That's Fowl

So.

New Moon. *taking deep breaths trying not to hyperventilate*

You all know how I feel about this...



It's like my thing (along with former boy banders turned hotties).

I am just so excited about this weekend.

And, yes. I already have my tickets.

I so wanted to go to the midnight showing, but I can't (bloody little beasts that pretend to be my sweet children from time to time).

After debating the situation numerous times with myself, I decided that it's for the best anyway because the very last thing I want is to have to be wedged in between Teen Becky and Teen Susie, OMGing-movie-rule-violating-Jacob-obsessed gigglebots who have never seen a man (or a man child in this case) without his shirt off before.

I want to marvel in the glory that is Edward without interruption.

I'm hoping all of the die hard fans will have seen the film come Saturday afternoon, or will be waiting until Saturday night to catch it.

Fingers crossed.

But, please don't doubt my dedication to the Twi.

I am still 100% devoted to Edward and Bella and the whole gang, and I take my obsessions seriously.

So serious in fact, that I volunteered to be the Twilight/New Moon expert on my most favorite morning radio show this week.

Go ahead and listen to my gushing summary of the series, but don't bother listening to the everyone's-an-expert haters that follow my review.

Dumb Mom on the Kane Show!

Did you hear it?

Awesome, right?!

Except for one little thing.

Make that two little things.

The delightful sound of my screaming little people that prompted the DJ to ask if I was "murdering children in the background".

Worst part is that their screaming was not even my fault!

It was the ducks!

The bloody, effing, psycho, attack ducks at the park that are to blame for the sounds-like-a-massacre screaming going on.

For lack of a better venue (thought about locking them in the car for my radio debut, but feared some nosy concerned citizen would call the cops on me) I took the dudes to the park for an early morning play.

And, instead of allowing them to play on the equipment (because then they would constantly be calling me for help) I thought it most serene if we took a stroll along the waterway to have a look at the ducks.

Error.

Since the dudes were armed with mommy's-on-the-phone-just-stuff-it-and-shut-it Pop Tarts, the fearless give-me-that-snack-or-else ducks from Hell spied us and decided to make their move right when I got distracted with Kane and Sarah (radio show hosts extraordinaire).

The kids got freaked (as any warm blooded human would if they were essentially landed upon by a flock of overly fed ducks) and began screaming (and running) hysterically which explains the commotion you heard on the show.

Way to go Dumb Mom!

P.S. That little tidbit about me leaving Hubby for R. Patz or JT, totally not true. I would only leave him for R. Patz if he turned out to be an actual vampire. JT...call me:)!

And, hey, Mama K, I'm not sure if that was 1000 words or less, but I'm pretty sure my life will never be the same thanks to the effing ducks. So, count me in for today's Writer's Workshop, um-kay because now I can't call the radio station everyday and harass them to put me on because I'm known as the "Screaming Kid Lady", which is way worse than being "The Cat Lady" or "The Bag Lady", if you ask me!

So, this week's Thursday Thank You is going to go to the Baker Park duck family.

And, they get an extra special thank you from the awesomely amazing Carol over at Junk Mail Greetings.

She creates the most absolutely perfect greeting cards, called Hate Mail, that I never ever want to live without again.

Ever.

So here you have it, Ode to the Ducks.

Thank you and you're welcome.



Inside: (which I'm not even gonna bother to write since the little devils can't read anyway) Dear Psycho Park Ducks, Thank you for making my radio interview, my five minutes of fame, into five minutes of shame. After all of the illegal bread I have allowed my kids to slip to you. After the countless times I've saved your flea ridden necks from being bludgeoned by my one year old. After the time that I actually got down on my hands and knees and saved your stupidly placed egg by covering it with stray bramble! This is how you repay me?! By viciously mobbing my two, young, Pop Tart scented children? How could you? How dare you?! Had I not been engaged in an important on-air conversation I so would have chased you off. You are lucky my fowl little friend. Lucky. But, you're secret bread source is officially dried up. Consider yourself cut off. I'm not dealing with your kind anymore, and you can tell all your friends I said it. Don't let me catch you on the street. XOXO, Dumb Mom

Want to win a set of cards from Junk Mail Greetings?

Sure you do, so you can give them out to all of the ducks that eff with your kids.

All you have to do is:

1. Go visit Junk Mail Greetings and leave a comment telling me which card is the best.

2. Follow me.

Not hard at all!

This is a quick one: Contest open until midnight Friday (11/20/09).

Winner will be selected and posted on Saturday (11/21/09).

Pieces

Things have been in pieces around here a little bit lately.

I guess not really, but I've got a lot of anxiety and paranoia going on right now.

I think that's a side effect of not having any curtains on any windows in the house at all. I feel like everyone is watching me.

So, I've decided to do my first Friday Fragment post, because, hey, why not. Besides, I can't think clear enough to write a full post because I keep getting distracted by random movements outside of my totally exposed windows.



First: The Curtains.

They are gone thanks to the unreliable subcontractor's inability to ensure that he had all the necessary equipment in place on the day of the window install we had scheduled for this past Thursday. Apparently, despite the fact that they had a 6 week warning, they did not secure one of the integral parts of the job: the windows. They are supposed to come in today (Friday), but I'm not convinced since they were supposed to come in on Wednesday, too. So, I've spent every night since Tuesday in a curtainless house creeping (and by creeping I mean crawling on the floor or leaping, lightening fast) past my bedroom window to prevent my neighbors from spying me in my unmentionables. I'm not traditionally the most clandestine individual so I'm sure they have seen way more than they could ever want.

So, shout out to all the teen boys in my hood who have pent up sexual frustration to spare, I know you're watching and I don't care.

Whew! I think admitting it alleviated some of the pressure so I can relax. The paranoia was taking a toll on me.

See?



Second: Peepee Pants.

#2 wet his bed last night. By the way he acted, you woulda thought he'd committed some major crime.

At about 3:25 am, the perp was discovered, screaming angrily in his bed. The assailant attempted to allude authorities by thrashing about wildly. Even after his crime was discovered, the alleged, who has been previously convicted of similar charges, proceeded to deny the allegations shouting, "I DIDN'T DO IT! I DIDN'T DO IT! IT WASN'T ME!", loud enough to arouse innocent bystanders (aka #1 who was attempting to sleep in the top bunk). We believe his ultimate goal was to create a sense of chaos and confusion so that he could escape scrutiny. The authorities were not so easily dissuaded, and were able to work together to take the offender into custody (aka their bed) without further incident. No one was harmed on the scene. Officer Mom, however, has asked for a few days of administrative leave following the incident. At press time, this request had not been granted.

I'm not sure why he acts all crazy when he catches himself wetting the bed at night. It doesn't happen often (like a coupla times a year), and it's not like I beat the crap outta him (maybe like the first time) when he does it either. It generally winds up to be a winning situation for him because, since I'm too lazy to change the bed, I usually just change the kid and shuffle him off to my bed, where he begs to sleep every night anyway.

It's really me who gets the raw end of the deal, because once he's in my bed, the make-out session begins.

He starts the cuddling and the cooing, the caressing and the canoodling. It turns into an inappropriate-I'm-your-mom-back-up-off-me-you-pee-stained-freak session very quickly. And, it happens every time (which is why I don't let him sleep with me in the first place). If I'm able to shake him off at all he usually just cloys onto my back and engulfs me with his sea of love.

Actually, I feel kinda like this...



Not cool.

Third: Nightmares.

When he finally tired of my playing hard to get, he drifted off and so did I. Only to be awoken again (at 4:55am) by the most bloodcurdling scream I've ever witnessed first hand.

He had a nightmare.

Sleeping snug as a bug in a rug smack dab in the middle of me and Hubby the kid had the most powerful and frightening nightmare of his life (at least that I could tell).

Something about being torn to shreds by vultures?

It took him (and me) a full five minutes to stop shaking and get his bearings again, after which point he drifted sweetly into lala land.

I (and Hubby, but who cares about him?) was unable to do so and have therefore been up since the butt crack o'dawn.

Today could be bad for me (I don't function happily with lack of sleep) and he may find himself wishing those vultures finished the job.

Kidding! Even I'm not this scary.



Fourth: An unwelcome visitor.

We met this little biblical villain in our yard yesterday.



As far as creatures I normally hate, he wasn't so bad, probably only because he was tiny.

Kinda cute in a would-totally-avoid-running-him-over-in-my-car-but-don't-get-too-close-I've-got-a-shovel-and-I'm-not-afraid-to-use-it sorta way.

Those little nut jobs I live with actually had the nerve, the audacity, to ask if we could keep it.

Um, no. I don't do wild animals (or the dead, or insects, or outer space, or adult diapers).

As a matter of fact, I really don't do too many of anything that requires care, defies my mandates, or stinks if I didn't carry it in my gut for some amount of time.

Dogs and cats are a possibility for the future when more of the former gut dwellers are able and willing to care for themselves (I doubt any of them will ever follow my mandates or stop stinking).

Fifth (and Final): Weekend plans.

I'm getting another mini date with my female friends (and by friends I mean Mimi and Bff) to go see the Time Traveler's Wife. Hooray! So excited because I LOVED the book, and I like the actors in the film so I'm hoping it's good.

In New Moon other news. If you were a psycho-Twilight-saga-obsessed-chunky-butt-mom-of-3-with-stalker-tendencies you may, instead, go see Vanessa Hudgen's new film, Bandslam because they are premiering a New Moon trailer at it.

I mean, Lisa Kudrow is in it too and I really like her so it's not like it would be a complete waste...