United States of Motherhood: June 2008

Thursday, June 12, 2008

And She Called It Linky Loooooove...

So I am a lazy blogger. Harsh, but true. I read tons of cool bloggers, but haven't updated them in my blog list for forever.

Today? No more.

Blogger has a cool new widget that automatically covert your Google Reader list into a blog roll, even with snippets from their latest posts.

Check it out on the right column of my blog. Now, it is not as cool as my personal, descriptive testimonials, so I kept those too in honor of those blogs that I first discovered. However this new blog roll, it's cool to see snippets from RSS feeds of others. Best yet, lazy blogger that I am, it took like 5 seconds so now I feel I'm finally giving back to my favorite bloggers.

If you aren't there, it means I haven't read your stuff yet.

Want to be there? Send me a comment. I will check out your blog.

Heck! It's not like I have 768 posts still to read from my...ahem...too stressed and lazy to blog or read blogs period hiatus.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

And She Continues To Rage

We bought a house with a master suite you can ballroom dance in. It came with a shower with a clear glass enclosure. Definitely designed by a man.

So as certain as the sun rises, CG shows up in that bathroom with one excuse or another whenever he hears the shower on. He wants to chat as I stand there trying to scrub-a-dub-dub. Sometimes he's daring enough to ask for an invite.

Have I mentioned there is a very large sky light over said shower that puts all flaws in a very unflattering light? I don't want to see my reflection in the mirror much less have some one else in the room.

I usually send him away because I don't usually wish to converse whilst bent over shaving my legs. It's a vulnerable position that needs no audience in my opinion.

Sunday, he came bursting in as I was shaving other...errr...bits and I almost lost by ability to have an orgasm with the resulting jump that came with it. Thanks you very much.

I've become jumpy in that bathroom.

I listen for footsteps.

Today, as I showered after the first blog of the morning, there were no footsteps. What ho? So there is a learning curve with husbands after 12 years of marriage, eh?

He must have realized with my mood that if he put one toe in that bathroom I most assuredly would have ripped his head off like a Preying Mantis tears the head off her mate.

Either that, or he was on a conference call for once.

Your pick!

And the rage continues...

Let's Just Call It Blog Therapy

Just so you know, I never swear in public and never with this frequency at home.

There's just something about blogging, nasty Seattle weather, PMS, being angry, and pounding my laptop keyboard with naughty words with such force that I most likely will break another key that simply makes me feel better. Hence the NC-17 rating on the side of this blog.

I swear to Jesbus, I usually save these words just for CG's oh-so-receptive listening pleasure.

Call it bi-polar. Call it split personality.

Let's just call it blog therapy.

There Will Still Be More Blood

My kids walk the two blocks to school. Ridiculous parent I am, I arm my eight year old with a cell phone and she's been trained to call as soon as her foot hits school property six minutes later.

She does have to cross a busy boulevard and lately the crossing guard has been showing up late.

Way late! As in yesterday, she and her 5th grade helper arrived five minutes before the last bell when the kids have already been ushered inside. All the kids walking the normal 15-20 minutes before that had to depend on the good will and good eye sight of the drivers in torrential rain.

Nice, eh?

So, today was no different, but they made it across no problem.


When PB calls to say she made it, she tells me that some lady honked at them when they were in the crosswalk. Um, wtf? I try to make excuses. Maybe she knew you and was waving.

Oh, she was waving all right and no, she didn't know them.

PB tells me she was honking and waving both hands madly. "Like you do Mommy in slow traffic." That reminds me, farking asshat!

I ask her if she made sure all the cars were stopped before she entered the cross walk. The answer was yes.

I ask for make and model. She says silver SUV. Damn! I thought it was the crazy twat that drives 50 mph in the Gold Accord in a school zone that flipped me off as I gave her the universal hand symbol to slow the fuck down. At least she was a known crazy. Everyone and their dog has called the police and told on her to the principal. This is a new road-rager.

So we all know Scouty (that's me) hasn't been in the best moods. Welcome Mommy demon thoughts...

Fuck if I see a women in a silver SUV in the near future in my neighborhood. I have thoughts of gutting her. Crucifying her with a cross guard hand sign. As for that crossing guard and her tardy ways......arrrrrrrrrrghghhghghh! #$%^&*%$#$%^&*!

For now, I farking dare you, silver SUV-driving whore, to honk and gesticulate at children in the cross walk during school hours, on the way to school, in a family neighborhood, next time I am around. You are in my cross hairs...

Does anyone have a Midol? Xanax? Cocktail?

It's All Your Fault and There Will Be Blood

Yesterday, by the time I came home with the kids from practice, I was a raving banshee.

Undeniably, I raged at CG for cooking a pork loin for 30 minutes that should have been cooked at least 1 hour. Raw! Raw! As were the potatoes he cooked with them. Crunchy raw. Rawr.

As for the vegetables I asked him to cook since he is out of school for this month, should have been done with work, and we weren't getting home until 6:45? I found him casually chatting on the phone to his Dad. Nowhere were there vegetables to be found.

I mentioned asparagus or broccoli with the pork loin and roasted potatoes before I left at 3:30 for 3.5 hours of swim practice and commute. He had apparently thrown in the meat and potatoes for a mere 30 minutes before we arrived home and called it done because the meat probe said it was. He mentioned the time it took to warm up the oven as an excuse. Rawr!

Instead, we got a bloody slab of meat still cold in the middle. Plain, unherb-ed although we have a jungle of an herb garden, crunchy potatoes and no vegetables. He tried to say potatoes were a vegetable. Uh, not in this fucking universe!

He tried to say he found a recipe that said 30 minutes at 350 degrees for pork loin. Not for a freaking 6 lb. pork loin from Costco and certainly no excuse when I said it would take an hour to cook before I left which was why I was asking him this one favor.

See the pork loin picture up there in this blog? Ours was three times as big and certainly not cooked like that. Ours had an eerie seared Ahi Tuna quality with an outside coating of light-brownish Liverwurst. Sure! Sure it could be roasted for 30 minutes if you like food poisoning with your potatoes.

Lately, anytime I ask him to do anything, he says no or it resorts to begging and then he drags his feet.

He might eventually do it, but his automatic reaction is no.

Could you install this flag for Veteran's Day that's been sitting there for weeks being that we are Veteran's and our last flag pole broke over a year ago? No. Not I don't have time. Just no.

Can you mow the lawn? No.

Can you clean up your camping crap that been sitting dirty on the white carpeted office for the last 6 months? No.

He just this month got around to replacing the lights on the patio mentioned in an earlier post--almost a year those lights have been burned out. He waited until I forgot about them and then changed them.

It's like his mentality is she can't tell ME what to do. Heck, I can't even ask him nicely. It's always the same result.

There's always a no. Occasionally he'll use a MBA excuse. Or work excuse. He never turns either of those off. Hence the constant calls at 7 PM on a Friday night at our Li'l Man's first swim meet. Nice, eh?

Other moms started to comment. He had plenty of time to chat to neighbors there. He had plenty of time to take calls from others. Yet, he griped about helping out getting Li'l Man to the blocks five minutes early.

Couldn't be bothered. Another race, he spent chatting with an acquaintance and missed one of the kids' events.

You see he has plenty of time as long as he doesn't have to do anything for me and the kids.

He acts like taking the kids to a weekend practice is a sheer act of godliness he benevolently bestows upon us. Yet he had plenty of time his first week-end off from his MBA to take off for 4 hours on a hike with a friend while a garage door has been broken for over a year, we still have boxes to be unpacked, we still have 2007 taxes to do, and we are still sleeping on a mattress on the floor from a bed that broke on Mother's Day...in 2007.

We won't mention the neighborhood who got sick of seeing our overflowing roof gutters and asked me recently if he could clean them up for me? You see CG had helped our neighbor numerous occasions with IT issues and he wanted to return the favor. Sir is generous to a fault with his time, except for me. Honestly, the neighbor was probably sick of seeing a waterfall feature in the front of our garage that he looked at through his office window.

So, yep, they'd been blocked since two summers ago when I got sick of them, tried to clean them on my own, and sliced my hand to the bone with a power washer. I had a scar and still blocked gutters to show for it.

And me? Apparently, I have all the time in the world to listen to him bitch about his job. Or check out his MBA homework. Or bitch about his MBA homework. I make time.

So, back to yesterday, as I was driving 58 mph in a 60 mph carpool lane. I seethed. Asshat in front of me was taking forever. Just because he had two people did not mean he should use the carpool lane if he planned on going slower than even the slow lane. Rawr.

Did he not realize I needed to get home? Dinner would be ready. I didn't want to keep CG waiting...

Oh, yeah! No rush for bloody meat, raw potatoes, no veggies, and husband who gives blood every six weeks and bends backward for ever living person but me. He's actually told me no once with a request to pick up Li'l Man from kindergarten because I had a long overdue dentist appointment when he had a farking appointment to give blood.

What the living fark! Wife? Give blood? Oh, yes, wife is not priority. Ever.

I've lived with this for the last few years, but something has to change when you realize if you were begging amongst beggars on the street, your husband would always give the dime to someone else.

His mother is the same. I am starting to see this eerie comparison. Constantly doing for others, but at the expense of my needs and feelings. Now, I am starting to feel this from CG. It sucks to feel like you are the last priority in your husband's eyes.

The sluggish carpooler brought this all home yesterday. There I was rushing in rain and wind to get home to a man that surely had been dragging his feet to make dinner slower than that carpooler's gas pedal.

So, as I seethed, barking for the kids to unpack swim bags while quickly steaming vegetables, slicing and sauteing the pork loin, and nuking the potatoes and taking out my anger on CG, the kids, anything that moved including the dog, and most especially bashing that farking pork loin in the pan, it was all that carpoolers fault for reminding me once again my status in this marriage.


Update: As I was writing this, I must have given sir a look while he came into to make an espresso. Something along the lines of "Ah, yes sir. I remember why I was pissed. Nice try being cute and play fighting with the kids after dinner to make me forget I stonewalled you through that dinner in a most awkward, no eye contact way. Never, ever forget I'm a grudgy bitch and I share it with the internetz!"

See! I can give glances like that that speak volumes.

He asks if there is something wrong?!

I answered, "Not at this moment."

He asks if I need a hug. Churlishly, I say no, not from you.

He asks if I am mad? I say, " I was yesterday."

He asks all shocked and flabbergasted. "You were mad at me?!"

I snort and shake my head. Nope. Not mad. Only burning, white-hot enraged, you obtuse shiz for brains.

And yes, from the post title, I am sure there will be blood... I'm PMS-ing once again which doesn't make him any less of a asshat. Yes, definitely asshat's fault.

Blog Notes: Pics by Mullenkedheim and by ralphbod

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Here's Where I Apologize to Avitable

I have been catching up with all may favorite bloggers. It's taking a while. A long while. As I read, I find gem after gem.

There are way too many to comment on, but one in particular hit home by Avitable. For those of who don't read him, he reminds me of a crude, raunchy, but loyal, honest, funny as hell, kick ass gentle giant big brother.

Did you catch all that? He can be offensive. He posts some craaazy, sometimes shocking stuff, but I like him.

So, as I read the post below, I found myself thinking spot on and self-righteously nodding my head:

"Things I hate about your blog from Avitable by Avitable

The definition of "your" that should be applied is one that applies to the blogosphere as a whole.

1. You have some type of video or music that plays
automatically when I visit. (Hate that!)

2. You haven't tested your blog in Firefox to make
sure it's legible. (Errrr...)

3. It's hard to comment because you're on Livejournal or
AOL. (Hate that too!)

4. Your posts only show a few words and then I have to click to read the rest, every single time. (Ummmm...Don't do that anymore)

5. I can't subscribe to comments or your comment feed. (Spot on!)

6.You have too many options when I'm trying to leave a comment. (What'choo talking about Wilwis? Never noticed this one before)

7. You don't have comments open. (Dooce!)

8. Every post is an apology about why you don't post enough, and
then you don't post again for two weeks. (oops)

9. You use so many cutesy names for everyone that I have no fucking clue who's who. (What me?)

10. You don't link to people when you use something of theirs. (Okay, so maybe I did that when I first started to blog when I didn't know the etiquette.)

11. Your ads obstruct your blog. (Ha! Not mine)

12. Your post is all one big jumbled mess in the feed reader. (Hate that!)

13. You moderate comments. (okay, maybe temporarily, but only with a troll that left comments that all Republicans were murderers and I was irresponsible to have three children and I should have know my husband's vasectomy would fail. My brows are still furrowed over that one)

14. You censor or edit comments. (Yep, I edit and delete creepy people that figure out where I live or make inappropriately sexual comments. I don't let people shit where I sleep nor do I let them shit where I think in my blog.)

15. You change blogs every three months. (Who does that!?)

16. Every other post is a Pay Per Post. (Hate that!)

17. You don't try to use any type of spell check. (I try. I really try. Blame it on the Mommy brain and sleep deprivation.)

18. Most of your posts are private and password protected. (Oh, that always sucks!)

19. The colors make my eyes bleed. (Not me! Can you tell I am getting a tad defensive?)

20. Your posts are longer than most novels. (Chirp. chirp. chirp.)

What do you hate about people's blogs? (People who never punctuate or capitalize or write paragraphs that are longer than 4 inches. People who have so many gadgets that my computer freezes when I try to open their blog. Definitely people who have blogs that play loud, automatic music when you open their blog. Blogs in MySpace format...boring!)

Then, I started to thinking as I read this. I had a kettle-pot epiphany. Oh, crapsticks, I used to do that.

And that!

And that...

Damn! I still do that.

Then it hit me. Avitable hates my blog. I'm not worthy.

Note that my head is banging on kitchen table repeatedly. Thump. Thump. Thump.

It is clear, I am not one of the cool bloggers. Sniffle.

Okay, over it.

I suck at spell check. Lately, "Every post is an apology about why" I "don't post enough, and then " I "don't post again for two weeks." And, yes, my posts can be longer than novels.


I'll do better. I promise...

Parental Bribing

Over the endless years of my children's swim practices that I have endured joyfully attended, one insidious element has remained constant.

Over five teams in two states, both recreational and year-round competitive, there lies a malignant egg.

This egg erupts quite often and spews it's contagion on other unsuspecting families.

We were infected early.

My eldest son started to swim at age five. He, as we have seen in my past posts, is very easy-going, passive, and not that competitive.

At the same time, he has a good body shape for swimming and somewhat of a natural talent. This rarely shows itself at practice. He meanders down the lane. He lets kids that are much slower pass him. He rarely passes anyone.

His work ethic sucks eggs.

He does however become a sleeper agent when we hit meets. Suddenly, on the blocks, he gets into his groove. He sprints. He wins. He qualifies for Pacific Northwest Championships, Age Group Sectionals, and recently his first international meet in Canada.

However, as soon as his feet are out of the water after a race, he's back to being too nice, too easy. Kids that he beat at meets routinely tell him they are faster and they should be in front of him at practice. He lets them go ahead. It's frustrating and ridiculous. And it's starting to catch up with him. If he's always last in his lane at practice, he does not get the continual improvements on the racing blocks.

So, let's reel back a few years to that egg. When we started swimming, all sorts of parents of Eldest's peers bribed. Win a race? Get a video game. Qualify to be on a relay? Off we go to ice cream.

It was insidious and hard to resist. We failed. We tried to make it more educational at least. We tried to make it more along the lines of personal achievement and best times. We cared little for 1st place or if they won. We enacted what I thought was a pretty perfect parenting scheme:

For every personal best on an event, there would be a choice of one book at Barnes & Noble.

Yep. The poison egg? Bribing one's kids to do well at sports.

Our antidote: Tricking them into thinking reading was the best bribe of all.

On the good side, I felt triumphant that I was able to make something educational the bribe. Reading, an element that some parents struggle to get their children to do willing, became the treat.

For a while, this was a perfect situation. My kids, already strong readers, loved their visits to Barnes & Noble. It was painful to my wallet to buy a hardbound Magic Tree House book at $15 that was read in 30 minutes for a 30 second race, but it was better than a food, video games, or stuff alternative in my mind.

But once this bribery door opened, it could not be shut.

Suddenly, we would get 8 personal bests for one child. I was spending at times $150-200 in books in one week. It got out of hand. I started making price limits. I started letting them combine personal bests or what we called "pops," as in popping their previous time, for trips to the movies just to save money.

Uh...not so educational.

When I realized after a few years of swimming, my kids were more interested in negotiating a treat for a race than enjoying winning, I was crestfallen.

We pretty much went cold turkey. We had bribed the competitive spirit and work ethic right out of him, and subsequently my daughter. It became meets only mattered, not technique. Place and best times were important only at meets, not at practice.

So, now it's been a couple of years of no bribing. My son still does not have the competitive spirit at practice, but I think that's because PB got it all. She's ridiculously competitive at practice and meets.

Now enter Li'l Man. He's starting his first FULL recreational swimming season. He's heard of the past bribes and it's hard to tell him no when the other's benefited in their formative years.

And, I have a confession. See this dress?

Well, it's the product of a bribe.

At an important swim meet last year, she bumped her head and was in tears because she didn't do as well in the race as she liked.

She decided she couldn't race the relay which meant that three other girls would also miss out on swimming the relay; more importantly, their parents might be a little cranky that they waited until the end of the meet to discover there would be no relay for their little darlings.

I begged and pleaded.

The coach begged.

Finally, I bribed. We negotiated. We bickered. We agreed on an entire outfit from Justice for Girls. Ugh!

So, almost a year later, I finally got around to purchasing the said outfit, as well as three pairs of shoes, accessories, a few shirts, etc. Yes, my friends. I assuaged my guilt by offering interest in the form of accessories.


CG was confused how a simple outfit turned into the receipts he saw added up.

Now, am I unhappy I bribed at that instant?

Uh, no. I didn't want a posse of scorned swim parents on my butt. BUT! I don't plan to make this a regular occurrence, just like I won't pay for grades. I am going to try to spin these hopefully rare exchanges as celebratory rather than expected. An occasional, unexpected treat for a job well done is more our plan nowadays. They are thinking best times, not bribes, when they get on the blocks.

I also enacted a chore chart beyond their regular chores to be a part of our family. These extra chores and their hard work will finance books, video games, and any approved candy from now on.

Wish me luck! Here's hoping we've kicked this malignant (but admittedly pretty cute below) egg out of the nest.

Update: We had our first intrasquad meet/time trials for the summer swim team this last Friday. It never even occurred to Li'l Man to ask for a bribe. It was a miserable, rainy, cold outside meet. Steam escaped our lips with every breath. Yet, he did little complaining.

He swam hard because he wanted to pass people, rather than be passed. He did well. He might have even been legal in the back and breast which for the first race of the season for a six year old isn't half bad.

The best part was he swam for himself, not for a video game, dessert, book, or other treat.

Swimming fast was the reward.

Houston, I think we might have broken the cycle. Stay tuned...

Friday, June 6, 2008

Another Lost Tooth

Another one bites the dust.

He was showing me how his tooth can "go diagonal" and it popped right out. It flew across the room. I shrieked and pointed to where it went. Sebbie, the bug eating dog, came flying to save his mistress and eat what he thought was the offending spider.

Luckily, Sebbie slides on hardwood floors or he would have chomped it before I could yell "tooth fairy."

Li'l Man saved his tooth and got knocked down by the slide-tackling dog and all was well with the world.

Whew! Disaster averted. Toothy and toothless smiles abound!

So how's your afternoon going?

What's Grosser Than Gross?!

"What's grosser than gross?" She asks with hysterical voice.

Where to start? Oh, where to start?!

First, let me place a warning here and now that this post is not for the squeamish or Helen or anyone who is OCD. You will be permanently, irrevocably mentally scarred.

So stop reading already, m'kay?

Right-o. Disclaimer out of the way, let's have some background. It was my turn for kinder playgroup last week. Four six-year-old boys. Yay, me!

So, we had fun making sandwiches, playing games, etc., as usual. Then, one of the boys left to use the bathroom. He was gone a very long time.

I mean a very long time.

Finally, his head popped up again and we went back to playing Sponge Bob Game of Life. I did check to make sure he washed his hands as I don't trust any boy under the age of 10 15 50 68 to wash their hands.

Hands free of detritus?


Damp hands indicative of water used?


Smell of soap?



After a while, it was time to take the boys home. Ah, another successful playgroup. Check. Then we went to swim practice.

It wasn't until after dinner that night that I found it....

A brown schmear the entire length of the toilet seat. "Chocolate Pudding"on the faucet handle. Poopy juice on the counters in the grout. Brown stains on my hand towels.

To be honest, I freaked the hell out. I had smelled those hands. Gag!

Out came the institutional grade bleach. Lysol. Disinfectants. Room deodorizers. All surfaces were scrubbed.

I was disgusted. These are school age kids that will be in 1st grade in three months! Is it wrong to think he knows how to wipe? Is it wrong to think if he made a mess, he might want to mention it to a Mom that has been nothing but caring and compassionate to him all year long?! I mean, shit happens, but tell someone, please. He had to know I would notice? And! Is it only me that as a Mommy, my children's poop doesn't bother so much, but other kids' poop freaks me out?

So I madly cleaned and now, a week later, it was put to the back of my mind.

Except, you'll recall the title of this post...

Last night, I was using the bathroom. No surprise with my weak bladder!

The toilet paper cardboard roll was there with not a shred of toilet paper on it. Again, no surprise in this family! As usual, I am the only one who replaces the toilet paper. Everybody else puts the roll on the back of the toilet rather than taking the 30 seconds to remove empty roll and replace. Can I tell you how maddening that is!?!

Anyhoo, as I remove the roll, I see a massive, suspiciously brown streak of crud behind the roll. At least 3 inches long. The entire inward circle of built in toilet paper roll dispenser.

No freaking way! There was a one inch wide, crusty smear. The kid must have been reaching for toilet paper with shit-filled contaminated fingers from behind the roll.

Gah! Gah! Gah!

I shrieked and CG came running. My mind went to all the times over the last week that we had used to toilet paper and the roll brushing up against that crusty smear putting feces on every piece of toilet paper used. My babies had foreign fecal matter on their behinds. I had foreign fecal matter on me with every spin of that toilet paper roll.

Absolute dry heaving hit.

Yes, my friends, grosser than gross.

Then, CG hit the jackpot. He said don't worry about the wiping with soiled toilet paper. Nope! Worry about all the times this week that we used the toilet paper to blow our noses. I and he and our progeny might as well have had our noses up some kid's bottom. Call us the brown-nosers!

He won! Hands down! Grossest of all.

God help me. I am scarred for life. And now, my friends, I shared the love. You'll never look at chocolate pudding or spin your toilet roll the same again.

**Photos by Jocelyn McAuliflower and by whizchickenonabun and by YanivG

A Mother of Many Talents

Can I just say that hearing the sizzling sounds of a Noah's Asiago cheese bagel from Costco in my toaster makes me happy?

Yep. Sheer joy with a side of drool and a rumble in my tummy.

Yet, there's something even better. I know. I know.

What could be better than a hunk of carb with a slab of cheese, eh?

Ummm, duh! More cheese. As in cream cheese. Through some shopping magnificence, I actually purchased cream cheese at the same time as the bagels.

You see, I am particularly talented at buying foods and not grabbing at the same time their required pairing. The ubiquitous example CG uses is the salsa and chip dilemma. I regularly buy tortilla chips, but no salsa. However, if I put salsa in the cart, those chips will be gone from our pantry. Then we have the lonely salsa waiting for it's mate. They are like ill-fated lovers in our household. A salsa Juliette to a crisp tortilla Romeo. It drives CG, a logistics guy by career, absolutely mad.

Absolutely predictable scenario: CG unpacks groceries I just purchased. His hand closes around a jar of Chipotle salsa or a chilled tub of Pico de Gallo. The first words always uttered from his mouth will be, "Did you buy chips?"

He knows the answer, but still he asks with hope that the stars have aligned and my synapses fired for once in the grocery store and I bought both.

Ha! Nope.

He shakes his head in disappointment and bewilderment.

This star-crossed duo status works just as well for bagels and cream cheese. Let's not forget limes but no rum for mojitos. Cereal, but no milk. It seems I have a talent for keeping these compliments apart. It's sheer talent.

But today, people, my crisp, golden toasted, bagel sizzling in the toaster had a cold, creamy loaded knife of Philadelphia's best waiting. Ecstasy in my mouth.

**Blog Note: Photo by adactio

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Something Had To Give

You know...

When you are juggling a million commitments at once with three kids, two dogs, two concurrent swim teams that require a four hour window of swim practices and ferrying back and forth to two different pools EVERYDAY?

And then you do something like commit to sewing and stuffing 120 coyotes for the third grade party? And sign up to go on field trips and want to keep it even so you go on all the kids' field trips?

And you never see your husband because he has shizbags in his MBA study group that don't do their work, so he has to work harder and meet for a bajillion evenings straight? And when your kids realize Daddy hasn't eaten dinner with us for six days straight?

And you are still waiting for medical results after a oh-so-lovely trans vaginal ultrasound searching for reasons for eleven day periods, incontinence, fibroids, anemia, hormonal issues, and an inability to leave the house at times for fear of your cup runneth-ing over even with DOUBLE super-sized tampons and overnight pads and blood clots the size of lemons?

And your house is a filthy mess? And all your kinder wants is for you to read to him?

Something had to give and this time it was my blog.

I appreciate all the concern. I really do.

So, I am still working on a bunch of issues and we have EIGHT swim meets this month and still have 2 weeks left of school and a class party for me to orchestrate and 26 coyotes to sew, but I seem to be getting things under control. Bonus is CG had his last class of the trimester last night and only has one final to go and then we are MBA free until July when summer classes start.

So I hope to be writing more snarky, bitchy, happy, deliriously whack material soon. Hells bells, my friends, with Hillary out of the race, I've got some cocktail celebrating to do. This Republican Mommy is one happy camper.

Stay tuned.

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