Current location: hiding in the bathroom

Yes. If you were to use the "find my phone" app on me right now, you would be treated to a location of "sitting on toilet, hiding from family". My pants are up, for Pete's sake. I just need a moment to breathe and this toilet is the only place I can get privacy. I turn on the fan, lock the door and hope the kids (plus hubby) will let me have my privacy to do my "bizz".

Something just crashed above my head. I heard the hubby, "nononoNono-abibbibbibbibi!" I don't know what it means. I don't know who got into what. I don't know if there's blood. My little private moment is slowly eroding. I should go see what's up; the bath is now running.....

Garbage day tomorrow. I usually do a ton of cooking so I can throw all the wet packaging away. I know garbage is supposed to be stinky, but I'd rather get rid of it tomorrow, than let it linger for a week. Yes, I throw together tuna salad, egg salad, bake my chicken, etc. I didn't do any of that. Sam was on FIRE today. We're gonna have some stinky trash.

Both kids are crying. A mother's job is never over. I suppose I should go help Daddy out. This toilet is hard and cold anyway.

God give me strength

I will pray to anyone who can make my fussy kid stop being an asshole. I know, strong words, but crap! I cut my grocery shopping short because he was throwing yogurt all over the place, then the screaming began and, to top off a stellar visit to Dillon's, he sprayed us both down with his apple juice. I got some groceries...not all I needed. Eating is overrated.

No workout yet. Aforementioned pain in the butt wants nothing to do with the stroller. Someone tell me it gets better. Pretty please?

I find writing therapeutic. Sam figured this out. Mommy should never enjoy anythingHe just turned the hose on and blasted the back of my head. I guess we're done here.

My new normal?

Oh, the excitement of losing weight! 4 lbs down, a mere 60 more to go. While the scale is moving the right direction for once, I couldn't help feeling so....well...round at this past weekend's Air Force Ball. It doesn't help that my friends here are tall and lithe. No, that doesn't help at ALL. Of course, everyone was super sweet to me: you look great! I love your dress! So pretty and happy! I'm thankful for the compliments. I just wish I could internalize them. This weight loss journey has been a bitch. I'm disappointed in myself and how I've let myself go.

This past week had visits from both sets of grandparents. My mom and dad were here first. I enjoyed my morning (and some evening) walks/jogs with Mom. I wish I could live near her. My inlaws brought plenty of cake, cupcakes and other various forms of junk food in the house. I should have better self-control. For the most part, I did good. For the most part.

On to better news: Katie's fundraiser for Tupperware is going well. It's going so well, I think we'll be able to "buy out" of Spring's fundraiser! That's huge for me. I hate selling things. I feel like I'm a beggar. "Buy my stuff so my kid won't be illiterate!"

With the cooler temps, I need to go through the kids' stuff. Katie is he'll-bent on wearing tank tops and such. Then, she cries that she's too chilly. I have to find her little jacket. Or, force her to wear one of her long-sleeved shirts and pants. It's next to impossible to get her to cooperate. Mom, was I this much of a butt when I was Katie's age? You know what....don't answer!

Round. Circular. No sharp edges. Me. I don't want to be the "fat Mom" or "fat wife". I thought this year would kick ass because Sam was old enough to go to school at our old duty station. We move out here and the minimum age is 2.5 AND potty trained. I wasn't planning on him being home with me. Sam's cooperation level sucks, too. If he doesn't want to go jog in the stroller, he will not go. Come on, Joyce...get it together!

Better go see what the kid is up to; last time it was this quiet, he was waist deep, leaning in the fridge sucking whipped cream out of the can....

I miss my mom

Nothing more; nothing less. I miss Mommy. The visit was too short, but really...are her visits ever long enough? My attempts to bribe her into moving in with me have fallen flat on its face. But, I will keep trying. I'm persistent, if nothing else.

My diet is crappier than I first thought. I've been tracking it via "Lose It", an app on my beloved iPhone (yes, I love my iPhone; I'm an Apple chick, so suck it). I thought I was doing okay, but I was really underestimating how many calories I've been taking in. Plenty of friends have have diet suggestions, but right now I need to readjust my portion control and realize, when I'm eating mindlessly, that what I put into my body might hang around for longer on the hips. Today, Sam and I hit the playground instead of the fridge. It'll be a hell of. Process, but I'm aware of the problem and am working on it.

Can I be the kind of Mom to my kids that my own Mommy was to me? I hope so. I'm trying. My goal this Halloween is to make costumes. Nothing fancy, but homemade with love. Surely, in a few years, neither of my children will have anything to do with my non-crafty skillzz, so I have to take advantage of it now.

Holy crap, break in my train of thought: Sam is running around, waving a piece of paper around trying to kill a fly! I really want to write something profound about the loving bond between mother and child, but this can't be missed. Go, Sam!

Katie's Kick Ass Tupperware Fundraiser

Katie's little school is conducting its annual Tupperware fundraiser for the 2012-2013 school year. I don't want to send my little sweet pea door-to-door (like the literature recommends; we're talking pre-kindergarten here). Here's how you can participate!

1. Go to www.tupperware.com
2. Click on "fundraising" tab (upper part of the screen, to the left)
3. Click on "Find a Fundraiser" (bottom of screen, in a little box)
4. Click on "KS" for the state
5. Select "Jack n Jill" or "Jack n Jill Preschool, Leavenworth, KS"
There you will find an array of storage items, cups, lunch boxes and bowls. Make your selections and have it shipped to you!

As an incentive (as if owning fabulous Tupperware isn't enough) we have some gift cards to give away!! Katie will award her biggest customer a gift card from Applebee's! She will also choose a random winner from her customers for another Applebee's gift card. If you win and don't have an Applebee's nearby, we'll substitute it for a different restaurant of your choice. I just chose Applebee's because, well....they seem to be everywhere.

Additionally, if Katie is able to raise $400 in sales AND is the school's highest earner, she'll get a $30 gift card from Target. Guess what she's gonna do with that? Katie loves picking names out of a hat so much that she will turn around and award that to a random customer!

Once you order, please send me a message with your name so I can contact the sponsor and Katie will get credit. Unless I can verify your order with the Tupperware lady, it doesn't count. Boo! So make sure you let me know that your ordered!!

All orders must be turned in by 25 September 2012. If you have any questions, drop me a message! Thanks, everyone and good luck!

On this day, we must remember

No words can convey the enormity or horror of the events unfolding before our eyes, 11 short years ago.

I was late to work. The night before was a doozy. I drank too much, talked to too many boring men and sucked in enough secondhand smoke to last me until the weekend. I woke up to shrieks and the running feet of housekeeping up and down the halls of the Temporary Lodging Facilities (TLF). Cranky me opened my heavy door.

"what's going on?"

The housekeeper had been weeping. Normally, her wore her war paint makeup like a mask. Today, it was as jumbled as her emotions.

"They crash planes! We under attack!"

She didn't stop to talk. She yelled her broken English proclamation over her shoulder. Her huge bag jostled to and fro. Bitch is going home! I need new towels!

I turned on the TV. What I saw made me jump into my flight suit, bar scene-scented body and all and go to my squadron. It was quiet. Everyone gathered in the flight planning room, all eyes on the TV.

My God.

I can never forget feeling a searing pain in my chest. I can never forget thinking life as I knew it was over. I can never forget feeling so helpless as I watched the raw uncut footage spill out from the screen.

My God.

Today, a much different scene. I have my almost 2-year-old son on my lap. We watch "Oswald". We're going to watch anything BUT current news. I'm not ready to explain to my children. I'm not ready at all.

I kissed him at the moment the first plane struck the World Trade Center. I hugged my daughter tight as 11 years of memories came rushing back. Back then, I was afraid. I felt lost and without purpose. Today, I feel the love of my children. I have hope that with love, we can end all this madness and be better citizens of the Earth. The love of my children has made me better.

Wherever you are, reading this, I wish you love, Peace and kindness.

Russians love my blog

According to my overview, I have several Russian readers. What up, Commies!! Seriously, it's weird to know someone in a foreign land might have stumbled upon this tiny blog and read it. Of course, I oticed most of my foreign audience checked out my entry for "Cameltoe Etiquette". Not what you thought it would be, huh, Pervs.

My little sweet lady is turning 4 soon. I'm pretty excited for her. I remember being 4. I proclaimed that the best year of my life was when I was 4 (I think I was 6 at the time). She's having a bouncy castle party. If all the RSVP's show up, we'll have 17 kids. Just my luck we'll have a few walk-ins. I don't mind that, but I want to have enough food, favors and such.

Which brings me to the question of the year: why don't people RSVP? We're having the party at an establishment which charges by the head count. This isn't a backyard BBQ. Plus, a friend is making personalized cups for the favors. I had 20 made; 17 have names and 3 are blank for any stragglers. Seriously, Moms, you can't text, call or email a simple "yes" or "no"? If you don't show: no biggie, but what's with this bullshit of not RSVPing and *still* showing up? What the?! If you RSVP "yes" and don't show, I totally understand that stuff happens which might prevent your attendance, but just showing up on a whim is BS.

Now I have a headache. There's a storm brewing outside. I can feel the pressure in my sinuses. Today, I will be fretting about Katie's party as well as trying to keep my headache in check. To my Russian friends, sorry..no cameltoe in this one either. Suckas!!

Sleep, you elusive little minx

I should be sleeping. I always complain "I'm so tired" "I need more sleep" "why aren't I sleeping THIS VERY MINUTE??" Tonight, I have no one to blame for my lack of shut eye and *that* sucks. I demand a scapegoat!

I'm having "Mommy Issues" right now. I had to take Sam to the doc's because he jammed a Q-Tip in his ear. It's oozing blood. The nurse was not moved by the sight of dried blood in my little man's ear. We still made an appointment, but you could cut her boredom with a knife. I wish it were contagious. It's not. I was flipping out. Standard Mommy practice, I guess.

Then, after I got his meds, I got to come home to a split lip. Sam fell on something or something (as my hubby explained it). I've seen enough of my child's blood, thank you. Sam calmed down after a while, we administered the medicine as directed by the Russian pharmacist who worked at Walmart down the street. He looks like Vladimir Putin. He, too, was bored with my questions as to how this medicine will affect my small boy. The hubby told me I put too many drops in Sam's ear. Big sigh from me; it's irrational for me to feel like my mommyness is being questioned, but I do.

Sam pulled some wooden shelves into himself while I was in the bathroom. Did I mention that I'm racked with guilt because in the last 3 weeks Sam has suffered every major kid accident there is? I had just read about kids suffocating under fallen furniture and boom! I go to poop and my kid gets trapped under fallen furniture! I thank God, Buddah, Allah, whoever the fuck is up there for allowing me to hear that thump and muffled cry. It wasn't a loud crash like one would expect. It was a "thump" with whimpers. If I had the fan on, I would have missed it. Sheesh...

I'm thinking I realize why I'm not sleeping. It's not the overly-salty Applebee's food (why DO I go there?!). It's not because I'm about to invent the bestest, fastest, smartest, thingamajiggy out there. I just feel like a terrible Mom. Sucks.

Sam sliced his head open on the coffee table. For a split second, before the tears, I looked at him and saw his skull. His skull. We both blew up in tears. That was a trip to the ER. The kindly nurse gave us a teddy bear while the doc berated an apparently drunk guy who was trying to get admitted for free room, food, attention. "I've got a baby in the next bed with his head sliced open and I have to do this rediculous dance with you, sir!! You are sapping our resources, GO HOME, SOBER UP". I wish those two could follow me everywhere and care for my kid. They gave a shit.

Boys will be boys, I'm told. Boys will break your heart. Boys will leave the toilet seat up. All this is supposed to make me feel better. It's 0210. I'm still thinking of ways to feel better. Sleep would be a step. I always feel better after some sleep...

I laugh in your face!

We keep the crap diapers outside on the deck in a container. This protects the house from the everlasting scent of shit. Of course, come garbage day, this renders our deck useless as it smells like cooking piles of kid feces. With the weather being in the 100's, we don't mind.

Last night, some enterprising animal made the trek up the stairs to tear into our dirty diaper container. Image his surprise to find nothing tasty to eat; just poo diaper on top of poo diaper. I say "his" because I'm convinced a female would have stopped digging after the first 2 or 3 shit bombs. Foraging Animal: I laugh in your face!

While driving home, the tailgater behind me began to test my knowledge of sign language. I know what that finger means, sir, and understand your frustration. I hate doing the speed limit on a busy road in a school zone. But, I'm unemployed and not about to fill the City's coffers with my speeding ticket fine. Just as I though he was going to blow up, I heard sirens. This was my chance! I'll pull over, let the ass pass and all will be well in Leavenworth. I pulled over; I am a dutiful citizen, you know. He pulled over. I saw lights, heard sirens...where is this emergency vehicle. Oh, it's behind the tailgating ass. "Hello, officer, and thank you!" I sing out as I drive off. Mr. Ass Tailgator: I laugh in your face!

I used an obscene amount of coupons at the store. Not crazy-coupon-lady obscene, but every item on sale plus a coupon kind of obscene. I hardly ever strike it rich like this. Recession: I laugh in your face!

My red beans and rice kicked ass. Hunger: I laugh in your face.

Oh, laughter...you are the best medicine.

In the end, only kindness matters

Yes, I quoted Jewel. It's a terrible boring song, but that line has always stuck with me. It's also ironic because I think of the song in less-than-kind terms; however, I do like that lyric a lot.

We all have a ghost or two who haunt us from our past. While I have no regrets or excuses for the things I've done, I also feel a small pinch every so often when I think about certain times, people, places and things. That "pinch" revisited me the other day.

She was the meanest girl in the school. She just said mean things to everyone. She bullied without hesitation. If someone was being picked on by another student, she'd happily join in. I was one of her "marks".

"Are you a lesbian?"

She asked before History class. I glanced toward the teacher. He was in the hallway, joking around with other mug-carrying teachers (I suspect there was more than coffee in there). No save for me.

"I'm not sayin' nothing, I'm just curious"

I heard the snickers as my face burned red-hot. Fucking double-negative to boot. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"No" I'd say as nonchalantly as possible. You show this girl weakness, she'll pounce...all goddamn 68 lbs of her coming to you at full force. I opened my book and started to scribble notes. When's that bell gonna ring?! Shouldn't class have started an hour ago?

"You look like a lesbian. Your clothes are lesbian. You're fat, too"

I don't remember what brought this on. I think it had to do with my ignoring her request to copy my homework. For nearly 5 minutes she taunted me ("helllllooo!? I'm talking to you, dummy!") Others laughed; one part their stupid juvenile sense of humor and the other part relief that they would not bear the brunt of her forked tongue. she turned to her friends, comfortable in the fact that she sliced me down. Yep, it was true. She did.

I know for a fact I could destroy her. Hell, I was fat, but strong, too. I've been in fistfights before. But this girl, this mean girl was different. She was part of the popular crowd. She battled anorexia and was losing, but no one talked about it. I knew I could hit her once and drop her to the floor. But, I also knew everyone of those popular kids would ensure I lived in misery for the rest of my days. When you're in high school, those days never seem like they'll end. I knew if I dropped her, I could hurt her more than I intended.

Instead, I sat there in my size 14 generic jeans topped with a scratchy flannel shirt and took it. It wasn't the first time and, sadly, not the last. "Where DO you get clothes like that? Is it, like, something your MOM is making you wear?"

20 years later, I get a friend request from the meanest girl ever. I was shocked. Instantly, I remember all the lesbian taunts, the "you're ugly"s and the fat jokes. This meanest girl ever seemed to have forgotten. I haven't. Even when I was fit, running a marathon and having several men call me for a date, I always felt a little insecure. Damn you, Facebook. Damn you HARD.

I figured I had grown up. I let the request sit for a day or two and then accepted. You gotta look at the dragon to slay it, right?

Instantly, my newsfeed was flooded with "broken angel" pictures and "don't judge me until you've walked a mile in my shoes" kind of bullshit. Great. Song lyrics and music started to show up. Stupid lyrics that made me laugh. Crappy songs that I always change the channel on the radio once they come on.

Then, there it was. A vent. The meanest girl in the world had no money for clothes or even basic baby care. The meanest girl in the world wasn't sure she would have a house for much longer. The meanest girl in the world blamed a lot of other people, but hey...it's a vent. We're allowed to do that.

I sat back. I remembered why I wore the clothes I did. My dad was a victim of the Air Force Reduction In Force (RIF)* and had to get out in like a month. He took a low-paying job just so we could survive. Mom, my stay-at-home Mommy, went to work, too. We were barely making ends meet. We could have gone on government assistance, but my parents made it work. We didn't have the best things but we DID have each other and the basics. These basics are what this mean girl made fun of me about day in and day out. Now, here she was: without the basics, blaming everyone for it.

I knew what I could do. I asked what size diapers her baby was in. We're upgrading Sam to Pull Ups, she could have our left overs; same goes with his old clothes. She said thanks and accepted my offer.

I could have laughed in this girl's face (well, her profile on Facebook). Karma, bitch! You don't get ahead when you're the meanest person in the world. Instead, I will try to help. I hope to bury some of my demons along with it. But, more importantly, I hope to help her kids escape the humiliation that their mom visited on me on almost a weekly occasion. I'm 36 and I still hear the laughter and my face still burns. I remember hoping that she would get her comeuppance when the time comes. Seems so childish in light of the situation. No one deserves this and I cannot visit the sins of the mother onto her children.

Like the lyric says: "in the end, only kindness matters".

Wait a sec, I've been here before...

Awesome. 6 months (ish) later, I come back here. Lots happened in those months. The hub came back from his deployment. We moved from Charleston to Kansas for my hubby's new gig. I managed to stay the same; my workouts and diet took a huge hit in these months. I'm glad I kept the weight I already lost in San Antonio off, but not one single ounce more came off my chubby frame. Kansas is nothing like I thought it would be. It's rather charming, with a huge helping of "Small Town Friendly" on the side. Hub's schedule slowed down dramatically. He's actually here when the kids are awake!! Standard life plan: gotta drop this baby fat! this time, I've enlisted the help of a few apps on my iPhone. "Lose It" and Nike+ have been instrumental in me dragging my jiggle out the door. If I follow the plan, I will lose the weight by 26 Feb, 2013. so help me Christ if the world ends on 12 Dec! The kids are growing like weeds. Katie is rocking in preschool. Sam is still my little stay-at-home dude. I wanted to put him in daycare (for socialization) but nowhere accepts kids his age. Goofy. I wanted to get a part-time job. Looks like I'll be a stay-at-home broad for at least another year. I'm not complaining. These years at-home have been good to me. I saw every one of the kids' milestones and got to enjoy their little quirks. That's what I've been up to these last few months. In a nutshell: nothing much. I could have just said that and made this a single sentance entry, but what's fun about that?

Short list of things I've learned

1. If you put the word "camel toe" in the title of a blog, you will have an explosion of views. Theses views will come from Google. In other words, it's perverts looking for camel toe pictures for their "viewing pleasure".

2. Hershey kisses suck. But, a dear friend of mine shared a recipe that might make them more palatable.

3. I am a raging rhinoceros when you get into my personal space. This morning, at Indo Row class, a young lady was trying to move all the rowers together so we could all be by our friends. Nevermind all the empty space on the other side of the room or in the middle of the room. It made sense to her for us to be elbow-to-tit for an hour. I moved my machine into said empty space but instead of being cool about it, I was a bitch. I'm not proud but reminded that I am a rhinoceros...hear me roar. (yes, I will try to be a nicer person) (damn you!)

4. Some people don't see how the AMC show "The Walking Dead" could be romantic. I explain that I watch it with my hubby, it's e only time during the day when it's just him and me, we cuddle, blah blah blah. "wow, so watching a show where people blow kids' heads off, kill zombies and each other is romantic?". Well, when you put it THAT way....

5. I should always listen to my dad when it comes to money. He should write a book. Love ya, Pops!

6. I'm 1 of 5 individuals in Texas who know to pull over when I see a police car, ambulance, fire truck or funeral procession come rolling down the street. If you didn't know that's what you're supposed to do, well...now you know.

7. Certain antibiotics give children the poops. I guess suffering from a double-earache isn't enough; they should also suffer from constant shits blowing out the back of their diapers. Poor kid. :(

8. I love my sister more than anything in the world and want to do whatever I can to make her life easier. But I don't know what I can do! (please call me so we can Skype)

9. I don't give a shit about politics, who you love and who you think will be a better choice for me. I'm a grown-up. I will do my research and I will make an edicated vote. I cringe when I think about the upcoming election. I don't want big dumb Diddy in my face telling me I will die if I don't vote. I don't want (add random actor/actress/musician name here) waxing poetic about politics. Shut up, read your lines, strum your guitar or sing. Get out of my face.

10. I'm a far-better "pinner" than "doer" on Pinterest.

Camel Toe Etiquette?

First off, I've been lax in my postings. My little boy has been having some issues of late and I wasn't in the mood to write. Hopefully you'll all come back and read again!

Secondly, what the eff, people at the gym?! I enjoy rowing on the "Indo Row" machine. I hadn't done it in a while thanks to my son's RSV (or "RSVP" as I'm apt to say). Anyhow, I struggled in class, wanted to go back on my own and work a kink out in my shoulder when I heard a voice behind me. "I've always wondered how these things work". I turn around and there it is, pretty much in my face: the dreaded "camel toe".

I wish I could post a picture of the machine. If you're too lazy to google it, I'll give you a general description. The rower sits on a seat that goes back and forth on a rail. You pull the handlebars like an oar and you row. Easy-peasy. As the rower, I'm sitting about 4 inches off the floor. Given my height, it makes my head be about crotch-level when someone stands next to me. In this case, a woman who'd (judging by her sweat-soaked clothing) put in a good workout and decided to stop by Studio 2.

Her camel toe was not a baby camel, it was a full-grown adult camel. I quickly looked away. Sputtering about how easy a workout it was. She just stood next to me, sweaty camel toe next to my right ear. She wanted to know what all the numbers meant, how I adjusted the tension in the handlebars, all legit questions. I kept my head turned away. How could she be so oblivious to the fact that her crotch was eating her shorts??

This begs the question: is there camel toe etiquette? You see a camel toe, do you say something? While I know I would be mortified if someone mentioned I was rocking a cleaved-hoof look, I think I would be a little relieved that I could fix the problem. At the same time, it's not my biz and that is one extremely personal problem.

I didn't say anything. She left, promising to come back for the next class. I washed my eyeballs out with hand sanitizer. No one should be subjected to such close proximity with camel toe. I feel like I lost a touch of innocence today.

If an errant ball goes flying...

I can guarantee it will hit me in the face. I don't care if I'm in a concert venue with thousands of other music lovers, I know the moment they release those beach balls, I'm going to get hit in the face with one-hard like volleyball spiking hard. Yes, I've been hit with a pool ball during a vicious game of "Crud". If it's round, has the word "ball" in it and can sail in the air, my face has seen contact with that object.

Today was no different. My daughter participates in a basketball clinic at our local YMCA. We go, toss the ball around, she gets bored about 8 minutes in and falls to the floor crying until I carry her out (best $35 I ever spent). Afterwards, I leave her at the child care center while I work on narrowing my chins down to just one.

All the cardio machines had someone huffing and puffing on them, thus I was forced to go back to "Studio 2" which houses all the Indo Row machines. These are glammed up rowing machines that use water basins to help with your workout. It's nice to hear the whoosh of water as you pretend to row a boat. Anyhow, you sit on a seat which moves forward and back. Pull on a bar to mimic the oars and you just row away. They're a great workout, the machines are expensive to replace but worth every penny. Pair this with some good tunes on my IPod and I felt like I was moving down the river, sweating my butt off and enjoying a workout.

Enter Joey, Bobby and Johnny plus Dad. Each had a basketball. Each had the determination to turn Studio 2 into their half-court. When they all started dribbling the balls, I was mildly irritated. My zen felt broken with each thud. Plus, those kids can't dribble the ball to save their lives! I mean, I'm no basketball player and, hell, I'm a girl but I would have mopped the floor with them. Anyhow, the dribbling became passing, which turned into shooting which ended up into some kind of weird drill where Dad had them passing the ball from behind their backs.

Now, let me reiterate that Studio 2 is not a basketball court. It's a room with one wall of mirrors and one wall of glass window. There's a sound system, complete with 4 speakers up front and 3 paintings hanging on a third wall. Each corner of the room has a 3-foot-tall vase full of decorative branches. Along the back wall are 14 other Indo Row machines, each on their "head" waiting for someone to take it down and put it on the floor. I was on a machine in the far left quadrant of the room, under a ceiling fan, blissful.

As a mother, if I had 3 kids who wanted to throw some balls around, I would not choose this room. But, Dads are different, I suppose. I tried to ignore the coaching, passing and bouncing of the balls...until I got smacked right in the face. Because I'm holding the handlebars, I couldn't block it or deflect it in any way. No one yelled a warning and I got "Marsha'ed" right in the nose.

Immediately, I stopped rowing. "are you kidding me?"

Dad looks and says "whoops. They're kids."

Me: is the gym full or something?

Dad: yeah.

Me: there's a lot of equipment in here, you need to take it out into the hallway or locker room

Dad: c'mon, they're kids. Don't get dramatic.

I get punched in the face with a basketball, i explain there should not be basketballs in my vicinity and I'm being told I'm dramatic?!

Meanwhile, Johnny throws a ball it it knocks a machine over. He retrieves the ball and CONTINUES to throw it around. I don't know why I snapped, I just know I did because I'm in Dad's face telling him he needs to move on. I don't think he expected me to get out of the machine, much less get into his face in front of his boys. I'm a little surprised I did it myself. I don't remember much of what I said. I know I called him "Douchy McKnit-hat" (cause really, it's 82 degrees in the gym, you need to wear a knitted hat?) and I told him to keep walking. He came back with the standard "you're a bitch" but left nonetheless.

I told management about it. I'm irked that there was no apology. No "oh, man this is a bad idea". Instead, I'm a bitch because I got hit in the face by a hard basketball in a room full of breakable equipment, NOT a basketball court and I dared to get pissed about it.

More than likely, I will get hit in the face with another errant ball. My only hope is that nothing will be broken. As for the Asshat, I'll see him again next week. Our kids are in the same program. I plan on having Katie hit him in the junk with her basketball. You know, 'cause she's a kid. It'll be okay.

I Just Made An "ASS" of "U" and "ME"

I've been sick. Stupid allergies. Stupid state. Stupid cedar. Those of you (okay, 2 of you) wanting an entry here, know that I'm pushing through some serious haze here, just for you. My 6 readers. :)

I know you're not supposed to make assumptions in life, but sometimes one can't help it. Take, for instance, last Saturday at the local YMCA. I knocked on the family bathroom door. My kid had to pee and those of us with toddlers know that when the kid says "Mommy, I gotta go!" you have 30 seconds to get on the pot. I waited 5 seconds, heard nothing and opened the door...to find an old woman on the can, magazine in hand. Give me a break! Here's what's wrong with the picture (for those of you who might be confused):

1. If I was unloading my soul into the crapper like she was and someone knocked, I would've thrown out an "Occupied!". Hell, even if I was in there whizzing away and someone knocked, I'd yell "occupied". In general, if I'm in a room that someone else wants to gain entry to and I don't want them to, I'd let them know "hey, busy in here, thanks!". I don't understand her technique of being as quiet as possible in the hopes that I would think "hmm, it's awful quiet in this bathroom. I better move on."

2. I *never* forget to lock a bathroom door. How can she take the time to get a magazine, open it and start reading but forget to push a button in on the door? She's settling in, finish the job! Lock the door.

3. It's the family bathroom with the changing table and kid-sized toilet next to the regular toilet. It's next to impossible to cram me, the kid, a gym bag and the kid's bag in a tiny stall. Plus, the regular toilet is too high and big. Luckily, family-oriented places like the Y made designed these bathrooms for us Moms and Dads. We're a greatful nation, but Dammit, woman, get out of there!

It's akin to the time years ago when I walked AROUND a woman in a wheelchair to snag the handicapped bathroom because I had a run in my hose and wanted to take them off. After I was done and stepped out, I realized my mistake (as she sat there throwing me dagger stares). I felt like the smallest person, but really, when has there been a handicapped person in the bathroom the same time as you? Not trying to make excuses; I was an ass, through and through. Perhaps this is Karma. I dunno.

Back to present time, of course Katie yells "ewwww!" and I'm trying to get out of there. She stunk up the whole hallway. Okay, technically I did because I opened the doorway to Hell, but I stand by my original assertion: you should be able to assume that if you knock on a bathroom door and no one answers, that potty is vacant.

Thoughts? Do you have your own bathroom story? Someone please have a worse one than my handicapped story!

2012-IN YO' FACE!

I did not make any "official" resolutions. There's the standards: "let me, please, lose this extra ass of mine" and "I will organize the shit out of my house until it looks like The Container Store". But, those aren't really resolutions. If it happens, HELLZ, YEAH! If not (and this is the likely outcome) I will go on living. No harm, no foul.

Maybe I should be more disappointed in myself for not fulfilling my resolutions of New Years' past. Since gaining the weight of a typical 5th grader during the pregnancy of my first-born, I've tried to shake the jiggle out to no avail. I finally made some headway, thanks to Kat and her awesome spinning class; however, that was fleeting. I got pregnant again and BOOM! Helllllo, ass number #2. Wait, that reads weird...my kids aren't asses, I managed to put an additional ass on top of my existing shelf, thus making it ass #2.

As far as organization goes, we have too much shit. I have three full sets of clothes: skinny Joyce clothes that I can't fathom giving away becaue it's the "good stuff" and i'll fit in it again, right?; pregnant Joyce clothes that could double for sails on the finest sailboats; big fat Joyce clothes that I bought after being busted for wearing maternity clothes long after I gave birth. My hubby has clothes he wore in high school (the man is 35 years old) and he refuses to wear it or give it away. I know the feeling and I can't judge. It's all mixed together, co-mingling in our closets. I should thin it out, but I get depressed.

My kitchen is packed full of fun baking gadgets, pots and pans plus various kitchen appliances. Most of it is from my single days when I had the time to bake wonderful fragrant goodies. I don't have time to brush my teeth, much less whip up a souffle. Still, I hang onto it because "one day.....". On a side note, I credit my baking with the quick sale of my house. Yes, this nerd followed the advice of a professional stager and made a huge batch of chocolate chip cookies. I rolled them into logs, wrapped them in wax paper and froze them. Every morning, I baked a dozen for the aroma. Sold the house in 3 days. We had 3 offers and a bidding war ensued. Thanks, chocolate chip cookies!

We have doubles of everything. Tv's, couches, kitchen tables, full bedroom sets, etc. stuff, stuff, stuff. We also have a large collection of Christmas decorations and Halloween stuff. I refuse to be "that guy" on the block who doesn't decorate. Plus, my daughter is old enough to enjoy looking at it. I rock as a Mom; therefore, it stays. I should pack it all up neatly in some tubs. Instead it's here and there. I can find it when I need to and, well...doesn't that count for something?!

I choose to not feel like a total loser every December 31. Therefore, I am not about to head down that Resolution Road. Instead, I promise myself that I will be the coolest broad I know. I will love my husband like no tomorrow. I will love and adore my kids even when they vomit in my face or tell me I'm the worst mommy EVER. Like I said, if I lost more fat, HELLZ yeah. If not, I'm gonna keep working until I do. No pressure.