, you might go and read that post and what I'm about to say will still make no sense. That's probably because much of what I say makes no sense and all the background research in the world isn't going to help either of us. But you know what? There are no guarantees in life. Give it a try, anyway.)

So... our problem with a dinosaur exhibit? Yeah. I can't pronounce any of the dinosaur names, even if most of them have convenient signs, like the one below.

"Uhhhhhhhh-PAT-uhhhhhhhhhhh-SOAR.....uhh........... this is called the Deceptive Lizard."

Okay, so... is the universe just fucking with me? Is this some kind of karmic retribution for all of my many dastardly deeds? If so, I don't appreciate your hijinx, Universe. I do not appreciate them AT ALL. This one was the worst. You're supposed to step on a scale and see how your weight compares to all these dinosaurs on the chart.

Hey, look! You weigh as much as a.... as a..... GODDAMMIT!

Luckily Child 2 doesn't know any better and doesn't seem to care much that he's not actually learning the correct names for any of these. He knows how to say "T-Rex," which is really all he cares about at the moment. YAY! We're learning stuff during the summer!!

---

I have a guest post up at TheBrokins.com with more stories about our adventures at the science museum; it's called Lessons In Autism. This one is more serious and I don't curse once. Can you believe that?? Only one way to find out....

---

I am both the best and the worst Bookkeeper.... ever

I'm a Bookkeeper. You may know that. Or not. At any rate, you know now. I've been doing this for more than 20 years, with a few breaks in the middle to pop out some spawn, and I'm not ashamed to say that I'm damn good at it. I mean, I just am. Really, though, if you've been doing something for more than 20 years and you're not damn good at it it's probably time to start doing something else, don't you think? Because at this point I doubt you're going to get any better.

So, I have all these clients, and they love me; because I'm damn good at my job and I'm a nice person and I make them laugh. They are business people who mostly work out of a home office, and financials are.... let's say... not their friend. I always say that's nothing to be ashamed of; we can't all be good at everything, right? They are good at what they do and bookkeeping is not high up on their list of preferred activities. No problem! That's why they hire me.

So, I instruct them all to make a folder, or a box, or a bin, or a section of the floor... with my name on it, and when financial type things pass by them, they are to put it directly into my folder or bin or drawer and forget about it. Then, I will come once or twice a month, go through my chair or my section of the desk, pay all of their bills, deposit all of their checks, and just keep them up to date.

They're thrilled, to say the least. Keeping organized financials can be a huge problem for a lot of people and having me come in for just a few hours a month is a huge load off. For me, it's super easy, and I always whip through it quickly and accurately. They're amazed.

So, as a professional bookkeeper? I'm awesome. Seriously. You should hire me.

For myself, though? For the finances in our house? OH MY GOD I'M SO HORRIBLE. It's probably because I spend so much time doing this stuff, when it comes to my own bills my brain just shuts off, I guess. I've got piles of unopened mail in various locations around my house, many of them bills that I haven't paid. I overdraw the checking account all the time, I'm late on all my credit cards pretty much every month; it's pretty bad! One would think that bookkeeping should be the absolute last thing I should be doing professionally, I mean.... I'm awful. I'm apparently leaving all these things for MY bookkeeper to come and take care of for me, like I tell my clients to do, except... I'm leaving them for myself. And I guess since I don't get paid to pay my own bills, or something, I just forget about them.

Maybe I should take a class in bookkeeping, so I can figure out how to do this. But you should still hire me, though. No, really.

---

I can read the writing on the walls

Or, in this case, the windowsills.

Technically I should be discouraging my kids from writing on the windowsills, but.... I kinda like this one :)

---

Support The Momma Project

There's a whole world of blogging out there that I'm not a part of: it's the bloggers who actually get paid for blogging. I don't have the energy or the discipline to ever make that happen, but I have a ton of friends who do.

Apparently it's not easy to get companies to want to give you money; I can undersand that. I'm sure it's really competitive, there are a lot of us out there. I know how hard it is just to try to get readers, I can't imagine how difficult it would be if what I was doing here actually mattered.

And on that note, I'd like to call your attention to a new fundraiser that I very much support. My friend Caryn, who blogs at Living With Logan, really really wants to go to BlogHer but so far has been unable to find a sponsor who will help pay her way. As such, she's started a fundraiser in the hopes that she can raise enough money to get herself there.

She only needs $1,000. If she gets more than that, she'll donate the rest to worthy causes. If she gets some, but not enough to get her, there, she'll donate everything she gets to the same worthy causes.

I've made a donation. Will you help?

There's a widget over there in my sidebar, for easy donating.

<-------------------------------------------------------------------

More information can be found here.

I'm turning off commenting for this post in the hopes that you'll just head over to Caryn's place, instead.

THANKS!

---

Check this out

I found this awesome blogger and twitterer and just needed to share. You can find her blog at Closet Space Musings and find her on Twitter at @Jeni_Decker

I don't usually watch videos online, because my attention span just isn't long enough, but I actually made it through this almost 14 minute video and my god was it worth it. Do you want to get inside the head of a person with autism? This video will do that for you. So worth your time.

---

Things I Find In My House 9

CATS. Fucking everywhere.

One side of my desk (yeah, I know. it's messy)

The other side of my desk

Clean laundry

Dirty laundry

MY chair

Circlin round my ankles

Trying to play Rock Band

Shelf

---

Blogging has made me flaky and anti social

Back in the olden days... when I was in high school... probably before some of you were even born.... whatever.... there were a limited number of ways you could use to contact people. You could send them a letter, write them a note and slip it into their locker at school, you could stop by their house or you could call them. If they weren't home when you called, hopefully somebody would answer and take a message, OR they might have an answering machine, if you were lucky.

Enter computers and now you have email on top of the phone message. This is actually better, IMO; you can email somebody any time of the day or night and you don't have to think on your feet all the time. Except... when you send an email and they don't respond.... did they actually get it? I hate that; I've always hated that. It's rude to not respond when somebody sends you an email; at least let them know you got it. As such, I've always made enormous effort to respond to every single email I ever got. Even if it just said ":)" It's possible I annoyed people with that, but at least my conscience was clear!

Now enter cell phones and we have a 2nd telephone method of contacting somebody, along with text messages. We're up to about 5 or 6 at this point; still pretty manageable, I think, especially since some of them replace some of the other ones.

We progress through the years and different computerized versions of contact are added. Chats, message boards, AOL, IRC (I never used it but I'm going to mention it here so that you think I'm cool). Then MySpace, Facebook, Twitter.....

Now that I've started blogging I seem to have added an infinite number of methods to my "ways to contact me" list, about 1,000 more people trying to do so and DAMN it's getting hard to manage! I've started becoming unable to respond to everything the way I used to, and now I'M the rude one!

I hate it!!!

I'm going to list them all for you, in the unlikely event that you feel like feeling sorry for me right now:

1. Home phone
2. Cell phone
3. Text message
4. Blackberry Messenger
5. Personal email
6. Blogger email
7. Professional email
8. Message board #1 private message
9. Message board #2 private message
10. Facebook message
11. Facebook wall
12. Twitter @ message
13. Twitter DM
14. Y.GT. Blog comment
15. Variety of chats or IMs that I rarely use but are still a way to contact me so I'm calling them all just one way

Fifteen! Fifteen different ways to get a hold of me, and fifteen places I need to check to see if I need to get back to somebody. I'm probably missing some, too, but I can't think of any more right now.

I don't mean to complain ("yeah, suuuuuuuuure you don't, Jill" is what you're thinking right now), but ever since I've been blogging it's become too much for me! I've started to become the people that I hate; the ones that don't respond when you contact them. I hate that!! I don't want to be like those people!!

So.... if you've contacted me by any of these methods, or any method I didn't even list, and I didn't respond.... OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY. I don't mean to be rude. I really don't! I've just managed to get in a little over my head with all of this, it seems. I get overwhelmed and when I get overwhelmed it's easier to just do nothing than to try to push through it all. Please try again, using a different method?

---

Memories of my brother

For those of you who don't know, I had an older brother who died almost 9 years ago. Every once in a while I'm going about my business and something will remind me of him. This is a funny one so I thought I'd share.

Earlier I was chatting on Twitter (no, really) and I saw a conversation go by about bands that were fronted by bass players. Primus was the example used and I piped in with fIREHOSE, which is a band fronted by a bass player, Mike Watt, and it reminded me of this story.....

My brother was a big fan of fIREHOSE when he was in college and he used to go see them all the time. One year, I don't remember which, he was going traveling in Southeast Asia and was going to be out of the country for months. Before he left, he wrote Mike Watt a letter, telling him how much he was going to miss him while he was gone, and Mike Watt wrote back, thanking him.

I've always thought that story was both hilarious and adorable.

Here's my favorite fIREHOSE song, probably nobody has ever heard it. It's called Chemical Wire.

---

I may not survive summer break

Today was Day 2 of summer break. Child 2 has various camps that he is attending with various friends and I decided to give Child 1 a lot of time off. I'm hardly working right now and I thought I'd let him have a few weeks of nothing to do, since he loves nothing to do.

He's thrilled. Today we went to breakfast and then spent hours watching BART. Then he went to the park with my mother in law; this is like a dream come true for him. No school! No math! No need to even wear underpants!

EXCEPT. He's in this very inquisitive stage right now (which is good; I constantly remind myself. Remember when he never asked a single question ever? This is better. Remember that. This is better. This is better. This is better. This is better. This is better.)

Here is a sample of our various conversations today:

Me: Getting up to leave the room   I'm going downstairs

Child 1: MAMA! Where are you going?????

Me: I'm going downstairs.

Child 1: Where are you going?

Me: Downstairs

Child 1: Where are you going?

Me: Downstairs!

Child 1: Why are you going downstairs?

Me: I need to move the laundry around.

Child 1: What do you need to do?

Me: I need to move the laundry around.

Child 1: What do you need to move around?

Me: The laundry.

Child 1: And where is the laundry?

Me: In the laundry room.

Child 1: Which room?

Me: The laundry room.

Child 1: And where is the laundry room?

Me: Downstairs.

Child 1: Where is it?

Me: Shoots self in head


I've got 3 more weeks of this until his camp starts.

---

And now my arm hurts!

Our school has a fundraiser/dance every year where the kids get to "bid" on a fun and exciting outing with their favorite teachers. We never usually participate in these outings because the autie kid so totally doesn't want to see any person having anything to do with school if he's not in school. This year, of course, the sooper social Kindergartener wanted to do fun stuff with his teacher and friends, so we signed him up for the bowling outing.

mmmmmmmmmmm. Boooooowwwwwwwwwwwwling.........

A lovely idea, I think! Plus it helps the school (in a practically unnoticeable way, but whatever) So, a few weeks ago, I dropped him off at the bowling alley with his teacher (whom I totally adore and will miss very much next year). What I didn't know, however, was that we were in the process of creating a monster.

A bowling monster. Did you even know those existed? I had no idea. Maybe they didn't until a few weeks ago??????

Suddenly, all this kid wanted to do was go bowling. It was all he could talk about. Time to go to bed? "When can we go bowling tomorrow?" Time to go to school? "When I get home can we go bowling?" Going to the store? "Can we go bowling first?" Last week I took him to a grocery store called The Berkeley Bowl. Man was HE disappointed.

So... of course... being the overindulgent suckers that we are, hubs and I have done quite a bit of bowling over the past few weeks.

I actually think the shoes are kind of cute.

The first time we went, I reluctantly agreed because I figured, at the very least, I could get a blog post out of it. So, I brought my phone and took notes and pictures. I hadn't been bowling in at least 20 years, and I don't think I've ever done it sober (even when I was a kid!) and here's the first thing I learned about bowling this time around: I suck at bowling.

Seriously. I'm really bad. Despite Child 2's continued cries of "YOU CAN DO IT, MAMA!" in my first game I bowled a 50. Child 1 bowled a 76. And he throws the ball overhand.

Look at that. Right in the middle. Overhanded.

Okay, well, the kids were using bumpers. Hubs says: "we can put up the bumpers for you. There's no shame in it."

Child 2 was full of helpful suggestions, like "Mama, try to get it in the sweet spot" and "maybe you should try a lighter ball?" and the obligatory "well, Mama, you gave it your best shot!"

Thanks, kid.

I think the low point, however, came when the people in the lane next to me piped in with their helpful suggestion: "Try to aim for the arrows." Yeah. Thanks. I am aiming for the fucking arrows.

And then when the bowling is all over? There's the arcade section of the bowling alley, where they pour millions of tokens into these stupid ass games so that they can get tickets which they exchange for crap. CRAP. Little plastic pieces of shit is what they get for the hundreds and thousands of tokens they vomit into those goddamn things. Did I mention bowling was expensive? Bowling is fucking expensive.

This 2 cent piece of plastic cost me $473.25

As we went on, though, I could tell that I was getting better at it. I felt much less awkward after the first few games, and once I realized that when you throw the ball, if you actually look at it, you can aim better... then my score improved. Not by much, though.

I'm pretty sure we're in for a long summer of bowling and plastic crap. Who wants to kill me???

---

(Just for the record, bowling is actually quite fun. Not only is it fun, but it's the only activity that we've found so far that we can all do as a family because Child 1 loves it, too; and it's very rare that there's anything that they both love and want to do. So, in all seriousness, I'm actually happy to go bowling whenever they want. Despite what I've said about it... SHHHHHH.... don't tell anybody I said bowling was fun...... I don't want to ruin my rep......)

---

Happy Father's Day!!

Happy Father's Day to all you wonderful dads out there, including my own (even though he won't read this) that I am having brunch with today. Happy day, especially, to you special needs dads out there, because that shit is hard.

And to my hubs.... you're a fucking rock star and I love you. Oh, I got you this card....

---

The Dive Bar Welcomes: The Challah Craver

Today we have The Challah Craver. What? Do you have something against a person who likes carbs? Whatever..... Judgey.....

---

Unlike Jill, I am a Christian.

*GASP*

I know.

Her Jewfro is a magical force to be reckoned with-yet, I find myself drawn to the pull of a 2,000+ year old man who’s general compassion for mankind and insightful nature is a total turn-on to my soul.

Yep. Talkin’ ‘bout Jesus.

Ok.

So, all joking aside, as a fence-riding Christian for the past ten years, I’ve found myself in some pretty heavy situations that have left me, recently, dealing with even heavier issues from the little people I’m responsible for raising.

“Don’t you believe in Jesus?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t Jesus say the Bible is the Word of God?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t the Bible say you’re supposed to married before you live with and have sex with someone?”

*Sigh*… “Yep”

And then there was celibacy.

Yes. Celibacy.

As in…two adults living in the same house, making the decision to commit emotionally & spiritually to the future of their relationship (and hopeful marriage) without sex.

And so on the second year…there was man (blue-balled and unbelieving and yet, thoroughly supportive of his woman’s conviction and emotional need to heal) and woman (who had used sex since her childhood as a way of fixing EVERYTHING) and they saw that it was Not. Good.

And celibacy was the solution.

Ensuring that SHE knew that HE loved her for more than just the “fix” was more important than the “fix” itself: they made the decision to commit their relationship to a life of celibacy.

It is NOT a life choice that everyone will get. I’m not asking for your understanding. This is simply an intro to the story.

Ok, so here we go.

As part of the “celibacy program”, it was decided that all sexual “relief” would happen on our own.

Yeah.

Nice.

I know.

Ugh.

Anyway.

So….

Recently, there was a “flash opportunity” where boobs where involved; however, the toddler woke up and walked out—At. That. Moment.

We’ve decided to say that “someone” was “Cross-Blocked” instead of “cock-blocked”.

Ha!

Which lead to the ultimate statement… “Jesus is a dick!”

Yeah.

Maybe.

But still...

Then, this evening…Mommy (me) had some “alone” time in the bath tub with my “friend”. We’ll call him “B.O.B.”

And, for grins & giggles, let’s just say that Mommy had a very “relaxing” bath.

Mmmmkay?

Ok, good.

So when “B.O.B.” was done providing services to Mommy he was dismissed to the bathroom floor.

And what did Mommy do?

She fucking forgot he was there.

Stupid bitch.

So when she stepped out of the bath…all relaxed, and tipsy from a couple of GOBLETS of wine, she stepped on him, slipped, sprained her ankle, almost smacked her head on the side of the tub & got a concussion.

Really?!

Dear Jesus…is it not enough that at 34 years old, I’ve given up sex with the man I love to live within your word. But I also have to consider that should I relieve my stress levels with B.O.B. I take the risk of breaking an ankle and getting a concussion…as well as feeling guilty??? So not cool. Please advise.

Yours truly,

The Challah Craver 

---

Things I Find In My House VIII

This is what happens when you cross a 5 year old with a label maker.

EDIT: He had help with the spelling. He's smart... but he's not THAT smart.

---

Gephyrophobia

NO this post isn't about Halo PC. This post is about my insanity. (Probably only one person will get that reference. Say hi, Lisa!)

Gephyrophobia is an anxiety disorder brought about by the fear of bridges. As a result, sufferers of gephyrophobia may avoid routes that will take them over bridges.

Dr. Liebowitz, founder of the Anxiety Disorders Clinic at the New York State Psychiatric Institute says: "It's not an isolated phobia, but usually part of a larger constellation ... It's people who get panic attacks. You get light-headed, dizzy; your heart races. You become afraid that you'll feel trapped."

I've always had anxiety and panic issues, ever since I was in my teens. When I was younger I had no idea that's what was going on, I just thought I was dying or something. I even saw doctors about it and for some reason they were all idiots and never told me what the deal was. Fucking idiots.

About 10 years ago I was living in Berkeley and working in San Francisco, at an office nowhere near public transportation, and I had a commute that would take me over the Bay Bridge every day. Initially I was fine with my commute; I was young and invincible! Who gives a shit about a stupid bridge, right?

Eventually I started having anxiety issues while driving across the bridge. I don't know what started it, because I wasn't living in the Bay Area when the "bridge incident" happened during the earthquake in 1989 where the whole fucking thing collapsed in on itself, so it's not like I was traumatized by that, but I would be driving along and suddenly would feel like the road in front of me was actually rising up and over my head and I was going to fall backwards, of course, into the Bay. And when that happened I would totally freak out and start hyperventilating and panicking and oftentimes would slam on the brakes. I'd have to move all the way over to the right and go about 40 mph just to make it off the goddamn thing.

It sucked. But it didn't happen all the time and by that time I was a (relative) grownup and had been introduced to the wonderful, magical Prince Xanax.

But then I got pregnant and could no longer take the magical pill that made everything better. Things got worse.

THEN 9/11 happened, and from there? There was no way. No fucking way could I drive over that goddamned thing anymore. I would have to crawl along the far right lane at 30 mph and I'd still be fucking freaking out the entire time. I actually changed my job requirements so that I would only work from home and ever since then I've driven over the bridge only a handful of times and then only if I'm well stocked with little pink pills. Little, beautiful pink pills of heaven.

This morning I had to drive into the city for a client who just moved their offices there. I refuse to take clients in the city for just this reason otherwise I would never subject myself to that on a regular basis, but today I had no choice.

The drive over there was fine because for some reason that route doesn't scare me as much, but for the drive back I was, as usual, fucking white knuckling it the whole time. There was traffic, and I was happy, because I couldn't go faster than about 45 and that made it better.

Anyway, I realized that I totally psych myself out because I started panicking about it before I even got anywhere near the damn thing, and then the fear of panic just increases the eventual panic and makes everything so much worse. So, I tried to distract myself by writing this post in my head and goddammit it actually worked! I was distracted enough to not be freaking out for at least the second half of the drive.

Sorry this one wasn't funny but since writing this in my head was so helpful to me earlier I didn't really have a choice but to post it, right? Right.

---

Sometimes I say the stupid things that I think

But SOMETIMES I think first!

No really!!

I had this experience today where I thought about it before I said it and I'm so proud of myself I thought you guys might like to celebrate this minor victory with me.

(First of all, you know that's a line from a song, right? I put the video below so you can listen while you read)

So you know how I'm always talking about how I need to learn how to think first and then talk? Well! Today I was in Target (of all places) and I had bought these crappy one dollar bubble blowy thingy whatevers with these long handles; the handles kept falling off and the cashier was trying to put them back on but they kept falling again. So, I took over and figured it out. Here is the conversation that took place

STAR WIPE

Cashier: These handles keep falling off

Me: Well, they're only a dollar, I can't really expect high quality here. Lemme try....

Shove handle back on

Me: Got it!

Cashier: Good job, what did you do?

Me: I just had to give it a really good shove.


What immediately went through my head after I said that was "hey, just like my kids!" and normally I would have just busted out with that gem, and the cashier would have done one of those nervous not-sure-if-you're-actually-kidding kind of laughs with the sideways glance and shoved me out the door as fast as possible because even if I was kidding I'm still definitely crazy. THIS time, however, I thought about it first and decided NOT to say that and instead we ended our monetary exchange in a very pleasant manner.

See what I did there? I'm learning! I'm almost becoming a kind of grown up! I thought you guys would be proud of me. YAYY ME!!!!

---

I think I changed my mind

So, you remember last week how I talked about how the Empress wrote a post and changed my entire perspective about life? And as you read the words, fat assed cherubs started flying around your head? And as the cherubs played their whatever fucking thing it is that cherubs play, unicorns and rainbows appeared out of nowhere and swirled around you? And you guys were all "oh my god, what a great attitude you have, Jill! I WISH I COULD BE JUST LIKE YOU FOREVER AND EVER BECAUSE YOU'RE THE BEST MOM EVER."

Remember that?

Yeah, fuck that. I have a completely different perspective on my clingy kid after the weekend I've just had. Sorry, Empress; I guess my brain can't process that kind of good feeling for more than a few days or so, especially not with all these factors working against me.  I've spent the weekend practically with Child 2 glued to my side. I'm sure there were actually many hours in which he was somewhere else, but it sure fucking felt like he was there 24/7.

It all started on Friday afternoon when I'm hanging around on the K yard with him and his buddies and he would cry and sit in my lap at the drop of a hat. Everything was my fault, though. I made him fall; I made the ball hit him in the head, etc. I was only there with him for about 45 minutes but by the time it was over my patience was very very thin. Luckily it was Friday, though. And Fridays are drinkin' days in my house.

Saturday was Birthday Party #1. It was at the place where his buddy takes karate (and his buddy's mom is my friend and I love hanging out with her, so that was helpful. She'll probably read this, too. Hi H's Mom!!!!!!!). At one point there was an injustice (somebody bumped him? I don't know. Does it matter?) and the tears started flowing. I was standing across the room, watching, and I knew that if I were to get myself involved it would just be another cascade of blame, so I watched as the Karate chick... (actually I think they're called "Masters" or something, except it's a woman. Do women still get called "Masters" ? I guess "Mistress" is too S&M or something, although this woman is so fucking kick ass awesome she's definitely earned the title of "Master." Okay, Master it is!) ... so, I stayed there by the food table and conspicuously stared at the cheese and salami platter and watched as the Karate Master chick completely defused his tantrumming simply by not being me. 

I'm sorry but that fucking pisses me off. Okay, I know. I KNOW. The fact that he can fucking "let it all go" with me is an indication that I've done a good job or whatever and he feels safe with me and blah blah blah but fuck that! That's just fucking insulting. I'm sick of being the source of all of his problems.

Sunday was another birthday party and at this point my patience was completely gone, which I think he could sense because it was just another long line of tantrums. He snagged his fingers on the door coming in and it was my fault because I was trying to break his hand. He rubbed his arm up against something and it was my fault because I didn't make him wear a long sleeved shirt and was trying to make his arm burn.

And et cetera.

At one point I was sitting there trying to get him to put his shoes on so that he could go and have some fucking cake and I thought "hey remember how I blogged just a week ago about how my entire perspective on this has changed? One day this will end? And one day I will miss this? Remember that? One day I will miss this. One day I will miss this. One day I will miss this." It was like a mantra.

Didn't work. I have never before in my life wanted to fucking throttle a person more than I did right then. I kept my cool, though. Getting pissed at him only makes it worse. I know from experience.

Oh well; the good attitude was nice while it lasted. Maybe the Empress will write something else?

---

Song of the Day: Broken Hearted Savior

Oh my god. Am I the only one who remembers these guys? LOVE these guys!!!! I fucking LOVE this song! Good video, too. That's some nice fingering there, Todd.



Lyrics

---

Out of the mouths of babes 27: It was dessert time

I thought I'd draw this one. I'm fairly certain that increases its awesomeness by at least 54%

And now that you've experienced THAT piece of hilarity, please go visit Flat Flanny over at The Connor Chronicles. I'm posting this before I know exactly what Flannery wrote but if my sources are correct I'm..... going to jail.

---

My short stint as a Soccer Mom

Not actually me or either of my kids

I was pregnant with Child 2 when we bought our minivan, and I knew then that it would just be a matter of time: Two boys, minivan, house in the suburbs... one day.... I would be a soccer mom.

I accepted my fate because I assumed it was inevitable, and I waited for the day that I would need to sign somebody up. But then Child 1 and the autism thing happened and no way is that kid going to play organized sports, unless there's a new "Run Back and Forth, Jump Up and Down and Flap Your Hands" competition invented (and who knows what the future holds? I just signed him up for a "neurodiversity-friendly" martial arts class).

Okay, well, not that first kid, then; let's see what happens with Child 2. It was funny because starting from about age 3, people started asking me "are you planning on signing him up for soccer?" as if it was some mandatory rite of passage in the life of a suburban kid (whose mom drives a minivan). I always said it would be up to him, I certainly wasn't going to force myself into a life of cleats and orange slices if I didn't absolutely have to.

The day finally came, of course, when the flyer came home announcing Spring sign-ups. In this case it was handed to me by the mom of C2's BFF, whose father would be the coach of the team. I didn't even have to ask him, I knew he would want to do it.

So.... I signed him up. You do everything online (nice). $300 for the season, but I could get $100 back if I spend 8 hours volunteering. (Yes, that's $12.50/hour. Yes, I would make way more than that if I spent those 8 hours working. No, I didn't do any volunteer hours. No I didn't get any money back).

The next step was to go to Sports Authority and purchase necessary soccer gear. I probably could have scoured garage sales or begged for hand-me-downs to save money, but I waited until the last minute and ultimately had no choice but to spend top dollar on soccer crap. I mean clothes. No, I had it right the first time.

Shorts (mandatory!), shin guards (mandatory!), cleats (mandatory!) and these crazy fucking socks that are longer than my goddamn arm that, to this day, I don't understand, but, of course... mandatory. You don't even want to know how much that cost; I don't want to talk about it. Then I had to go to the league offices and purchase an official jersey (mand- yeah, you get the idea). I was instructed to "buy big" because that way he could wear it for a few years. Yeah.

Clothing purchased! Next up: practices! Schedule coordinating! Other child coordinating! Driving here and there with this kid and that kid (in the minivan, so it was kosher).  And finally? GAMES! YAY!!!

"What does 'Most Improved Player' mean?"
"It means you started out sucking and you got
juuuuuuuuuuuuust a little bit better."

The first thing I received at our first game were the "Rules for Sideline Behavior," which I needed to acknowledge receipt of via my signature. (I guess that was for when I sued them later for calling the cops on me). Said rules included such gems as "Only registered team officials may talk to referees. Refrain from questioning their decisions or challenging their authority" and my personal favorite "Maintain control of your emotions and avoid actions, language, and/or gestures that may be interpreted as hostile or humiliating." Whatever. I wasn't going to let the man tell me how to behave....

So, the game starts, and even with keeping reasonable expectations for the performance of a 5 year old playing soccer for the first time... this kid sucked at soccer. The ball would come towards him and he would duck and run the other way.  Or he would stand there and watch as it went flying past him. The one time he actually kicked the ball, he then said to the coach "I kicked the ball! I'm going to go tell my mom!" and tried to run off the field but had to be stopped and reminded that he was in the middle of a game. Half the time was spent just standing on the field and chatting with the other players, and he would often cheer for the kids on the other team. I'm pretty sure I heard him say "No, you can kick it, I kicked it last time."

After that first game it was pretty clear that this kid was not competitive enough for competitive sports. I actually think that's a good thing, so we just spent the rest of the season with no expectations; every Tuesday afternoon and Saturday morning he would spend an hour running back and forth and having fun with his buddies, there's nothing wrong with that! Exercise! Fresh air! Socializing! I knew the game would eventually get more competitive as the kids got older and that I was not, in fact, destined to be a soccer mom after all. Sad face.

The season ended (everybody gets a trophy!!! YAYY!!) and there was talk of what everybody would do next year. There were 2 options and his little friends were picking the one that you do when you can play. He didn't want to play unless he could play with those particular friends and when given the choice, he opted out. (Actually he says "Mama, I slept on it and I decided 'no' on the soccer question.") Fine with me, man! In the meantime I'd had to buy a new pair of cleats because he had already fucking outgrown the first ones I got, a new pair of shin guards because I have no clue what happened to the other ones, and THREE more pair of those crazy ass long-as-my-arm socks.

Soccer is too expensive. If all he wants to do is run back and forth with his little friends, he can fucking do that for free at the park, dammit!

I think we'll try gymnastics next. How much can that cost?

image courtesy of stockimages / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

---

I don't mean to brag, but....

HA HA I'm totally lying. Of course I mean to brag!!

Here is a Google map view of The MacArthur Maze:

Here is Child 1's rendering of The MacArthur Maze that I just found on our white board:

IMPRESSIVE, right??

---

That's probably what I would do, too

---

The Dive Bar Welcomes: Princess Muffintop

Today we have my awesome Sister in Badly Drawn Stick Figure Self Portraits Princess Muffintop! Or, as I like to call her P-Muff. She blogs at (of all places) Princess Muffintop and can be found on Twitter at PMuffintop. Go P-Muff, go!!!

---

Oh hi, I’m Princess Muffintop. Now, this may come as a HUGE shock to you but… I’m not a Princess in real life. It’s true. If you think YOU’RE disappointed by that huge and non-obvious reveal, imagine how my parents took the news.

What do I REALLY do for a living? I am an account executive for an advertising agency. Some of you may be familiar with this position. For those of you who aren’t, let me just sum it up for you. Whatever the client wants, I have to do it. I’ve often described this position as “an underpaid prostitute/actress with a side of therapist and a dash of babysitter”.

Once upon a time when I started my current position, I had a NIGHTMARE client. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Most of us, regardless of our industry have had that ONE client that could quite possibly be possessed by Satan. To keep things anonymous, I’ll change my satanic client’s name to “Debbie”. No… she’s just not a Debbie. Let’s try “Asshole”. Yes, that’s more fitting. She was awful. She treated me like a slave. She threw me under the proverbial bus whenever she screwed up. She would make snide comments about my appearance. She was sneaky; she did whatever she could to make sure she came out on top regardless of the bodies piled up underneath her. During all of this, I had to put on a smile and pretend to be her BFF.

The best day of my life occurred when she quit her job. I was filled with joy when I found out that I would never have to see Asshole again. I cried… I jumped for joy… I even did a victory lap around my office. Life after that day became infinitely better.

10 months ago, I found out that my husband’s employer was transferring him to Georgia. My company and I decided that I would continue to work for them remotely from my house. Because of this, my manager decided to hire an additional person “just to help out”. We interviewed about 10 billion people with no success. AMAZINGLY, there isn’t a huge pool of people looking to become somebody’s bitch for a 40-dollar annual salary.

Then we received a resume. FROM ASSHOLE.

We joked about what nerve she had to even apply. We talked about how horrible it would be to have to work with her. Then it was time for me to move to Georgia. Somehow (I’m blurry on exactly what happened because I wasn’t involved), Asshole WAS HIRED. And let me tell you that the past 9 months have been hell on Earth for me as far as my career goes. She hasn’t changed at all. She is still sneaky, and she does whatever she can to make sure I am pushed out of my position. She has slowly but surely taken over all of my responsibilities, leaving me extremely vulnerable to be fired. I have kept my mouth shut in attempt to not rock the boat, because working from home is a pretty awesome gig. So instead of voicing my opinions, I just make extremely passive-aggressive remarks and tiny digs (yes, I know… SO lame) so she understands that we are NOT, in fact, the 2 best friends that anyone could ever have like she thought we were.

Then last Wednesday happened. During a regular status meeting, I made a snide remark about something Asshole had done while she was present. She asked me if she’d done anything to offend me. I was very silent for what felt like an eternity, waiting for my boss to give me the green light to tell her exactly what she’d done.

And then my manager said OK. And so I did.

I don’t remember all that I said, as I believe I Hulked out from rage after the first sentence (though I’m SURE it was all extremely professional… um, yeah…). My rant went on for about 10 minutes. After I’d finished and regained consciousness, Asshole apologized for being a sabotaging, sneaky, awful person (OK, she didn’t use those words- but I’m SURE it was something like that). She also admitted to being a terrible client, and hoped to be a better coworker in the future.

At the end of the conversation, I felt better. Not because Asshole apologized- but because I was able to do something that EVERY SINGLE PERSON in an account service capacity has wished that he/she could do. I told the client (even though technically she isn’t a client anymore) what I really thought of her.

This will probably be the only time in my life that I’ll have this opportunity, so I wanted to share my small victory in a safe place with all of you. Thanks for listening, you guys. You rock my anonymous world.

TTFN,

AMo

---

How a blog post changed my life

Last week I was reading one of my all time favorite mommy blogs, Good Day, Regular People written by my friend The Empress. (If you're not reading The Empress, please start reading the Empress. Seriously, why the hell are you reading me and not her??) I happened upon her post Being A Source Of Embarrassment To Your Kids in which she discusses how she embarrasses her 16 year old son just by being alive.

I was quite struck by the following:

My beautiful firstborn son, who long ago and in a galaxy far, far away, couldn't get enough of me to the point where my husband had to hold this little 3 month old baby boy up so he could still see me every time I showered, this little baby of mine who I'd have to hold on my lap when I had to go to the bathroom because his world would fall apart if I was out of his sight...this same little boy now D.I.E.S. that someone might realize oh my gawd I am his mother. And, how many teens actually DIE of embarrassment? (well, yeah, I know I did go out to get the newspaper in my nightgown and boots that one time, but it was only once).

Child 2 right now is going through, quite literally, a Clingy Phase. I say "quite literally" because he is almost always plastered to my side or some part of my body in some manner. He will put his nose on my eye (because I think that's as close to me as he can think to get). He'll lick me; anywhere on me. Face, leg, arm, etc. (NOT in a sexually inappropriately way; in an "I love you and want to lick you" way. Like a cat). He will grab my arm when all I'm doing is shifting positions, but still sitting next to him, and say "don't go, don't go, don't go." When I arrive at school to pick him up, I am told that he spent a good deal of time crying and talking about how much he loves me. If I try to talk to somebody else, anybody else, he will grab my face with both hands and make me look at him. And so on, and so forth.

As you can imagine, having a 5 year old child stuck to your side at all times can tend to cramp your style a bit. It's hard to make dinner when he won't stop hugging my leg. It's unnerving, to say the least, to have to share my bathroom time with him: every time. It can also get kind of annoying! Can I just have some room to breathe, please? Your nose doesn't have to be DIRECTLY ON my eye, does it? Can I just finish typing this one thing? I can't type when you're holding onto both of my arms.

When you have small children you tend to hear from people with older kids, quite often, some form of "enjoy this time because they'll be grown up before you know it." I can understand and appreciate this concept in theory, because it makes sense that's this is how the world works.  When you're in the moment, though, it's almost impossible to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. You can tell me this will end one day, but right now I kind of wish it would! It's one thing to be told this, however, and quite another to experience what it feels like, in the words of somebody else.

I seem to have been gifted with a different kind of appreciation; it's almost as though I know what it feels like, even though of course I don't. But for the first time it's like I actually know that this will end and I will miss him and I will be heartbroken that my little boy is gone. I don't want to look back on these days and only remember that I was annoyed with the clinginess; I want to be able to appreciate it in the moment,

Now, instead of pushing him away, I've been remembering The Empress' words, and "remembering" how it feels when you're looking back on it. So, I let him put his nose on my eye, and if I have trouble breathing, I will ask him to maybe move it to my ear, instead? And when he grabs my arm and doesn't let me type, I'll close my computer instead of trying to fight him. He'll let go eventually and is that tweet really that important? And when he grabs my face with both hands, I will look at him and tell him I love him, because.... oh my god I so do.... And I think "one day this will end and I will miss this little boy who loved me more than life." Because I don't want to miss it now.

---

The Dive Bar Welcomes: Carolyn

Today we have Carolyn who blogs at This Talk Ain't Cheap and can also be found on Twitter at @temysmom. Welcome Carolyn!!

---

We’ve lived in our house for 12 years. Our neighbors across the street lived in theirs for less than that. I’m still trying to figure them out.

Their youngest daughter is the same age as my youngest daughter. They are in the same class in school together. They see each other every day. They play together on the street. She lets her kids come over to my front yard but NEVER lets them come into my house. My kids go over to their front yard but she NEVER lets them come into her house. Weird! Bitch!

Today, it was the girl’s birthday party. My kid wasn’t invited. I don’t know why but I do know that when you have a little girl who is only 6 years old and she lives right across the street from you and plays with your daughter and is in your daughter’s class, YOU FRIGGIN’ INVITE HER TO THE PARTY!!!!!

These people NEVER talk to us unless they want something. By want I mean they want to find out information on other neighbors. Or teachers. Or parents. You know, they are the nosiest people I’ve ever met. The husband has never so much as waved to us. He never talks, never even looks our way. Rude bastard.

The woman used to peek over my front gate to see what we were building, when we were adding on to the house. Nosy bitch! We have the exact same model house. All she ever wants to know is what we are doing to fix it up. And then she copies me. We took a wall down, they took a wall down. We have a back porch, they put in a back porch. We have wood floors, they put in wood floors. Shit, she should be paying me for design ideas.

I swear, I wonder what the hell gets into some people. I’ve been nothing but nice. We wave and say Hi. Nothing in return! Her girls are cry-babies beyond belief. They cry at the drop of a hat. I wonder what is going on inside their house?

Another parent who works with me in the class sometimes has asked me about them. She thinks something is going on. Something serious. Like abuse or something. I’ve heard the husband yell at the wife about really stupid things. I think he keeps a tight reign on her. I just think it’s very strange how they are so nosy about everyone else but very private about themselves.

I’m pretty sure the woman has no self-esteem to speak of. She always looks like she’s afraid of something. Maybe her husband?

Regardless, she did something stupid today. She didn’t invite a 6 year old to a party and she made an enemy for life.

Okay, maybe I’m being melodramatic. But I’m pissed. Really pissed.

---

Promises were made of a vacational nature

Ha ha, no. No vacation-related promises were made. I just like to rip off the Simpsons whenever I can. YAY!

HOWEVER.... I did promise the other day that if you put your hate in the comments of my post, I would pick the best one and that person would win a prize. And since I am a woman of my word, or at least, I'm trying to convince you all right now that I'm a woman of my word, I have chosen a comment. I mean... I pinky swore! And you can't pinky swear and then not follow through.... that's just bad karma.

AND SO AS SUCH I have chosen a triumpher (I may have just made that word up) and will bestow a prize, accordingly. *clear throat* ... My winner is Heather! Who blogs at Expect This. She can also be found on Twitter as Rogue Toddler. Heather wins for 2 reasons:

1. She called Curious George a "dirty fucking monkey;" and

2. She referred to Tuck from the Wonder Pets as "the pussy turtle."

That kind of profanity and/or awesomeness should be rewarded, in my opinion. However, before I bestow the greatest prize ever given, can we please take a moment to appreciate this gem, which I found on Heather's blog just now?

Are you kidding me?? THAT'S PURE GOLD RIGHT THERE. Okay, so... Heather! Here is your prize, which I swear is the greatest prize ever given. I SWEAR IT IS.


Nice work, Heather. Nice fucking work.

---

PenisGate

Edit: This was the book that was suggested

Remember how I told you that my kid whipped out his dick on the Kindergarten yard? And that I was thinking about sending an email with subject line of "Penises" ? Well, the other moms got to it first and today I received 3 emails on the subject of said penises. Apparently the 2 other boys were asked about The Penis Incident and, like any politician, they both denied the whole thing. The moms were embarrassed and hoped to put a stop to this behavior immediately. I replied that not only did my kid tell me all about it, he actually demonstrated to me his penis showing technique (that was a proud moment, lemme tell ya).

I'm totally not at all bothered by this. Am I supposed to be? Then again, I'm the mom who sat there and watched the same exact kids play this tag game where you had to show your underwear if you were tagged (I was base) until another mom came along and put a stop to it. I didn't see anything wrong with that, either. Was I supposed to see something wrong with that?

I mean, we've had the "private parts are private" talk and in theory he knows the concept, but he's fucking 5! Of COURSE he's going to show his willy if his little friends are doing it, too (he's a follower, my kid; not a leader); especially if it's part of some crazy 5 year old game they're playing.

I think I'm supposed to be upset about this, and I think I'm supposed to really want to put a stop to it (the other moms had book suggestions). Except I just think it's normal kid behavior, there's no need to shame them for it, right? As long as we teach them to respect themselves and respect each other, shouldn't that be it? On the other hand, my kid was the only one who didn't lie about it later, so I must be doing something right. Right???? (Seriously, if any of you reading this have, like, a degree in Developmental Psychology or something, feel free to chime in here.)

Fucking NT kids and their complicated social issues. I swear, I'm totally fucking clueless most of the time. If this was an issue with my autie kid I would know exactly what to do, how to do it, who to talk to, etc. But with the typical kid I feel like I'm just making shit up as I go (because I am).

Hubs and I were discussing this issue and he says he thinks the kid's preschool spoiled him by not making him ashamed enough of his nakedness. I had actually completely forgotten about it. (I'm dumb). Related.

---

All of my friends who think that I'm blessed, they don't know my head is a mess

I'm cranky. Like... bad cranky. You don't need to know the specifics. Unless you want to know. And then I still won't tell you. (call me!)

All I want to do is sit on my couch and eat the food I just made (for myself, and only myself, because I'm the only person in my house who actually eats what I cook. I'm a goddamn good cook, too, you ungrateful little shits) and watch Dexter (and NOT Jake and the Go Fuck Yourself Pirates) and not have to share my computer with a child looking over my shoulder ("oooh! Is that a kitty! Wait, scroll up, I want to see the kitty! AWWWWW Look at the kitty!! So cute! Wait, I want to keep looking at the kitty. Go back to the kitty!") and not have to tell somebody what the exact time is on the hour every hour ("No! It's not Six Fifty Four, it's Six Fifty FIVE.") and not have anybody screaming my name from the other room ("MAAAAAAAMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA") and not have to do anything at all for as long as I want.

I was just re-reading This is Not that Blog, because I like to go back to my favorite blogs and re-read them, especially ones with cartoons, because they never get old to me (also Hyperbole and a Half. Pure gold, every time), and I thought I'd try my hand at drawing.

Yeah. That's what I thought.

Anyway, here's a Song of the Day, it's where the title of this post came from. She's awesome.

---

I may never blog again

Seriously, guys, lately I've had nothing to write about. Not kidding around here. No.Th.Ing. There's only so many times I can write about how much I fucking hate cats before that shit gets really old. And yet... that seems to be the only thing happening in my brain these days. The things I've posted the past week or so have been things that were hanging around my drafts folder for days and weeks that I just said "fuck it, good enough" and hit publish on.

Although, I don't think Zombie Garbage Disposal got enough love. Can I get a wut-wut for Zombie Garbage Disposal? Also: what the fuck is a "wut-wut"? Did I just make that up?

This one other time I had nothing to write about so I just got in front of the computer and started typing, just to see what would happen, so I'm gonna try that again. Although, I'm not sure I can top the story about me wearing my sweatpants inside out and looking like I had giant elephant ears hanging off my hips. That shit was comedy gold, man. GOLD!

-------------------------

So, this afternoon I go to pick up The Children from school and I get to the Kindergarten yard and see a couple of parents of C2's buddies standing around having a hushed conversation and looking nervous. So, naturally, I butt in and ask what's going on (yeah, I'm that mom). Apparently the little boys had been showing each other their little penises back behind the shed on the K yard. The moms looked totally horrified, even the one whose kid actually peed inside the metal car on the yard a few weeks ago. I said "Did C2 show his?" They didn't know. Clearly further research is indicated.

-------------------------

Remember how I posted that video of me singing? I was thinking about making that a weekly thing. What do you guys think? Would that just be way too much vanity for one blog to handle? Or, isn't that kind of the purpose of a blog in the first place? To be a sanctuary of vanity? (Look at me, I used the fancy words, just for you guys!) Anyway, is that even something anybody is interested in? It's okay if it's not, you can tell me. Really! I prefer honesty over trying to spare my feelings. Fuck my feelings, I want the truth! You can tell me anonymously if you want....

-------------------------

Okay, I just asked the Child about the penis thing. Man, that's kind of a hard subject to broach I'm now realizing. "So, son... did you show the ladies your willy today?" Apparently he did, along with his friends; they showed the 2 little girls they were playing with. So, um.... yay! My 2nd born has friends!! HA HA HA!! Oy. Any suggestions on how to deal with this one? We've already had the "private parts are private" discussion (to which he responded "but it was part of our GAME"); I'm so not used to having to deal with neurotypical social issues! They're so fucking complicated!! And now he just showed me exactly HOW he showed the kids his penis. "This is what I did," he says, pulling his pants down. I'm thinking of sending an email to the other parents involved (who are all friends of mine) with the subject line: Penises. Thoughts?

-------------------------

You know who I hate with the white hot heat of a thousand suns? Jake and the Neverland Pirates. Who do YOU hate with the white hot heat of a thousand suns? I'm apparently going to be encouraging discussion in this useless post of mine today. Please put your hate in the comments and whoever has the best hate will win a prize. Promise! Pinky swears!! It will be the best prize ever.

-------------------------

Earlier this evening Child 2 and I were playing with blocks and I built The Greatest Fort Ever Built. I'm serious, this thing was amazing. So I say "Dude, check out my fort! It's awesome!" and he says "That fort is awesome! If I didn't call that fort awesome I would have to be in a time out."

-------------------------

The Child just asked me if mermaids really existed and I seriously had to think about it before I answered. Do mermaids really exist? Sometimes, I just don't know....

---