It’s second semester of preschool for both my girls. This September, the now-five year old will be attending kindergarten.

My whole goal this year was to make a couple mommy friends before we all go to kindergarten so I wouldn’t be the only a-hole in my town that doesn’t know anyone after living here seven years.

So I made a couple friends. That live in my town. Come to find out it’s OVER THE IMAGINARY LINE so they’ll be going to the school that’s located in a different town.

My first thought was, “All that work, wasted.” Because I’m an asshat that thinks about how easy it is to be friends with someone. If you’re a hassle to be friends with, I assure you, we won’t be talking all that often. Nothing personal, I’m just not looking for friendships that need the writers of Grey’s Anatomy to script the phone calls.

Of course, if you sound like any of the cast members of Scrubs, call me the hell up already!

Ok, I know you’re just here to hear how I broke my kids. The thing is, I haven’t yet. I’m about to, though. Because I found out a few things, and they’re very timely.

1. My four year old is going to be too tall to be a great gymnast. So this is all for fun, and there are no scholarships in the offing. Which kind of makes it a waste of my time to drive her. Luckily, she looks wicked cute on the balance beam, so that’s buying her some time. (Yes, I know she’s too tall. No, really. I found it out and I promise it’s really true. Feel free to disagree. She’s going to be 5′9″ because everyone in both our families is that height or taller and she’s already tall.)
2. June we have to renew our Taekwando membership for the kids. It’s like two grand for a year (plus a “belt fee” for a new belt every six weeks – you know that bugs me LOL). They are not loving Taekwondo two thousand dollars worth. Just sayin’
3. Dance class will continue because it makes sense. But art class? We shall see.

My kids are used to being in school and having really cool activities they look forward to almost every day of the week…but in order to get back on track with the debt payoff and investment strategy…the kids are going to have to give some shit up.

So they’ll be sad. Because they won’t look at what they have, they’ll look at what they’re losing. I have about six months to figure out how to turn that perception around or I’ll just take them out of everything until they’re used to it then add something back in.

Plus, I generally don’t believe in activities that don’t have college scholarship potential. Just in case they want higher education.

My step-sister and her husband decided to have Roblox Girl and Sir Laughs His Ass Off come stay this past weekend.  As we’re a one car family, I opted to meet them halfway to drop off the kids.  Along the way, Roblox Girl and I began to have a lengthy discussion on life, death and our own particular viewpoints on such things.

As is pretty well-known, I’m an atheist.  However, I have always let my children choose their own path in life.  They’ve attended church with Grandpa when he was alive and, other than the donuts, they really didn’t see any reason to go.  At Aunt and Uncle’s place, they attend church on Sunday – they are of the Mormon faith.  Roblox Girl wanted so much to see her aunt, uncle and cousin but really was not looking forward to church.  I made a point of telling her that every person on this planet has a different viewpoint and belief system.  I informed her that it’s important to grow as a person by experiencing those different viewpoints and beliefs.

So, the discussion veered off into a slightly related topic – she asked what I believed as a kid.  Honestly?  I don’t exactly know.  I told her of laying on the front yard with a magnifying glass and watching the bugs and ants.  I kept thinking about how our front yard was like a city block for a bug; our block, a city; our city, a world … well you get the picture.  And I always thought about how we never spend but a fleeting moment thinking about those bugs and ants on a daily basis.  What would make an omnipotent being any different?  At this point Roblox Girl said she wasn’t sure if there was a higher power or not.  I told her that’s agnostic – she seemed happier knowing there’s a label for this belief.

Roblox Girl impressed me with her deep thought processes.  She said she’d often think about what would happen at death.  She says she’s not afraid but is curious as to what it would be like to just be nothing.  After a while, she said she had to stop thinking about it – it was twisting her brain too much LOL  She says she’d like to think there’s something after we die but doesn’t think it has anything to do with a higher power.

There’s something to be said for letting our children find their own paths in life.  It’s very difficult to peg down what my oldest and my youngest think – most likely due to their ages at the moment.  But my twelve year old girl seems to be doing a lot of deep thinking and I’m floored occasionally by her own personal viewpoints and beliefs.

What was Sir Laughs His Ass Off doing this whole conversation?  Laughing his ass off at some Nintendo DS game.  Ya gotta love obliviousness.

There was a loaf of zucchini bread on the counter, chock full of healthy vegetable goodness. Next to it a bowl of homemade banana pudding, sprinkled with almonds, and packed with vitamins. On the other side sat whole wheat muffins stuffed with cranberries and blueberries.

My kids?

They stuffed themselves full of chocolate chip cookies and cupcakes drowning in frosting. Then topped it off with red dye flooded fake juice. They waxed poetic about mini chocolate bars and butterscotch candies. They zoned out on the couch with video games and classic cartoons packed with violence. They tried to skip the stuffing in exchange for another slice of cake.

And I fielded questions about what they eat at home, how much TV do they usually watch, and why is your son still so damn skinny? Oh, and when are you going to put your kids in public school like a normal person?

Cue the disapproving looks.

Holidays are even more fun when you’re the bad mom that everyone loves to hate. But at least the socks they got me are warm. That counts for something, right?

My In-Laws didn’t get us Christmas gifts. This is the first year they didn’t and I cannot figure out why this happened. I asked my husband to pretty please call and ask what the FUCK happened, but he seems to be pussing out on this particular occasion.

You see, it’s not that I care if they didn’t get me a gift, but the fact that I got her some really nice swag all personalized from Etsy, because I thought we were finally getting along better, means that if she didn’t get us anything there’s a whole thing around it.

You know, like they thought we weren’t going to get them anything, even though we ALWAYS got them stuff even when we were so poor we were eating from the food banks. Nothing expensive those years, just a token, but something.

I’m hoping there’s a mistake.

Of course, that doesn’t even compare to the fact that I didn’t get a Merry Christmas or a Thank You for one goddamn gift I bought for my stepdaughter. All $500 worth of gifts I bought her.

Yea Christmas. Thank goodness they’re not my only family and I did get thank you’s and nice gifts from others…but I can’t help but obsess over the negative…I’ll get over it soon. It’s just, you know, bothering me.

Wouldn’t it bother you if out of nowhere you suddenly didn’t get a polite thank you or a gift when it’s been standard operating procedure since you got married years and years ago?

Jerks.

He leaned toward me and in a soft whisper said “I take it back.  I’m pleading insanity when I said it and you can’t make me do it”.

A little bit of background is needed before I continue.

Captain “It’s-So-Hard-Living-With-Always-Being-Right” used to be a confirmed bachelor.  For ten years he lived on his own with no one else but his dog.  His place was the epitome of bachelorhood – a guest house living arrangement on the grounds of a manor that is one of the more well-known lifestyle clubs.  His living space was immaculent at all times as he had *the* place to go hang out.

This man who obviously was having the time of his life suddenly and very abruptly changed his entire way of life, tossing off the beautiful guest house, the lovely solitude, and I’m certain the never-ending parade of hot women to live with me and my three kids.  In a house that is about a half a century old, falling apart, and not nearly enough room for all us, three dogs and a cat.  He put up with several years of a cantankerous man who wasn’t his family and grinned through quite a lot of heartache and tribulations.  He has accommodated and bent over backwards on too many occasions to count.  Quite possibly, he is the most generous man I have ever had the privilege of knowing.  My children and I are all richer for having this man in our lives.

So, with all of this in mind, imagine my complete surprise when he suggested that we make it a Sunday thing to all get out and do something – anything, free or otherwise.  I looked at him…  “Really?  A ten year old boy who averages twenty questions a minute?  A twelve year old girl who wants nothing more to grow up and be a female you?  A teenager who hates everyone at the moment, most of all you?” I asked.  “Sure!  It’ll be fun!” he said.

Cut to Saturday night.  Roblox girl was getting ready to watch an episode of South Park with Captain “It’s-So-Hard-Living-With-Always-Being-Right” when suddenly we saw a blue flash and the power went out.  It flickered back and we sighed collectively just in time for it to shut down again.  A transformer had blown and we were out of luck for a few hours where power was concerned.  All bundled up, we traipsed off to the car and off to Frys for a bit of window shopping followed by a late dinner at Pizza Hut.  Sir Laughs His Ass Off began his Q&A as soon as his little butt hit the seat of the car.  Roblox Girl commenced with giggling at every word that came out of my man’s mouth.

It was right around the 127th question from Sir Laughs His Ass Off regarding electricity, transformers and exactly how they blow up and the millionth giggle from Roblox Girl that something seemed to snap in my man’s head.  He very quietly put his napkin down, leaned into me and….well, you know the rest.

Arts and crafts are…horrible, despicable things. Glitter gets everywhere, and I mean everywhere…I wiped my tushie the other day and viola, a piece of shining gold glitter. Unless I’ve actually learned how to pee urine or contracted hepatitis-f (f stands for fabulous, of course) it’s from that damn ornament my kid brought home from school.

You’ve probably seen one – or even have one – yourself. It’s a red plastic drinking cup (way to go green, preschool!) turned upside down, slathered in glue, and coated in glitter with a bell inside. Because nothing screams Christmas like disposable cups with glitter and a bell.

I asked my husband if I could tell the magical tale of the Christmas Cow to my children. (I tend to check in with him before doing something that could potentially scar my children or send them to therapy later in life. Just so it’s not ALL my fault. I can say, “You could have stopped this madness!” I’m basically covering my ass…but back to the story of the Christmas Cow…)

Every Christmas when the fields are dead and the cupboards are bare, little boys and girls who have been good receive a visit from the Christmas Cow, who comes bearing warm milk and sour cream. If you’ve been bad, your milk will turn sour and clumpy the second before it is consumed, thus creating a horrible and gross Christmas for naughty little children.

My husband said, “Sure” – which is what he always says when he hasn’t been listening. So I told my kids the story of the maaaagical Christmas Cow – and now if I think they’ve done something bad I immediately offer them a glass of milk. If they say no … I go look for evidence of the deed that has been done.

I swear everything I do is a setup to figure out what the hell my kids have done wrong when I wasn’t looking.

Oh, and for those that might be wondering, the Christmas Cow says “Moo! Moo! Moo!” just like Santa says, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” – I wasn’t original enough to come up with something better.

Got any suggestions for how I can incorporate the Christmas Cow into more Christmas stuff in my house? I tried to get cow-patterned stockings but that was vetoed by the husband. (Guess he was listening that time, damn!)

Don’t we all strive for domestic tranquility? And how many of us find it?

My house is goofy. Nothing that happens here will be found in child rearing books or discussed in marriage seminars. Our shit is unique. Just like everyone else.

So what needs to happen for domestic tranquility to take place? No yelling, meals always ready, bedtime comes naturally? I doubt it. NO matter what, someone in the house suffers.

I don’t know about you guys but I am sick of fucking cooking. I swear that my family eats more than a small country in Africa and I’m the big sucker that’s stuck behind the stove heating up the slop.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am not culinary challenged, in fact I whip up some pretty good shit, but seriously, can someone in this house make a meal without completely destroying the kitchen. Or hey, I have an idea, how about you make some food and have enough for ME, instead of just making enough to feed your hungry gullet. And hey, geniuses, we aren’t rich, so if you see some sort of meat in the fridge, I have most likely put it there to be used in some upcoming creation for your fat asses, not for you to pilfer part of and cook up for yourself just because you’re starving after your long hard day at school and I’m not anywhere to be found.There’s most likely a reason you can’t find me, so eat a bowl of cereal.

And ya know what? If I make it, there is no room for anyone to complain. This isn’t a fucking restaurant and you are a shitty tipper. Eat what I put in front of you and shut the hell up. Because more often than not, it isn’t processed, I chopped everything with my own two hands and there are a lot of starving kids in the world.

Just to give everyone an idea of what my evenings look like….My “family” doesn’t eat together. Yeah, yeah, I know, we’re doomed for family court. Not likely since family court is what brought us here in the first place. But I digress. My lovely devil spawns eat one meal and my husband eats another. No one likes anyone else and so this leaves me with only a couple of options. Sit down to every meal in a state of panic that someone will say something that will piss someone else off? No thank you. Or I make two meals at night. Joy. I sometimes forget to eat all together because after slaving over the stove for two meals I just want to sit the fuck down. So I have this very strange consumption schedule that entails me nibbling on crap while I cook. Sometimes I actually sit down and eat with one of the two groups but I seriously would much rather just go sit in the bathroom.

I think its time that everyone in the house starting pitching in. I’m proposing that the kids both get jobs so we can hire a cook and a housekeeper. Then I’ll just sit on my ass and eat bon-bons all day.

Sounds like a plan to me.

I want to start off by saying all moms are working moms.  I don’t give a shit if you stay home, work part or full time.  We work our asses off.

That said, this part-time working mom has fuckin’ had it.  Saturday is my “long” day.  I put in a full eight hours (please, hold your applause).  I’m telling you what, nothing chaps my ass more than coming home to a sink full of goddamn dishes.  To give you some background, my husband has a normal Monday – Friday, 8-5 job.  I have wonky hours that will just bore you to tears confuse the shit out of you, so I won’t go into detail .  Most Saturdays, my husband takes the kids to his folks and works on something or other over there.  In my mind, it’s just fiddle-fucking around.  In the garage.  All day long.  At his folks house.

(This is where I go on about what projects need to be finished at our house…Remind me to tell you about the 10 year bathroom, it really deserves it’s own post)

Tonight we got home about the same time.  Lo and behold…a sink full of dirty dishes were awaiting me.  Here’s where I go from sane to bitch in 0.23 seconds.  Oh yes, I do.  Do you blame me?

No.

So, DW (Dick Wad for tonight) asked for a kiss.  I told him that if he wanted a kiss he needed to go see Mommy, since that’s where he spent his day.  Then, he had the audacity to say “I thought I’d get some tonight.”  ThankYouSweetBabyJesus…the kids were out of the room.  I completely ripped him a new asshole.  No, after working all fucking day and coming home to a house that looks like a shithole and a sink full of dirty fucking dishes…he’ll be lucky if he gets any before the New Year.

It’s going to be some happy fucking holidays around here!

1950's Housewife

I live in an aging house (built in the late 1950’s) with three children (hence forth to be known as “Perpetual Princess”, “Roblox Girl” and “Sir Laughs His Ass Off” from oldest to youngest), a grown man (Captain “It’s-So-Hard-Living-With-Always-Being-Right”), a Pomeranian (“Grand Master P”), a Labrador/Chow mix (“The Fabulous Miss D”), a Labrador/German Shepard mix (“Mooby the Cow”) and a domestic cat (doesn’t matter what you call her, she doesn’t respond).

Everything that breathes in this house has a different schedule. Domestic cat and Grand Master P are nocturnal – forever banging around and generally causing as much mayhem as possible with couch pillows and doormats. Captain “It’s-So-Hard-Living-With-Always-Being-Right” is a swing shift Boeing employee so he’s more of a mid-morning to afternoon kind of guy. This time of day we affectionately call “Call of Duty Time”. Perpetual Princess is a teenager, so only other teenagers are privy to her schedule. Roblox Girl attends the Washington State Virtual Academy at home – she gets to sleep in, attend her six hours of school daily and then utilizes the rest of her time creating new, you guessed it, Roblox games. Sir Laughs His Ass Off is one of the few in this house with a regular schedule though a greater portion of that time, while not in school, is taken with finding the most idiotic YouTube videos one can possibly find.

That all having been said, it now will make sense to you, dear reader, when I say my day begins at 6:30 am and ends at 11:00 pm every day of the week. My schedule is created around those in this house so I can ensure the house is clean, laundry is completed, meals are made and eaten and a myriad of other day-to-day tasks are tackled in addition to my freelance writing.

Now, having made that previous statement, I feel compelled to say that when I’m online, working and socializing, the very last thing that will fall from this keyboard onto your screen is what fucking part of my house I just cleaned up or what meal was cooked that no one on the planet could give a flying shit about.

Seriously.  Can you imagine? In the middle of researching social media trends or writing about the environmental impact that web hosting companies are trying to reverse I should suddenly spout out “I scrubbed my toilet!”? Or while interviewing and researching prominent authors and bloggers on the Web, the big deal is what meal I just magically created from the crock pot for the household?

I promise to continue on this trend of not telling you the countless boring details of my life. Because I’m pretty convinced that the browsing audience could really give less than two shits about the state of my laundry.

Whew. I feel better getting that off my chest. Now, it’s got to be noon somewhere on this planet – where’s my Tequila shot?

Mario and Luigi

Don’t get me wrong. I have a special place in my heart for Mario and Luigi. I was still in high school when the brothers were released upon the arcade world (note I said “arcade” meaning pre-Nintendo/PS/XBox). There are many nights I can recall hanging out with my friends and playing Mario Brothers as well as Donkey Kong.

That being said, what the fuck is with the sudden increased interest in these spunky little Italian-American brothers?  For the past week solid, my twelve year old and my ten year old have been obsessing over what seems like hundreds of YouTube videos dedicated to spoofing the plumber pair.  These two kids are my most computer savvy children – the youngest used to (and still does, I think) take great pleasure in totally revamping each and every computer setting he could dig up.  The older of the two loves to create sophisticated game programs.

So, what possible entertainment could they be getting out of these videos?  My little guy can be heard howling with laughter so loud that the neighbors are getting rather concerned.  Gamer girl keeps requesting that I look at yet another really asinine video every ten minutes.  If I hear the game’s damned theme song one more time I may seriously consider permanently damaging my ears.

I wonder if they’d believe me if I told them that the internet magically stopped working in that particular part of the house?