Oooo, Me likey the wine

Ah, yes. The joys of early bedtimes. Fortunately for me, and my drinking habit, the girls go down to bed at 7:00. This leaves me PLENTY of time to down as much wine as I'd like on any given night. I must say, blogging is much more fun when slightly intoxicated, although the amount of typos I keep creating are rediculous, and for me, very annoying. I don't really have anything in particular to talk about this evening, but I have had a few thoughts throughout the last few days. Here they are, in no particular order:
1. I hate winter (I'm not sure if I've mentioned this yet?). I feel like it's just not worth going anywhere during the day. My house is immaculate though (well, as immaculate as a house can be with two dogs, two cats, a husband and two daughters - if it weren't for that damn husband).
2. It's so nice to have friends that "just know". Like, you know when you are talking with someone on the phone and either you, or them, get tired of talking and you just know it's time to hang up? No other words necessary, just "ok, bye!". easy as that. You know you'll be talking to them later anyway.
3. I love my family. I could not be happier right now with the hubby and girls. We all have our issues and I'd venture to guess that we have more issues than many, but the contentment I feel being here in this present situation with all of them just makes me all tingly inside. **tear**
4. health insurance sucks.
5. my glass of wine is empty (and no, I am not being pessimistic. it is just, literally, empty).
6. I have a friend who's children hate my cooking. Now, I wouldn't really consider myself a "good cook" but I am, by no means, a bad one. I mean, come on! I grew up on corned beef hash, fish sticks and meatloaf that had been microwaved with tomato soup on the top. I think that the next time they come over I am going to cook "my mother's famous meatloaf" for them and then I'll have them begging for my spicy chicken. It's even funnier when the little one gags as he tries to "take a taste". Poor little guy. But we have to expand our horizons, right? Next week, it's Sushi!
7. Why is it that dogs know the exact day that you put your duvet cover (in lamens' terms: blanket that goes on bed) in the wash? They stay off of it alllll week, but the second it comes out of the drier, they are all over it like white on rice. CAN I PLEASE JUST SLEEP ON IT FIRST? Then you are more than welcome to get your nasty shedding fur and paw prints all over the damn thing. Just ONE night. Nothing major.
8. Over the last five years, my priorities have shifted significantly. This past Tuesday, I went grocery shopping. By myself. With no children. For two hours. It was the most glorious two hours I have spent by myself in a long time. I got a coffee, drank the whole thing without any of it spilling or getting cold and I actually got to focus on what I was buying, rather than just throwing random shit in my cart before meltdowns started, hoping it was on my list. Ah, the simple things in life.
9. I would like to put in a dog run this summer. Not that I don't like cleaning dog shit off of children's shoes everyday. I'm just thinking that it might be nice to have aforementioned poop contained to one area besides right underneath the swing and at the bottom of the slide (again, they just seem to know these things).
Well, random thoughts are done for the evening. Back to your regularly scheduled programming. I needs me another glass o' wine.

I wonder if this is a big deal?...

So the first born just careened head-first down a flight of stairs and then proceeded to ricochet her little 30 lb. body off the wall of the landing at the bottom of the stairs. She's a limber little sucker. Took it like a champ.
-C

I must be masochistic

Now, don't get me wrong. I love a finger in the eye just as much as the next guy. And I must admit, the sight of 80,000" of snow sparkling in the morning sunlight is a beautiful thing. It's actually turning out to be a fun activity of ice-skating to and from the garage every time we have to leave/enter the house. In fact, I'm starting to look forward to wasting half of each day bundling children in and out of boots, jackets, hats, mittens and scarves in order to do anything that involves *gasp* leaving the house. My youngest doesn't hit nearly as high a decibal as she used to every time I go near her with her winter coat and I'm kind of missing that little 'pop' my ears used to do when she'd hit a high C.

But today I just could NOT ignore the little voices in my head repeating over and over again, "Why on Earth do I chose to live in the Midwest?!" Today it hit 30 and it felt like a heat wave. Winter, here's to you babe!:

update of the century

Just for all of you who have been losing sleep over this information, the ladder I referred to in my last post is still sitting in the house. It is no longer by the back door, however, and has made it's way into our bedroom. (we had company the other day and it was MUCH easier to put it into the bedroom vs. walking it all. the. way. into the garage). Anyway, I think I'm going to tuck it into the bed, under his covers, tonight. I'm getting kind of fond of the little fella. He doesn't give me nearly as much shit as the one I'm married to.
-C

Ah yes. The Weekend

Saturday Morning: Will someone please, please tell me they are all the same? Do men really think that when they take their socks off in the family room and leave them there, that the socks grow little sock feet and walk themselves to the laundry basket? This also applies to coffee mugs, shirts and newspapers. I have yet to see any of these items grow little feet and walk themselves to where they belong. Yet, this week I think I shall train them to do such. Monday paper, be warned!

Saturday Afternoon:
(please read in a sing-songy voice)
“No, no sweetheart. Pweese do not put your little delicate angel finger into the frosting.” And when said delicate angel finger does it again, “sweet snookums? Didn’t you hear your mommala? I said no wittle finger-wingers in the frosting-wosting.” And yet when it happens a third time, “Oh sweetie must really want some cake. Mommy and Daddy are getting you a piece just as fast as we can. You are so silly!” At this point the mother actually looks at all the party guests and says, “She’s not sick, I promise.” Oh Lord.

I mean, really?! At a birthday party yesterday my oldest daughter witnessed this debacle of frosting-poking goodness and watched in amazement as her little playdate friend got to stick her little nasty toddler fingers all over a perfectly good cake that others HAD been intending on eating too. Call me old-fashioned. Call me germ-a-phobic. But the moment I saw my daughter’s dainty little finger reach slowly for the frosting, eyeing me with the utmost caution, I looked at her and sternly said “IF you touch that frosting, THEN you will not have a piece of cake.” At which point she reeled her hand in just as quickly as she could without giving herself whiplash and said, “Ok, Mom. I won’t touch it.” Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe I am damaging my daughter’s self-esteem by setting these ridiculous, un-obtainable standards of living. Who knows? Only time will tell.

Sunday Afternoon: I have to admit that I took a nap. A delicious, cozy, warm nap on this cold, dreary, rainy afternoon. It was fabulous. And what was even more fabulous is that my wonderful better half actually changed four (oh yes, FOUR) lightbulbs that were burned out in the kitchen, changed a dimmer switch that has been broken since we moved in AND cleaned the vacuum. Who is this man and what have you done with my husband?? I walked out from the bedroom to him sitting on the floor, screwdriver in hand (which is a scary sight by itself) and the vacuum in 1000 pieces all over the floor next to him. “Um, sweet love of my life? Man I chose to father my children? Please put down the screwdriver. What are you doing to my pride and joy? If you destroy that Dyson vacuum that we took a mortgage out on and I use to rid our home of 80 pounds of animal fur per week, whatever will I do with myself, and to you?” and he looked at me, that sweet innocent fixing-machine and replied “maintenance.” Ummm. Ok dear. Just let me know when you need me to put it all back together. And for some reason he didn’t think it was funny when I asked him if he was going to take the ladder back outside with him or wait for it to grow little ladder legs and walk itself out to the garage. Men. Whatever.
-C

Fuckin A!

Ok. So here it is. Fucking shit!!!! She fucking did it! We just joked about this today while we were playing on the computer…and the children were…where were they? Hmmm, doing something. Relax, I’m just kidding! The kids were fed, happy, safe, and playing nicely. Now, I wanted to name it “Moms Who Say FUCK,” but C thought it might not be appropriate. So just a warning, I will be saying fuck…a fucking lot. So, if this should make you uncomfortable, you might want to skip my “blogs”. I will be pulling out “Deadwood”-type numbers at times.

To celebrate the moment, I decided to open a bottle of Corona Light for the occasion, “My First Blog Entry.” However, when I went to get the lime to add to this refreshing beverage, I realized that there was no lime. A Corona without a lime? So, I went for the lemon instead. I was thinking,” Be positive. When you can’t find a lime, be happy with a lemon.” This is how I have decided to live my life…positively, even if I have to settle for lemons. Feeling positive and proud to not let my lime-less Corona get me down, I reached into the baggie of lemon wedges…and found…mold. Fucking white and green mold! Son-of-a-bitch. Guess that sums up how my life has been going these days. Life’s getting you down, you pick yourself up, thinking positively, feeling strong, feeling good…then BAM fucking mold. Now I guess you can tell by this point that I am the more…negative…more direct one. I was about to say “rough-around-the-edges” one, but I remembered that C has a tramp tag above her ass, so I guess I might not win that one.

Back to the lemon, you will be happy to know that I did NOT let it get me down. My MacGyver sense took over. I found freshly squeezed lemon juice in the fridge and FUCKIN-A. Corona Light with a hint of lemon, delicious.

Now here I am. I have already had half a beer, which for me is equivalent to about 3 to the average person. Feeling good, feeling calm. As for introducing ourselves, we are both moms. We both work part-time, which means not only do we have the work load of stay-at-home moms, but we also have the work load of part-time jobs. Hence, the need to swear, drink beer, and apparently spend time on the computer. Because, we have that extra down time to spend blogging.

Well, my cheeks are officially tingly and a bit numb, which means I’m “happy.” My beer is done and I’m going to bed. Thank you, C, for creating this for us. I’m so lucky that I met you and thank God for that tramp tag! If I didn’t see you all covered in tattoos, I probably would have thought that you were just another boring stay-at-home mom. Instead you ended up being one of my dearest friends. You’re my lemon, but not moldy!

Song Suggestion for the day: Led Zeppelin's "The Lemon Song" from Led Zeppelin II. Fan-fuckin-tastic
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RGFO128AmQg to listen to song. Mmmm.


~G

The first go at it!

So G will be mad that I got to it first, but tough shitskis for her. I don't really know how these things work. Like, do we have to introduce ourselves? I wonder who will come across as funnier via the internet, since in person, we crack ourselves up. This, possibly, may only hold true in our own personal surroundings and on a blog we may turn out to be the lamest people ever. But only time will tell. Although I can almost guarantee you will lose sleep at night wondering when I personally will post a blog next. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and as soon as I can figure out how to allow comments, I'll go ahead and do that. We'd love some feedback.

-C

oh, and by the way, get used to comments about "living in a commune". One day, all us busy, overworked wives and mothers will get smart and start creating communes to live in. Because as much as some of you may not want to admit, we all want a housewife to clean up our tushies.

In honor of our first post: