Baby P.I.M.P

Don’t go getting all bawdy on me.

It’s not what you think.

I actually sorta wish it were.

Because instead of this…

funny, cuteness.

We are over here stuck in the throws of potty training Hell and I don’t have time for comedy or crassness (who am I kidding, there is ALWAYS time for a little crass?!).

For the duration of this urine-soaked-feces-stained adventure, we will be referring to #3 as Baby P.I.M.P not because of his well developed backhanding abilities, or his commitment to outlandish hats.

In this case P.I.M.P does not refer to an agent for prostitutes who lives off their earnings (you know, I love Wikipedia, I really do).

In our house P.I.M.P refers to Party In My Pants, instead of in the potty as it should be.

Because in the last week Baby P.I.M.P has peed in every room on the first level of my home and at least 50% of the upstairs area as well.

Additionally, he has dropped a turd (well, technically I dropped it as I sprinted to the bathroom with him in my arms, butt exposed to the world) in my basement and in my kitchen, or my hallway, or…

Not really sure exactly where the second one was produced, but it fell out of his pants leg (and rolled into a corner) somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom.*

Point is at the moment I am feeling both exhausted and filthy.

My house smells like the subway and I’m sick to death of chasing naked Baby P.I.M.P all over the place to prevent a spot marking incident.

At the moment the only positive is that there is hope that I will soon be saying buh-bye to diapers.

As you may know I am/was a part-time cloth diapering mama.

I use the things when I’m home (Dumb Dad categorically refused to use the things claiming they are well beyond his scope of parenting).

I can’t claim to be a staunch naturalist in this (or any) regard, but I would scream their praises from the rooftops (if I had a stable rooftop to climb upon and a rapt audience at my disposal).

They are awesome for all of the reasons people say they are…less diaper rash, easier on the wallet, better for the environment, not really as hard as they used to be, so stinking cute it’s ridiculous.

But, there was one little element that I hadn’t prepared for…they stink!

Like for reals.

Fonk-key.

#3 is actually The Baby Previously Known as Bus Station Booty, because I swear those things were as nasty smelling as a homeless-man-inhabited bus station stairwell.

So Dumb Dad started calling him Bus Station Booty.

I know it probably had a lot to do with my under performance in the cloth diaper cleaning department, but I swear I tried.

I sprayed them down with the hose after every soiling, I let them soak in a bucket of bacteria friendly water, I washed them twice in our high powered washing machine, on the sanitizing cycle, I hung them outside to dry, hoping the fresh air would seal out the ugly.

No dice.

Still stank.

So, I’m happy to send them on the road and graduate him to chonies.**

Because we are also part-time pull-up avoiders.

We use them when we are not home.

Otherwise we don’t.

Which is why my entire house has been touched by bodily waste.

Because I can’t always catch him.

Sometimes I am tied up talking on the phone checking my email stuffing my face while I hide in the garage cooking dinner.

And then he creeps off to a secret location and unleashes the dragon.

Even though he got this shiny wonder of potty training awesomeness***…

Yep, it’s a Baby Bjorn Smart Potty (which I think means it is guaranteed to lead to potty training success, right?).

But, Mr. I’ll-pee-where-I-want-and-you-can’t-stop-me still acts all put out about doing his naughty on the potty…

I mean, I don’t get it, it looks comfy enough (I considered trying it for the sake of doing a full review, but figured I’d probably shatter it).

I can attest that it has a removable potty-catching part (which is way awesome) that is easy to use (kids around here earn their keep, man, no free rides!)…

And, you can use it for tons of other stuff cool stuff too…

Point is you’d think he’d be happier about making deposits.

But he’s not.

So. I’ve decided to regroup.

Take a different approach and get everyone (and by everyone I pretty much just mean P.I.M.P) on the same peeing-on-the-floor-is-evil page.

A list, perhaps?

Personally, I always make them when trying to decide on the best course of action (and when Mama Kat tells me to!).

So, Baby P.I.M.P.

To convince you…

10 Reasons Giving Up Diapers Will Make You More Awesome

1. Buh-bye bus station booty.

2. No need to hold still for diaper changes (not that you ever did this anyway).

3. Diarrhea up your back will end forever (to be replaced by diarrhea down your leg, but still).

4. You can play in the potty bathroom with your brothers.

5. You can participate in the unsanctioned activities as described above in #4 and get in trouble just like they do. That will make you a bad a$%. Girls like that.

6. You will no longer have to sneak off to do your business (no more crouching behind the couch and batting at me like an injured raccoon).

7. You can get cool character chonies like Bruver and Wee (#3’s nickname for #2).

8. You can dress yourself like you want (seriously, I don’t care if you wear snow boots and board shorts everyday for the rest of your life just PEE. IN. THE. POTTY!).

9. I’ll give you candy (and other stuff) with the extra cash we save on diapers and wipes and pee-in-your-pants paraphernalia.

10. I’ll like you better.

See?!

Doesn’t this sound like a better way to live?

Happier? Healthier? Hotter?

You can’t be hot in a foul smelling cloth diaper with diarrhea up you back.

But this…

This is HOT!

Or, at least it will be once we work out the particulars.

So stop acting all hostile when I ask you if you need to use the potty.

Stop lurking around behind the couch and in the pantry.

No more lying about if you went (the neighbors can smell it so, really, why bother?).

I know you don’t want to be potty trained.

But I’m telling you it’s for the best.

It may not feel like it now, but when you’re successfully wearing big boy pants at school like all of the other kids you’ll be glad we did this.

And yes, you can THANK ME LATER!

Link is down there. Hook it up.

*Blessing in disguise is that his turds are like little rocks because he’s constipated himself by holding it in so long. He is strangely freaked out about dropping the kids off at the pool, but as long as he’s wearing underwear he refuses to let loose in those either. So, he holds it, for as long as he physically can, at which point his sphincter gives out and a turd tumbles free. It’s a little bit sad actually.

**Chonies- Mexican for underwear:)

***It was free because I’m a super cool Baby Bjorn Believer which basically means I love them and they love me right back. Ours is red though so it’s even more snazzy and gorgeous. You are welcome to choose from any of the other colors they have:)

What NOT To Do: An Expert's Guide

parenting BY dummies is “a guide to parenting by someone who has tried everything you DON’T want to do”.

Knowing what NOT to do is sorta my thing.

I guess you could say I specialize in Don’ts.

I’m something of an expert in identifying the common pitfalls of parenthood.

I find the don’ts and do them anyway so you don’t have to.

It’s sorta my public service to struggling mothers everywhere.

So, when my girl Mama Kat said, “Hey Dumb Mom,” (and she may not have actually said those words aloud, but when she designed this week’s Writer’s Workshop prompts she definitely had me in mind) she said, “you are rockin’ momhood, lookin’ all good, doin’ your damn thang, why don’t you go ahead and come up with a list of Do’s and Don’ts for the rest of us?”

And, even though there was no money involved, I decided to go for it, because you know what, with out me and my constant failures to be your guide where would you all be?

But, in an effort to stay on her good side, I decided to do one better.

I’m not even gonna deal with the Dos, because, frankly, they aren’t important.

I mean, I in case you hadn’t noticed don’t even know what to do (if I did this blog would be called parenting FOR dummies); but I don’t need to.

They key to survival is avoidance.

Knowing what NOT to do is what’s gonna save your life on a day-to-day basis.

The dos are for those smart moms to talk about.

The Don’ts are for the rest of us.

And, in an effort to give you something even more useful, I’ve compiled a list of Don't’ for your kids, because really they are the ones that need it right?

Think about it, if they knew more about what not to do your life would be at least like 75% easier (at the very least it would eliminate your need to come up with creative forms of punishment).

So print this off, give it your little people, and make ‘em read it (or read it to them if they are still card carrying members of the illiteracy club).

YOU CAN THANK ME LATER!

DON’TS for Kids: A Dumb Mom’s Guide to Keeping You Out of Trouble

1. DON’T wake your mom up by tapping on her head and saying any of the following: I puked on your floor, I peed in my bed, I found a snake, or I think the car is gone.
2. DON’T decide to “help out” by mopping the floor, cleaning the fish tank, or watering the plants. Water is fun for you but Mommy pretty much hates it.
3. DON’T attempt to use any of the following household appliances: the phone (even if it is to call the police on your brother), the microwave (I know it’s “easy” because you only have to press one button, but since you can’t read pressing p-o-t-a-t-o instead of p-o-p-c-o-r-n can lead to catastrophic results), the garage door opener (just because you have no business even being in the garage), the washing machine (see above tip regarding water usage), the dryer (because you fold like your father), and the iron (don’t worry, you’ll never see this one laying around our house anyway).
4. DON’T give unsolicited advice; the lady across the street could do with out your yard care recommendations.
5. DON’T beg for things at the store. Such behavior is embarrassing to your mother and it gives her money in the bank, so to speak, when it comes to future opportunities to chaperone your high school dances. You will be sorry. This mamma knows how to jerk and she ain’t afraid to use it!
6. DON’T use any of the words your mommy uses while she’s driving. That means douche, d-bag, crap face, and ignoramus are all off limits.
7. DON’T heckle other drivers. Mommy’s got that covered.
8. DON’T store things in the toilet. Your effort to put things away is greatly appreciated, but please refer again to #2 above to fully understand our stance on water based activities.
9. DON’T throw food while at the table. This is particularly important if that table is located in the middle of a restaurant (which is unlikely because no one ever wants to take you anywhere ever, but still).
10. DON’T disrobe without receiving permission in advance (and “in advance” does NOT mean while Mommy is distracted with talking to your soccer coach at the supermarket).
11. DON’T disrobe in public regardless of advanced permissions you may or may not have received.
12. DON’T ask to accompany Mommy to Target (because that’s her leisure time), the bathroom (because that’s private), or Wal-Mart (because that’s just crazy).
13. DON’T put your shoes on the counter (even if they’re “clean”).
14. DON’T be a poor sport. Even if Daddy is moping on the corner of the field or kicking the ground, you say good game, give a hi-five, and head for the car. Let Mommy deal with Daddy.
15. DON’T fight dirty with your brothers. Fighting dirty would include any of the following maneuvers: eye gauges, nostril pulling, butt hole assaults, attempted ear drum rupturing, and hitting in the “nuts”.
16. DON’T use the word nuts.
17. DON’T poop your pants at school and then lie when asked about it. Seriously, Dude, people could smell it out in the hallway, it’s time to fess up.
18. DON’T scream for Mommy when she gets ready to go out for her one girl’s night of the quarter. When she’s home you don’t want her so give it a rest. Besides, you should know that once you can rely on your own feet for transportation the affect of your tears has pretty much worn of entirely.
19. DON’T get up before Mommy has her coffee the sun.
20. DON’T grow up. Based on your father other men, growing up is a losing situation for Mommy. Gone will be all of your sweet innocence, your pudgy cheeks, and your unconditional love, but you keep all of the pickiness, the stubbornness, and the inflexibility; traits that move from being tolerable to downright annoying.

Now, since I know you are here to participate in Thank Me Later Thursday, go ahead and add your Linky down there so we can read all about it.*

*If you aren’t here to participate in Thank Me Later Thursday or to enter your picture in my Fugly Face Photo Contest (which ends tomorrow by the way!) or to leave me a comment saying you love me and you hope the snow magically disappears then you aren’t allowed to use my list of DON'Ts to make your kids better people.

And yes, I really am that petty.

Thank Me Later Thursday: Miley Edition

Welcome back to another week of Thank Me Later Thursday, where you get to join me in telling people why they should be thanking me for the awesomeness I've allowed them to experience.

Seriously, you should join me; it's FUN!

And, for extra points ('cause I'm totally keeping score), I also try to make sure that all of my Thank Me Later Thursday posts fit nicely with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompts (which for this week is: A song you can’t escape).

It's sort of a competition I have going on with her.

A secret one.

That she doesn't know about.

Shhhh! I'm totally winning!

So, who is this week's lucky recipient of the Thank Me Later honor at Casa de Dummies?

#3!

Because as I have aged, my music preferences have mysteriously decided not to. My way of staying youthful, keeping in touch with the younger generation, forcing the fact that I'm hip, I'm cool down my children's throats?

Possibly.

Point is, if you have a teenage daughter at home chances are good the two of us are listening to the same stuff.

For example, should you go to the section on my ipod that says, "Recently Played" you will discover tracks such as "Kiss Me Through the Phone", by Souljaboy Tell 'Em (yes, after years in the music biz this mental giant decided to expand his name to include a verb and an abbreviated pronoun; explanation not provided), "One Time", by Justin Beiber (a song which prompted Dumb Dad to inquire about my infatuation with young boys. Don't peg me pervy, it's not any young boys! Only best selling artists and manly muscled teen wolfs.), and one that baffles even me, "Party in the U.S.A." by none other than Hannah Montana Miley Cyrus (which is also my current cellphone ringtone. I know, it sounds horrible, but I seriously did it months ago just to bug Hubby and haven't ever changed it. You'd be surprised how people look at me in the grocery store when it rings!).

Anyway, point is that since #3 and I spend an exorbitant amount of our time together in the car and at home (where he has been deemed the ipod Nazi as he requires music that he selects to be playing AT ALL TIMES), we have developed a similar taste in music (although I have to admit that he is essentially ruining "Fireflies" by Owl City for me by requesting it, a word I use to mean screaming, "FIREFWIES! NOT DAT SONG, MOMMY! PWAY FIREFWIES!", repeatedly).

Take a moment to view the evidence:



Not bad for a just-turned-2-year-old, right? And, did you see the part where he was droppin' it like it's hot? Yeah, I taught him that!

So, here you have it, #3s special Miley-inspired-Thank-Me-Later:

Hey, #3, don't worry about it, you can Thank Me Later. You know, for turning you into a pop-songcessed child with the music taste of a tween girl. You may become the laughing stalk of your high school class if this continues (can you imagine him singing this in the locker room while he dresses for football?!), but the hours we've spent dancing and singing together in the kitchen will be priceless memories that you will be able to cherish for a lifetime. And, just in case you forget, there are hours of videotaped evidence (see above) that I won't hesitate to pull out (in front of skanky fast little hookers in training girls) to remind you of our happy times. So did you want to go ahead and thank me now or wait until your Super Sweet 16 birthday party to do it (and yes, MTV original shows have become quite a good friend to me as well)? Either way works for me. XOXO, Your-golly-aren't-you-lucky Dumb Mom

Wanna play along?

It's easy!

Just grab a button from my sidebar (you don't have to, but you will make me happy, and that is optimal for both of us. 'Cause I know people. Important people. Just sayin'.), put it on your blog, link back to me, and add your link to the hand dandy Mr. Linky box (which I paid $10 for so make it worth it, people!).

How easy is that?

So very.

And then, once you've shared your fantastic story about why you're awesome while people around you are busy causing you to questions the rules against forced sterilization, you can send me you 90's inspired photo so that you have a chance to be crowned parenting BY dummies Blog Dawg of the year.

Not because you're particularly proud of the fact that you spent half of your adolescence hiding in the bathroom from mean girls, but because now that you are a happily for today, not sure about next week married, successful laid off and getting fat corporate diva, or a blissful accidental, and waiting 'til they're 18 mother, you can turn around to all of those high school haters and say, "In yo face with a can of mace, make you cry all over the place."

Seriously, how fun is that?

So. Very.

Thank Me Later Thursday: Inaugural Edition

BOOM BABY!

It’s here.

The very first soon-to-be-famous edition of Thank Me Later Thursday, hosted by the probably-more-likely-to-be-infamous blog parenting BY dummies.

Since it’s our first time, I’ll take it slow and start with explaining exactly how this little naughty is supposed to work.

Kay.

I write a post about something that happened in which the other person/place/thing involved behaved in an annoying, embarrassing, or otherwise unfavorable way and then had the gall, the audacity, the galldacity to demonstrate inadequate amounts of gratitude towards me for not sweeping the leg, punching them in the throat, and/or putting them in a headlock.

Or.

I just give you some much needed advice that you can internalize or share with people in your life who really need it.

Easy, right?

Well, let’s jump right in then.

Since I am feeling in a particularly benevolent mood today, I’m gonna hook you up with some advice (which you can go ahead and feel free to use as the answer to one of Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop prompts for the week. You know, the one about advice from someone who knows stuff? I’ll be that someone for you.).

Now, I know that I’m not exactly an "expert", per se on any of these issues, but I do feel that I have tons of years of training in all of these departments.

I mean, I’ve been a mom for over 8 years now. I’ve been preggers three times. I’ve been married for 7 years (oops, guess that skeleton just fell outta the closet!). I’m a trained educator (among other largely useless things).

Plus, I consider myself an expert on nothing who knows pretty much everything. Maybe not ‘cause I’m super smart, but because I’ve had more fail days than most people in similar situations and, while I may not be savvy enough to avoid the recurrence of such days, I am smart enough to at least take notes.

So, please enjoy Dumb Mom’s Basic (ever growing) Guide to Life*.

And, um, you can THANK ME LATER!

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Dating

1. Don’t hook up with guys who live in your apartment building. Unless you are rich (in which case hook up with whoever you want). Otherwise they are likely to have similar earning capabilities as you and will therefore not be able to support you should you require that after you get fired for stealing paper from the printer at work.
2. Don’t spend countless years looking for a perfect 10. Find yourself a 7 when you are young and make him a 10. Man remodeling is one of my favorite past times. It’s hard work, but it’s so rewarding. Be aware though, that no matter where he started, they all turn out to be 4s once the baby shows up.

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Marriage

1. Develop a celebrity crush. This is to ensure that there is someone to focus on (other than the guy who empties your trash at work) when hubby acts like a caveman. You’d be surprised to learn how awesome the trash dude can look when Hubby’s antics have you in a tizzy.
2. Spend time doing things you love. Not together, silly. SEPARATELY. This will allow you to enjoy your awesome pre-married life without having to get all wrapped up in his totally-unawesome-gaming-addicted-sports-aholic-pre-married life that you married him in spite of, not because of.
3. Communicate better. Meaning, give him a list (handwritten and taped to the refrigerator so he can’t lose it) of actual words to use (like frustrated, lonely, proud, etc) that a responsible human with a brain (aka you) will respond to. This should eliminate the grunts, head nods, and it-was-goods that he automatically resorts to during conversation. Details people. It’s all about DETAILS.
4. Use tears. They work.

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Pregnancy

1. Eat whatever you want. It is the only time in your life that it will be okay for you to be fat.
2. Get new friends. Like pregnant ones. Because you will be a huge drag to all of your never-been-there buddies who really just want you to shut up about your back, and your feet, and your vag. I mean don’t get me wrong, you can still kick it with them from time to time, just try to find a pregnant friend or one that has a baby too so you don’t make yourself the fat-annoying-whiny-seriously-with-the-effing-baby-crap buzz kill friend. I mean already you can’t drink anymore, you can’t dance on the bar anymore, and despite the halfhearted mumblings to the contrary, you really don’t look that cute in the fitted jeans anymore. And, none of these things are gonna change too much once baby is born. Well, actually, I lied. It will change, because it’ll be even worse.
3. Buy your soon-to-be-born kid cute clothes. Because it is fun.

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Motherhood

1. Don’t be nervous. You honestly are not expected to know what to do. Being anxious and exhausted all the time is like part of your divine punishment for having so much fun creating the little crumb snatchers. When you’ve worked off your had-too-much-fun-time-to-pay debt to the universe, things will mellow out a bit and your kid will start acting like a human, as opposed to an alien sent to Earth specifically to torture you.
2. Don’t compare your kids. Not to other kids, and not to each other. All it does is make you and them think they suck. Nobody likes to think they suck.
3. Don’t bother learning to cook. Pretty much everything they are gonna eat without puking can be made in a toaster oven or a microwave. Instead spend your time coming up with creative way to punish evil creatures that are small. This is an effective use of your time that will undoubtedly come in handy.
4. Don’t waste money buying 100s of dollars in fancy picture books. Chances are good that they are only gonna let you read the one, most annoying title in the house over and over and over again. You know, the repetitive one, with the bad illustrations? Yeah, that one. Plan to memorize it ‘cause your kid will and if you can recite it without actually having to look at it you may be able to sneak a few peeks at Ellen while you “read”.
5. Don’t encourage them to love music. They will just become little ipod Nazis and make you want to run your car into a ditch by screaming that you, “PAY DA BAYARGIGANS AGAIN MOMMY!” repeatedly. Or, if they are particularly evil, they’ll learn the words to inappropriate songs like Birthday Sex and I Kissed a Girl and sing them in public just to embarrass you. It’s sorta cute at home, but not so much at Mommy and Me class.
6. Find a good hiding place. Have one built if necessary. It’s the only way you’ll ever have a moment alone with an ice cream sandwich again.
7. Don’t require them to socialize with each other. Actually, the less time you allow them to spend with each other the better. It limits the time they have to concoct hair brained activities that are devised to inflict suffering up on you. And, it decreases the rate at which your littler, not-yet-ruined children learn to torment you.
8. Don’t use the word no around them when they are babies. They will learn it and immediately use it against you.
9. Don’t try to keep them from farting/burping/etc. At least not if they are boys. Being in full control of their bodily functions is extremely important as at some point in their lives they will be involved in fart wars, burping contests, or peeing matches. You want your kid to rock these as they are an important test of manhood. Not being able to perform well at these events is almost as damaging as “throwing like a girl” or “screaming like a bi*#@”. Besides, everybody needs to be good at something and being able to fart the National Anthem without deucing himself could be your boy’s one and only claim to fame. Don’t take that away from him.
10. Don’t sweat it if they say they hate you. They probably really do (or at least think they do). But really, who even cares?

Whew!

Anything else you need to know about?

Seriously, I could go on for days.

But I won’t.

I’ll get to the part you really care about and let you go ahead and add your own links to Thank Me Later Thursday.

Please feel free to add my brand new, hand crafted, was-it-custom-designed-by-a-bloody-two-year-old? button to your post if you’re participating (or to your sidebar if you’re not, but you love me anyway).

(It's over there, on the left, down a little, under the other, above the rest.)

And, don't forget to head on over to visit Kmama at The Daily Dribbles and link up to her Thank You Very Much link as well.

*PBD's If You Die Disclaimer*- Should you or anyone around you suffer fatal or irreparable injuries, including, but not limited to accidental loss of limb and fiery death (two of my biggest concerns), while carrying out any of the aformentioned jewels of advice don't look over here. I am ans UNofficial knower of stuff and as such can not be held accountable when my UNofficial advice causes your husband to leave you, your friends to desert you, or social services to make unscheduled visits to your house. If questioned I will deny. Wholeheartedly.

Bored?

Mama Kat wants us to share some surefire tips for staving off boredom.

Not sure what she’s gonna use ‘em for ‘cause I mean, between blogging, and doing her real job (yep she actually has one), and being a mom, and meeting up with the likes of me and BFF in Vegas for weekends of pleasure, I’m pretty sure that she doesn’t have time to get bored.

As for myself, I haven’t been bored in years so initially I was gonna choose on of the other prompts (like the one about all of the different places I’ve lived because when I count it up, I’ve lived in like 20 different houses, more than half of which were before I even graduated from high school. I’m thinking Mimi and Papa were running from the law!).

I mean, what does a person with absolutely no experience with actual boredom have to say about being bored?

But then I realized that I have plenty to say about staving off boredom.

And, not just because of the whole “expert on nothing who knows everything” bit (that’s how I describe myself when people ask me to sum myself up; accurate, right?).

I mean, someone who NEVER gets bored must be doing something right, right?

So I decided I’ll share with you my formula for avoiding boredom for the next five to ten years.

And, here you have it, Dumb Mom’s Guide to Staving off Boredom: Top Ten Ways to Stay Busy and Boredom Free for Years to Come

10. Just Dance. The video game. I do it every. Single. Day. And it is SO awesome. I’ve even lost weight doing it (not a lot, but still). And, if you find yourself inching close to getting bored while doing it, you can always make a video of yourself and enter it in this contest to win a grand. I thought about entering myself, but I’m so good at it now that I probably wouldn’t win. It’s like those girls who say they are “too pretty” to get dates? That’s me. I’m too good at Just Dance to win their little contest. But you might have a shot.

9. Do your taxes. What? Taxes are boring? Shut yo’ mouth! Taxes are a lot of things, but I refuse to believe that they are boring. But, I can see that many of you disagree with me on this point and to give me an opportunity to change your mind why don’t you enter my H&R Block At Home giveaway? Then you can at least rest assured that you are not gonna miss any deductions or wind up in jail because an itty bitty error in accounting caused you to cheat Uncle Sam outta $300,000. Because seriously, is there anything more boring than 5 to 10 in Club Fed?

8. Go to You Tube. And watch the part in Super Bad (please tell me you have seen this movie because it is HILARIOUS) when Seth gets hit by the car (the first time). It makes me laugh over and over and over again. Now, please note that Super Bad features a set of nerdy, sexually frustrated high school boys with serious cases of toilet tongue (meaning they curse like a couple of pirates) so don’t click on the link if you’re easily (or possibly even not so easily) offended, the language is pretty graphic.

7. Watch Tosh.0. Another way to waste a good thirty minutes laughing your chubby little butt cheeks off. You can catch it on Comedy Central every Wednesday night at 10:30 (or 9:30 if you live in one of those strange states between here and California). Or, if you’re one of the freaks of nature who don’t have cable television, you can just check it out on the Internet here. Be sure you check out the crap I said before about Super Bad being all naughty and offensive, this is sorta the same deal (only the cursing is pretty much bleeped out since it’s on TV and stuff) so if you’re “sensitive” just try one of the other 6 things on the list.

6. Send an apology on Facebook. You know to that chick in high school whose boyfriend you stole and then got her kicked outta the Recycling Club for throwing her soda can in the trash? Yep, you could probably kill like 20 minutes sending all of those people you wronged somehow messages on Facebook apologizing for being a mean girl so that when you send them a friend request they will accept it. Or you can go to imsorry.com and do it there (I honestly can’t even believe there is a service for this).

5. Go to Wal-Mart. You can eat up tons of time just “people” watching. And, you can test out all of the stereotypes you’ve ever heard about any one ever. Because for whatever reason, they all materialize at Wal-Mart.

4. Go to Wal-Mart and act like you belong there. I like to do this from time to time, just for fun. I put on my rattiest jammie pants and my slippers and I don’t comb my hair (or even bother to remove the curlers). I don’t put on makeup and I avoid most other forms of personal hygiene, too. Then, I don a shirt that’s WAY too small for me, paint my nails bright red with added rhinestones for extra bling, and I might even throw on one of those trendy little disposable plastic shower cap thingys. To make it more real I like to even grab #3 outta the bed and just rip his pajamas right offa his body. I don’t bother to change his diaper or dress him in any clothing or shoes so that his visibly soiled diaper is easily viewed (and smelled) by passersby. And then, I give him a pacifier, no, a bottle, of soda to bring along with us. Then, when we get to the store I drag him around it while he’s crying (you know with snot and everything) and I yell at him for it (since yelling at a baby will actually make them want to STOP crying). When I finally get up to the cash register I decide to put back at least four things (after they’ve been rung up and bagged, of course), I make it a point to talk on my cell phone the ENTIRE time, and, that’s right, AND I write a check! For half. I use a combination of a gift card and loose change to pay for the rest. I’m telling you it is so freakin’ fun and I look just like I belong there. If fear is a factor, here's a website where you can live vicariously through those of us willing to brave the possibly infected Wal-Mart waters: People of Walmart

3. Teach your toddler to sing. Not those silly, traditional nursery rhymes that will bore you to tears if you have to sing them over and over (I’m so sick of Old Macdonald I could hurl). You gotta teach him popular songs from the radio and then encourage him to sing them for you. I love #3’a rendition of Single Ladies and he even does the dance. So. Funny!

2. Read my blog. Duh.

1. Take a toddler on an outing. So that he can embarrass you with his inappropriately-loud-for-the-library voice and his inappropriately-ridiculous-to-be-coming-from-a-toddler words.

A lovely segue into this week’s Thursday Thank You.

A special thank you to the just-turned-two toddler of the house who has made the library off limits only moments after we were allowed back on the premises after getting our exorbitant fine paid off.

Thank you and you’re welcome.

Dear #3,

Please tell me this is not for real. I honestly can not believe you right now. I know that you are a little bit obsessed with the female gluteus maximus at the moment, but let me remind you that pointing to it, talking about it, or personally addressing it in any way while in public is highly inappropriate. It is not okay for you to shout, “MOMMY! WOOK AT HER BUTT! IS YUCKY!” when another mom bends down next to you at the library. I realize that you may have been given a much better glimpse of it than you ever imagined*, but that doesn’t make you clamoring to get my attention by increasing your voice and/or pointing more frantically and demanding that I, “WOOK AT IT MOMMY! WOOK AT HER BUTT!” okay in any way. And, for future reference, if I shush you by putting my finger to your lips, covering your mouth with my palm, or shoving your face into the floor that generally means that you need to cease and desist, IMMEDIATELY with what you’re saying. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Do not identify and announce the existence of butts in the immediate area. Just bring it down a notch. I realize that it can, at times, be difficult, but it may help if you ignore the urge to throw yourself on the ground beneath any kneeling butts to get yourself a better look. And, it may also help if you, when presented with an unnaturally large or slightly overexposed butt, just WHISPER your recognition of said butt’s arrival to just me, and remember that it’s cool if you want to talk about it later. Like, when we get in the car!. Because you know, it’s not the fact that you noticed, I mean frankly, we ALL noticed, it’s more the announcement, and it’s excessive volume that I’m struggling with here. I’d greatly appreciate your cooperation on this matter and hope that our library privileges will not be permanently revoked as a result of this incident.

XOXO,

Dumb Mom

P.S. I know that reading is not really your thing so I’ve included a diagram to ensure accurate transmission of this message.

Never do this...

*In #3’s much needed defense, the rump in question was quite noticeable for both size and ill fitting attire (aka her butt crack was in full view to him when she knelt down to pick out her books and he was obviously caught off guard by it. Obviously.). If you are reading this and you think that you may actually be the owner of the “YUCKY BUTT,” you may want to invest in a good set of high-waist mom jeans (it’s time you got yourself a pair), and/or an extra long tank top (you can get ‘em at Old Navy). Just to prevent visually assaulting toddlers thereby making them look like the bad guys.

Join us, won't you?!

Will You Accept this Rose?

Do people ever not accept the rose?

I mean, if I didn’t want one, I would just say so beforehand instead of busting him out on national TV with an in-yo-face-sucka-take-your-cheapo-rose-and-shove-it no thank you.

Because, that would just be mean.

Kinda like signing up for the show and then deciding at the end (after weeks of hanging out on ABC’s dime and a coupla visits to the “fantasy” suite) you really are just not that into any of the chicks so you’re gonna just cut your losses and roll out (thank you Bachelor Brad).

Or.

Like selecting a girl and then deciding right after the show (right after the show) that she’s really not the one you really meant to pick, you kinda like the other one better so you were hoping ABC would like hook you up with her instead. Maybe give you her number, or like bring her (and the one you are dumping her for) on national TV so you can propose (not that kind of propose, slow down, who said anything about getting married?) that you start like hangin’ out in real life (and, thank you Bachelor Jason).

So.

In an effort to stick with The Bachelor theme of honesty-is-the-best-policy-even-if-it-requires-that-I-make-you-feel-and-look-like-a-complete-douche-on-television, I’m gonna join Mama Kat in awarding roses to the 10 people/products that I’d “like to continue pursuing a relationship with” even though I’m not 100% convinced you are my type, that I’ll like you in a month, or that I can honestly see myself hanging out with you sans helicopter, limo, or hot tub.

So, when you find yourself all lonely sitting in a limo with a cheap bottle of wine, tears dripping on your tata-accentuating tube dress with a camera waving around in your face, you can’t say you’re surprised, or that you don’t know what went wrong, or that I’m missing out on the best person, or that the others really aren’t even here for the right reasons.

You’ve been warned.

This could end badly.

And, be sure to note that while I’m giving you a this-means-we-have-to-make-out-later rose, I’m also giving out 9 other of those bad boys today to people (or things as the case may be) that I am probably going to be intimate with later too.

Don’t worry, I might even letcha watch!

10 People/Products I Think I Might Really Like at Least When I’m Drunk, On an Island, Living Rent Free in a Mansion, Riding in a helicopter, a limo, or a vintage car, and/or Being Serenaded by some Formerly Hot Band

1. Hubby. At least, I don’t think it’s the house with the seasonal lake view that keeps me here?

2. The Dudes. Although, if someone takes away our summer pool privileges I’m gonna have to definitely reevaluate this relationship.

3. BFF. No lake, no pool privileges, no wrapping her legs around me in the hot tub (although we did go to Vegas together, but I totally had to pay for my own self) which means I obviously like her for her winning personality (and her party planning awesomeness) because her “perks” leave a lot to be desired.

4. Mimi & Papa. However, when they start wearing diapers and/or forgetting where they left their dentures all bets are off.

5. Bruncle. He can thank his opposable thumbs for keeping him on this list.

6. My Wii Fit Plus. But, the el-bees better start coming off or else we are gonna need to have a serious sit down and discuss where we see our “relationship” going in the future.

7. My camera. Pretty sure that no matter how things shake out with the humans on this list, you and I are gonna be cool.

8. My HP laptop. It was touch and go there for a minute when you got that virus thingy, ‘cause you know, I don’t really do germs, but now that you’re all healthy and stuff, we are good.

9. My Dyson. Wood floors are pretty and all, but brooms aren’t. I hate sweeping almost as much as I hate dishes laundry yard work scrubbing toilets other stuff, but luckily my handy dandy cost-me-a-fortune-so-you-better-earn-your-keep Dyson saves me the back breaking pain of having to sweep a whole buncha wood floored rooms everyday. I have to admit, I’m thinking about hooking up with a Roomba and I don’t even care if it gets me kicked offa this show.

10. My blog. And the 15 people who read it. You guys make my days. Although, if you could just pour on the we-are-totally-here-for-the-right-reasons-you-are-so-awesome-Dumb-Mom-and-we-are-just-so-glad-to-be-heres that would be great.

And, not to be forgotten, Thursday Thank You is gonna stick with the theme of the Bachelor as well by awarding a First Impression Rose.

I am gonna give out this one very special rose to the something in my life that has really made an impression on me. Something I’m gonna keep around, because at this point, it would be wrong to not see where this thing is going.

My garage door.

Thank you and you’re welcome.

Dear Garage Door From Hell, This has been an amazing journey so far. From the moment you busted a spring last fall and came, literally, crashing into my life, I (nor my finances) have not been the same. So much has happened since that first day. The original technician charged us $270 to replace your major spring. After putting that into place he realized another spring was broken so he left to order another part for you. Tragically, he suffered a terrible accident that left him bed ridden for weeks. One of the most severe snowstorms of the decade dumped 20 inches of snow in my yard (and on top of my temporarily garage-less vehicle). We celebrated a few major holidays and then finally, another technician was able to come out. He informed me that, before breaking his lower half into a hundred little pieces, the first technician put your spring on backwards and turned you on, which was a mistake. A seriously stupid, annoying, costly effing unbelievable mistake. Now to fix all the problems caused by that ridiculous error, he would need $215 to get you to even open manually and another $479 (with the $20 discount he’s gonna “hook” me up with) to get you to open the way you should (with a working motor). After getting out in the freezing weather to yank (and push, and pull) you into place this evening for the first time in months I feel closer to you than I ever have. We have shared (and by shared I mean I’ve paid out the nose for you to sorta kinda work a little bit) so much and I anticipate that there is still more to come. Will you accept this rose? XOXO, Dumb Mom*

*I was seriously gonna hand write this like I always do, but the thought of wasting one more penny (in the form of ink, paper, time) on this piece of crap garage made me throw up a little, so I passed. Handwritten notes will make a come back when someone/something freakin’ deserves one.

Wanna participate in Writer’s Workshop?

Trot on over to Mama Kat’s bloggy blog for the prompts.

Movies for Boys and Moms

If you know Dumb Family at all, then you know that we are huge movie fans.

HUGE.

Even "back in the day", as #2 likes to say, when Dumb Dad and I were dating the theater was our main venue. Sometimes we'd even go to two in one day!

Well, double feature movie dates are a thing of the past, and these days we are lucky if we get to see a movie together once a quarter.

But, it is something we enjoy and it's also something we enjoy doing as a family (meaning mom, dad, & two older dudes, b/c #3 is a serious movie faux pas).

As part of out holiday traditions, we like to take The Dudes to see a movie, of their choosing.

Since someone has to stay home w/#3, this year I won out as the holiday-kid-movie-chaperone.

The movie of choice?

Alvin And The Chipmunks: The Squeakquel, of course:

Movie Trailers - Movies Blog

Something about animated rodents singing Single Ladies was a huge turn off for Hubby and so obviously my cup of tea, that naturally I was appointed (honestly, I wanted to go to The Princess and the Frog, but the furry songbirds were The Dudes' vote).

I didn't expect much from the film, I mean how good can it really be?

There is only so much you can do with singing rodents, a record label vilian, and a corny-guy-next-door type.

And, I wasn't disappointed or surprised.

But, more importantly I didn't vomit, or reach REM.

Since my brain (in spite of my efforts to reform it) is convinced that movie theaters are the perfect places to conk out, my Movie Goodness Scale is based entirely on how awake I stay to enjoy it.

If the film is not Twi-awesome or Hangover-larious chances are good I'm going to fall into a deep sleep for the duration, fall into a deep sleep for a portion, or spend the majority of the film slamming my head into Dumb Dad's shoulder, the chick next to me, and/or the back of my chair.

If it's a film I REALLY want to see I may even use my drink as a wake-up tool by pouring it into my lap periodically. It's a strange method, but by golly it works!

As The Squeakquel was definitely not Twi-awesome or Hangover-larious I did a lot of the head slamming thing.

But. There was just enough mini-rump shakin' goin' on to keep me engaged for the majority.

And, right at the moment when I nearly boarded that sweet lulaby boat to Never Never Land, I was awoken with a high pitched rendition of Shake Your Groove Thang.

Perfect. Those screenwriters/director/whoever is in charge of that crap, knew exactly what they were doing with the song placement thingy.

Geniuses, I tell you. Geniuses!

Plus, it was 100 times better to be at the chipmunk pop-venture than to be sitting with #3 reading The 3-D Solar System Book for the gazillionth time (how's that for a Writer's Workshop inclusion?!).

I'm all for bonding over books, but now that he's memorized Saturn, Uranus, Earth, Mercury, and all the rest of 'em I think it's time to move on.

Besides everybody knows my position on outer space, and reading this book has done nothing for changing that.

Fortunately, Dumb Dad and I were not to be outdone by The Dudes in the movie department this season.

We caught a grown up film ourselves.

Thanks to the hidden babysitting talents of Bruncle (my brother, their uncle=Bruncle), we took in a romanticactionadventuremystery called Sherlock Holmes.

You've heard of it, right?

Robert Downey Jr., Jude Baby DaddyLaw, Rachel Mcadams?

I give it two thumbs up and I didn't even really fall asleep that much.

Okay, so I did find myself startling awake a couple of times near the end (and if you were sitting in front of me and were the recepient of one, or possibly two, swift kicks in the back, please forgive me), but it wasn't for lack of action or intrigue in the film.

It was my own inability to control my faculties when tired, sick, and effing freezing (why are theaters SO bloody cold?). Plus, we rarely ever go to the movies after sunset, and my proprensity for jumping off the sleep action is exactly why.

Anyway, point is, it was so not the movie's fault that I was unable to keep my wits about me for the duration. It was equal parts funny, engaging, and plot rich, okay maybe the plot was not exactly rich, but it did the trick.

My affection for the likes of Jude Law, Rachel Mcadams, and Robert Downey Jr. may have slightly tainted my review, but see it anyway if you get a chance and let me know what you think.

A trailer my dear, Watson.



So, anyway, thank you, Bruncle, for doing your thing. You have earned this week's Thursday Thank You as a result of your efforts.



Thank you and you're welcome.





Dear Bruncle, It's not everyday that I have a reason to praise you so let me just state, for the record, this is BIG. I sincerely appreciate your willingness to sacrifice your time (not that you had anywhere else to be) for Hubby and I to have a night out. There aren't many people I feel comfortable leaving The Dudes with and I'm glad we have you. The best part is that you're cheap: a Chipotle burrito and time to get on the PS3 with Hubby. And, you even did the dishes! Can't beat that. You are turning out to be quite the manny! I always knew you'd amount to something! XOXO, Dumb Mom

Stranger aren't Scary

This week, Mama Kat suggested that we "talk about a moment when a stranger helped you" which (if you went to the source) was inspired by Matt Logelin's post entitled "Thank You" in which he is thanking all of the kind people who helped him deal with the loss of his wife.

Sad, sad story, really nice dude, cute as a button little girl, you should check him out if you haven't before.

Anyway, it got me started thinking about how I could connect today's Thursday Thank You to Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop (because you know, it's like a twisted little goal of mine, to see if I can connect all of my TTYs to her WW no matter how loosely or far fetched the connection may be).

And, in the spirit of the season I really wanted to make sure that this was a true thank you. Not one of my thanks-for-sucking-douche-bag-are-you-for-real-right-now? thank you's to which you've undoubtedly grown accustomed.

It's not for lack of material.

I mean, I could easily thank the jerkwad at Walmart who decided to clog up the line this week by having the checkout chick price scan about 10 pairs of size 40 jeans only to announce that the pair she really wanted was actually placed on a rack that said $15.98 and "hold on real quick, lemme show you it."

But nope. Not gonna do it.

Even though my baby was sitting in crap pants that stank so badly my eyes were watering involuntarily, I'm going to let it slide.

Mostly.

Because, at least she knew she was being annoying.

Before she attempted to unsuccessfully squeeze past my cart to reenter the depths of Hell clothing department, she looked at me.

Like made eye contact looked at me.

And there was a brief glimmer of remorse there. Like she knew that holding up the line this way, during the holiday shopping frenzy, while a lady with a stank butt, obviously distressed, grabby handed toddler was waiting to be freed from the nexus of evil was wrong.

It was fleeting, and it didn't prevent her from proceeding, but at least she knew it.

And, knowing is half the battle, that's what they always say, right?

So, in an effort to stay bah-hum-bug free, she gets a pass.

But, she wasn't my only "person of interest" this week.

I easily could go with the fool of a woman at the bank who offered me a lollipop after I lodged a complaint about the fact that their ATM machine was always broken.

As in, I say something like: "I come to this bank at least once a week and the machine is out of service every time. Is it always broken? Should I find another bank that can more effectively meet my desire for convenience? I have a small child and it's a hassle to have to go through all of this to simply make a deposit."

And she responds, verbatim: "It's not actually broken, but we like have to put money in it. Do you want a lollipop?"

And then I think: "Um, no braniac, I don't want a bloody lollipop, I want to not have to wait in this drive-up line for eternity, or haul this heavy load of toddler into the bank in the pouring rain four times a month because you people have a money machine that never, EVER has money in it!"

But, nonconfrontational pushover that I am, actually say (after blinking and staring in shock for a few awkward moments, willing her to take it back): "No lollipop, thank you. Just wanna make a deposit so we can go."

I could thank her, you know for being so generous with her candy.

But, nope.

I'm not gonna do it.

Because, while she may not have realized she was being stupid lame insensitive, she also probably didn't realize that it was Monday, or that her bra was showing, or that her teeth had lipstick all over them.

So, I'm gonna forgive her for not taking my complaint seriously.

Just this once.

You know, because it's Christmas.

Both of these people easily qualify as people who deserve a Dumb Mom Special. But, 'tis the season and all.

Finding a time when some stranger, outta the kindness of their heart was nice, or helpful, or not outright mean is way more difficult.

I can easily recall plenty of times when a stranger reminded me that chivalry is dead (like the time I boarded a packed Metro train, 9 months pregnant, carrying a sleeping toddler, and the only person to offer me a chair was the lady with three small children on her lap. True story!), that waving because it's polite is somehow annoying, or that saying excuse me, please, and thank you are not really requirements.

But then, I started really thinking.

Nice. Strangers. Nice. Strangers. Nice. Strangers?

I know about 480 pretty dang nice strangers who help me out every single day!

You guys.

All of you lovely people who a year ago knew nothing about me, or my dudes, or my desire to wash the feet of one extremely handsome pop star, come to my blog, everyday (okay only about 10 of you come everyday, but still) and read the lunacy.

And, you don't make fun of me (even when I deserve it), and you don't act all judgemental or rude (even when I do), and you say nice, sweet, encouraging things (even when I know you're lying), and you totally suck up to me (even when I don't pay you), and you make me laugh, and you make me smile, and you tell me I do the same thing for you (even though I'm not always trying).

Technically, you are all (okay, not all of you, but most of you) strangers. We haven't met and probably never will.

You could easily be hairy backed homeless men who read my blog at the Y so you can "pleasure yourself" with my kids' photos.

Which is fine.

Because you're not mean, or rude, or hateful, or ugly.

Which is all I really care about.

When I started this blog less than a year ago (my first post was December 29, 2008; I'm almost 1), I never imagined that anyone I didn't bribe or have blood ties to would ever read it.

I never imagined that I would be writing it daily, or even at all, in a year.

I didn't do it for the free crap (although you know I love it), or the connections (because no one was supposed to start reading it), or to make money (but it does help), or even to further my career as a writer (I imagined I kissed that dream goodbye in the 4th grade).

I really just did it because BFF and then Mimi told me to.

And then I kept doing it because I liked it.

And then, I started doing it even more because you all liked it too.

So, thank you (and you're welcome).



Thank you for reading, and commenting, and helping my blog become a place that makes me happy.

You may technically be strangers, but you don't really feel like it anymore.

But, don't get too crazy or anything, because I'm so not into cyber stalking.

It's creepy and it's weird, much like real life stalking, and if you start sending me random I-wanna-meet-you-because-I-love-you-and-I'm-curious-about-how-your-hair-smells emails I will get a restraining order, I'm not above that.

P.S. TOMORROW IS THE VERY LAST DAY TO ENTER THE MERRY EFFING CHRISTMAS PHOTO CONTEST! SO GO HERE AND DO IT NOW!

I Made That!

This is a phrase that, outside of the kitchen, I don't get much chance to use.

When it comes to making, or building, or even just assembling things it seems like my hands work a lot like this...



Not sure why. Just is.

But, one thing I can do well (although I try not to really let people know about this one, don't want them raising their expectations or anything) is work.

I can hand mop a floor like nobody's business. Can't say I enjoy it, but still, it's something I've perfected (thanks Mom!) so should I choose to use it, you know for the purpose of wowing guests, I could.

And, I recently discovered that it's not just inside the house work I'm good at.

I learned this summer (due to Hubby's Sudden Onset of Lawn Mowing Induced Semi Paralysis) that I can mow a mean lawn.

And, weeds beware, because (when I can actually get the bloody thing started) I will whack the crap outta you.

Fall is now in full effect around here and, not sure if I mentioned this before but, my house is surrounded by trees.

Everyone knows what happens to trees during the fall. I've discovered that I have quite the intense loathing of leaves, and the trees they blew off of.

Who knew?

They cover, literally cover, my yard and my porch and my deck and my sidewalks and my cars (since the effing garage is still effing broken so the effing cars are stranded in the effing driveway which means every time it effing rains I get drenched running the kids back and forth from the effing house!).

I have to sweep pretty much everyday and, although I was able to avoid it for weeks, I (and Hubby, he actually did the entire back alone b/c I wholeheartedly refused) had to rake the yard.

Actually, and this is sad, the dudes informed me that the yard "wooked widiculous" so we decided to get started while Hubby was at work.

So, Mama Kat and my Writer's Workshop pals, I made this...



A big, fat pile of dead leaves that I'd love to burn, but can't (Damn HOA!).

But, it was actually quite fun (possibly because we only spent about 30 minutes doing the actual working part)!

See...















See that last one?

With the double snap point #2 is giving me?!

Well, that was him calling me out.

And, as I'm not one to shy away from a challenge ("I ain't goin' out like no punk" ring a bell?) I put down the camera and went for a few high flying, triple salchows uncoordinated leaps into the leaves.

It was fun.

Until my body failed me.

And, I pulled a hami or a groin or a whatever it is that goes up, down, and around in your hip/thigh/crotch area.

And, an old injury (a rump shakin' related injury sustained during my weekend in Vegas, yep I'm that sad) reared it's ugly head.

And, I was forced to sit out for the remainder of the leaf jump a-thon and take more photos...



So, this Thursday I'm thanking my Dumb Body. For failing me. Again.

Thank you and you're welcome.





Card Reads: Dear Dumb Body, Thank you for effing up my life. Seriously. Enough is enough. Not only do you look downright embarrassing, but your performance leaves A LOT to be desired. I can't even effectively play with my kids without your interference. I tried to take the stairs two at a time last week and actually strained my ankle...I couldn't walk right for 3 days! Not even a year ago I was jogging circles around this hilly neighborhood, now I can barely walk down one! What is happening to me? I'm going to pieces, and fast. I'm not sure if this is an age related issue or a size related issue, but it better be the latter, 'cause that I can fix. This better not be a sign that I'm getting old, or so help me...Just know that you have been warned, put on notice that you're not going to talk me into watching Eastwick instead of working out, and you're not going to convince me that polishing off the Halloween candy is a good idea. I'm through with you and your "good ideas". Eff your good ideas. It's your good ideas that have made me into the fat goose egg that I am today. The fat lady's singing, my chocolate loving friend, and it's ova. Officially. I'm going for a run, I mean a jog, I mean a quick walk now, so eat my dust. XOXO, Dumb Mom

I have someone you wanna thank?

Go ahead link 'em here (my friend, 'HI SUPAH!' said you guys would like this)!

Note to Self

Normally I spend Thursday's thanking others.

I focus on how they are helpful (at nothing), or kind (of sucky), or just plain awesome (in a not so awesome way that essentially makes them, um, awesome!).

But, despite the fact that numerous people have earned a thanking this week (particularly the garage fixing man who informed me that, although I paid him $400, he is no longer available to complete my garage fixing job since he fell outta a barn and shattered is lower half. Awesome. Glad you made it and all, but GIVE ME BACK MY MONEY!), I'm gonna spend this Thursday talking about myself.

Why you ask?

I'll tell you why (like you didn't know I was going to).

Because I spend a whole butt load of time taking issue with and griping about the idiocy of others, when really I'm starting to notice a common denominator in all of my most sucky situations...ME!

So, I need to remind myself that sometimes (on rare, almost unheard of occasions) the sucky person is me.

And, while it doesn't happen often that I'm to blame for effing things up, it does occur from time to time and it's only fair that I own that.

And besides, Mama Kat sujested that this week's Writer's Workshop be a letter to the object of your affection, and honestly I can't think of someone I'm more affectionate with than myself.

So, Dumb Mom, this one's for you...from you.

REad it and weep, because that's what you always do anyway.

Dear Dumb Mom, Thanks for effin' things up for us again. You are chronically biting off more than you can chew and I am kinda getting sick of it. I mean seriously, learn to say NO! It can't be that difficult since like 99% of babies can claim it as their first word. What's your problem? Do you seriously want to babysit, for free, again? I don't think you even like kids. Which leads me to the whole preschool party planning thing. How in the Halibut did you get roped into that shizzle? Oh, they asked you? BEcause no one else volunteered? Too. Bad! Seriously, you simply can not be in charge of the entire planning, prepping, and production of a party for 18 some odd 4 year olds. Particularly not while you chase The Ruffian (aka #3) from wall to wall to prevent him from mouth stuffing all of the snacks (and by snacks I mean glue sticks, crayons, and puzzle pieces). You're just not that awesome. You litterly suck at crafting, you can hardly control your own offspring, let alone anyone else's, and you have work, photo sessions, home parties to plan (have you even thought about your son's birthday next weekend?), soccer, basketball, babysitting for free, and going insane to consider as well. There is just no time for extracurriculars like sleeping (although somehow time for excessive food consuption is readily available) left. And, you need your sleep! Without it you do ridiculously embarrassing things, like leave your house sporting a polyester sweat suit (yes friends, of the matxhing jacket and zipper pants variety, sad, just plain sad). That is just not allowed. You looked like an effing boxer for crying out loud. And, not the title winning kind. You were more like the just-came-outta-retirement-to-earn-some-extra-cash-since-we-all-can't-rock-the-infomercials-circuit kind of boxer. Not cute. Shameful really since, if I recall, you were quite the fashion guru in your pre I-do-whatever-people-ask-of-me-even-if-it-makes-me-cry-myself-to-sleep-at-night days. So sad to see what you've become. But, I'm officially putting an end to this madness. No more throwing of baby showers, no more giving people extra hours of photography (for free) because you feel bad, no more changin your work schedule to the sucky times because no one else will. We're done. I'm putting my, I mean YOUR, foot down. This can not go on. We don't even have time to stalk read people's blogs anymore. What kind of life is this you're living? Blog stalking is important! So, consider this an intervention. Next step is rehab (do they even have a place for people like you? Like, Women Who Say Yes All The Time Because They Feel Bad Annoynmous?) and no one likes rehab, accept for maybe like Lindsay Lohan, and you don't wanna be like her, she sucks.

Feel free to leave Dumb Mom comments about how and why she should give up her life as a Yes Woman. I really don't think I, I mean she, I mean I beleive there is a way out at this point.

In too deep.

No turning back.

I'm pretty much like an indentured servant, only without the handy little contract that says it'll be over soon. It's an endless cycle of volunteering (or being volunteered) for things that overwhelm you, exhaust you, and rob you of your zest for life.

Please tell me I'm not the only mom/woman who feels this way?! Please? No really, I need to hear you say it.

I just keep telling myself that my kids are healthy, I have a nice house, and like 3 really cool IRL friends, so if that means that from time to time (or multiple times per month, as the case may be) I have to sacrifice my time (and sanity) for the benefit of others so be it, I guess.

At least I'll be getting some help of my own soon...

Thanks to the people at Care.com I was able to locate a sweet babysitter who seems to be a good fit for the dudes (meaning, no one punched her in the throat or tried to touch her boobs when she came over).

And, lucky for you, since this is National Family Care Giver Month (who knew!) the people in charge over there are giving a free weekend of access for anyone who is interested in searching for a local babysitter, tutor, pet sitter, or housekeeper (wait? I didn't know they had housekeepers! Hells yea!).

You can even get free background checks (wonder if those tell you if your sitter appears in an episode of Girls Gone Wild? So cool if it does!)!

Maybe I can even direct the people who ask me to watch their kids to the site and then they can find someone more qualified (aka someone who likes other people's kids) to watch their kids too.

It worked for me, so maybe it can work for them (and you) too!

Now That's Spooky

You wanna see something spooky, Mama K?

I'll give you spooky...



Any of you science nerds out there wanna try to tell us lay people what that is?

Don't bother Googleing it, I'll tell you what it is.

That, my completely-confused-but-undeniably-intrigued friends, is a picture of little brown dirties, in the form of influenza, invading the cilia of a human lung. *SHRIEK!*

I know, right?!

How disgusting is that?

Very.

That's how...Very disgusting.

And, it's what I'm deathly afraid is going to happen to the dudes this winter.

And, I don't know quite what to do about it.

I'm not a huge fan of giving the them unnecessary medication (like when the doc told me to give #3 Benadryl every day).

Nor do I like to get them shots (I do fully support routine vaccinations though) any more than the next mom enjoys watching her kids in pain and acting like they're dying (it is kinda funny to witness all the dramatics #2 puts on when it's inoculation time, but I do feel bad. No, really, I do.).

But, the flu and I, we go way back. Those microscopic instruments of death were responsible for #1's first trip to the ER when he was less than a year old.

And, they can also be blamed for his next two trips to that same locale including the time he projectile vomited all over Mimi in the waiting room (all of a sudden, after waiting 2 hours, a room freed up and we were ushered into a cubicle. Nothing gets action like projectile emesis spewed all over innocent bystanders and their friends!).

But, our worst, most horrifying experience with the flu fiends to date occurred when Hubby was away and #1 was 2 and a half years old. Let's just say his flu related illness was responsible for a febrile seizure that required CPR, two ambulance trips, and Hubby to run out of a wedding (at which he was the best man, incidentally) and hop a plane back to the East Coast.

Not. Cool, flu.

We have been flu vaccine protected every year since and we've not had an issue (knock on wood!)

I've considered not doing it, but since it's working out so well for us I'm afraid to stop and jinx our good luck.

So, we get the shot (or the mist) every year and we're happy.

But, this year I have something new to consider: Swine flu, H1N1, or whatever we're calling it now (personally, I call it The Swine, I think it has a nice ring to it).

Do we get the shot or don't we?

I think I'm largely decided that #2 and #3 will NOT get the shot.

Don't want them growing a third eye or losing the ability to speak in complete sentences when they're older (although, from what I hear, this will happen regardless once they hit about age 15).

But, #1, he's another story entirely.

He has asthma.

Viral induced asthma. Meaning when he gets invaded by upper respiratory dwelling baddies, he gets all effed up.

This condition puts him on the endangered list (or whatever they call it) and pretty much guarantees that should some of the protected elixir (you know this stuff is ridiculously hard to come by) come available he'll be one of the first to be offered it.

But, the question is, when it's offered, should we accept?

I just don't know.

Taking a drug that has not been tested longitudinally (how you like that big word?!) makes me, um...uneasy.

It's like all those people who bought the first generation iPhones...

They were all ticked off when they didn't work all that great and stuff was breaking and malfunctioning and crap like that.

This could go the same way, right?!

You know, he gets the secret sauce, and a coupla years from now he grows a third ear in the back of his head. I mean, maybe he'll be able to grow his hair out to cover it, or they might be able to lop it off, but still, it's not ideal.

I'd rather wait, see if any third ears grow, and then decide.

But, on the other side, what if we pass, and he gets IT? Then what?

It would be my fault.

And, it could be really bad.

Or not.

I just don't know.

And, that's what makes this whole thing so spooky.

Spooky enough to earn this week's Thursday Thank You.



To super evil super germs everywhere, thank you, and you're welcome.

Dear Super Evil Super Germs,
Thank you for lying in wait around every corner, on seemingly innocuous surfaces, up friends' noses, on playmates paws and every single other place you can possibly squeeze yourself into, so that you may sneak into the largely unguarded system of my young children. The fact that they are not the cleanest creatures on the planet, coupled with the fact that you maniacs are invisible to the naked eye and you just won't die poses a huge health risk for my dudes. And, for that I hate you. Please consider not mutating further. You've done enough. Thanks. XOXO, Dumb Mom

*I've decided not to waste time actually handwriting this one, they just don't deserve it, you know, since they're plotting to kill us all. But, I Super Evil Super Germs, I'm armed with an industrial sized bottle of hand sanitizer and I take it with me, in my over sized handbag, wherever I go. So, in yo face with a can of mace hand sanitizer.