Mother of the year goes to....

Raising kids has a lot of ups and downs. Probably more so these days, since it's not politically correct to beat them into submission anymore. Ah, the good old days...

I'm not going to generalize and say it's all of today's youth that are disrespectful little turds, but the majority of them are. It only gets worse as they turn into teenagers. It's funny how people love the idea of having kids someday, only to find out that when they're in their teens they turn into totally spoiled assholes, who will shit all over you the second you tell them no or take something away. And you thought their tantrums as toddlers were bad? You ain't seen nothing yet.

Everyone blames the parents nowadays. While that's partially true, we as a society have to take responsibility for our part in turning these kids into self-centered, egocentric, demanding, entitled little monsters. It can't be just the parents' fault. Nowadays, parents don't see their kids enough to be the worst influences on them, and that's society's fault too. We're working longer hours, extra days, and the divorce rate is so high, your kids never know whether you're coming or going. This isn't to say that parents aren't responsible for their kids being assholes, they are. But society as a whole has made it the social norm and almost acceptable to be a douchebag.

Growing up, I sure as hell knew better than to talk back to an adult. And if I slipped up? Good God there was hell to pay, be it a slap, a spanking, or the belt. The strangest thing about that? I'm not upset with my parents for doing that at all. It taught me respect, a little fear, and self control. Everything that's lacking in the majority of today's kids.

So, although I'll probably get the belt and be grounded 'for life' for using profanity, I thank my parents every day for beating the shittiness out of me when they did or I wouldn't be appreciative of the things I have now... Children of my own to battle on a daily basis.

Move over Miss Manners, I'm back in town.

I've never been considered anal retentive. I'm pretty much a "go with the flow" kinda gal. I'm not very organized, and have never really minded a little dust on my furniture. I'm not a slob or anything. I just believe there are more important things to life than using a toothbrush to clean my floors.

That said, I have two contradictions to my normal laissez-faire attitude. I'm a self proclaimed foodie as I've mentioned before, so I can't stand a messy kitchen. My biggest pet peeve being the kitchen sink. I prefer to not have dishes left in the sink, but for all that is holy, rinse your damn dishes! Between stuck on cereal and greasy frying pans, I begin having convulsions. I also demand that once a dish has been properly rinsed or pre-washed, that all dirty dishes are put in ONE side of the sink. This allows for easy washing and or loading of dishes.

The second, yet MOST important contradiction to my relaxed body and spirit is the bathroom. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I have quirks. Some might call me a nazi, whatever.

First of all, I'm going to broach the top two biggest arguments regarding the bathroom. Number one being the lifting and lowering the lid thing. Have you people all gone mad? When I walk into your bathroom for the first time, that last thing I want to see is your nasty ass toilet water staring at me. It's also a great compromise, Guys aren't solely responsible for it all now. If you lower the seat AND the top lid, not only does your bathroom look cleaner, everybody does their part when closing the lid. See? That was simple.

The second biggest argument has been made fun of lately on television. It's the never ending game of placing the roll facing over, or under. Everyone has their favorite, but again, I'm going to tell you why I'm right. The answer is, the roll should be faced over. Simple logistics proves that it's easier to find the next square without spinning the roll out of control and covering the floor with overpriced two-ply.

Theses next few things are not deal breakers, but I think they should be. Be respectful of the next person coming in after you. Give them a courtesy flush, light a candle, light a match, but for God's sake, make sure you flush it!!!

I live with teenagers and I volunteer with a couple dozen kindergarteners. I've learned this: ALL CHILDREN ARE VILE AND REPULSIVE. They will not wash their hands no matter how many times you tell them, you must physically get up and watch them perform their amazing feats of cleanliness.

Oh, and one more thought before you go? You should read this article because I guarantee you're pooping wrong too.

http://www.cracked.com/article_19121_7-basic-things-you-wont-believe-youre-all-doing-wrong.html

...2 YEARS LATER...

T-minus 8 days and counting.

Mom and Dad are coming to visit for a few weeks and it appears that Mom alone will have to be here an extra three weeks. Well, alone with the kids... and Boyfriend. I am certain he has panic attacks every time I tell him stories about things my mom has put me through. I keep having to remind him that I'M her disappointment, not him. He's still off-put by the whole situation. Especially for the fact that those three extra weeks that Mom is here with Boyfriend, I won't be. That part I can explain later.

The good thing is, I'll be around for the first two weeks when both Mom and Dad are here, so it'll ease Boyfriend into things. Gotta break him in quickly. Everything's going to be just fine. I hope. As long as Dad has my back.


I'm predicting one of the two things happening while I am gone:

First, Boyfriend will run away and live out of his car until Mom leaves and he forgives me for allowing a demon into our house, or option 2, Mom will just fall madly in love with him and I'll be knocked down one more peg on Mom's list of favorites. Not that I'm complaining. I love my mom. I tease her a lot. Mostly because she rips my self esteem to shreds and then tosses it up in the air like confetti and spins around. She's really quite the life of the party.

Of course I'd much rather she love him. I mean I'd hate for him to be living out of his work vehicle for just under a month. Plus, it's really hard to sleep in a car when it's as crowded as his is. That and Mrs. McJudgerson would probably tell him he was doing it all wrong.

I know I owe an explanation as to why I'm not going to be here with Mom and Boyfriend. But it's a rather long story, and I'm the bad guy in the end. I'll save for when I'm overtired and not thinking about how much of an idiot I was. You know, like a few hours from now. I really have no shame.

Instead, let's talk about the idiot I am. I have eight days to get my house in tip top shape before THEY get here, and yet here I am, typing love letters to myself. I swear, If they gave out Nobel prizes for procrastination I'd probably keep rescheduling the ceremony.

It is NOT the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!

Last week, I was enjoying the beautiful 80 degree weather, soaking it in, ecstatic that fall had finally arrived in the Valley of the Sun. Pumpkin patches were full, halloween decorations were beginning to appear, children began playing outside again, and it seemed like it just couldn't get any better.

And, it didn't.

Also last week, my daughter brought a pumpkin home from her very first field trip to a farm. I know very little about pumpkins, but I do know that they need to be kept cool or they get icky, so I kept it inside on a hand-made halloween tablecloth, made lovingly by my mother, atop a table inside my air-conditioned house.

Yesterday, is when things went awry. The details are a bit fuzzy, as I have a tendency to blackout in situations such as these; but from what I can recall, my young daughter picked up her pumpkin and said, "Mommy, there's worms on the pumpkin." I rolled my eyes, glanced over briefly and said, "No, honey it's probably just moldy, it might still be too warm inside the house, so it's more than likely just going bad. We'll probably have to throw it out." Then my older daughter looked at it.

"Mom, the mold is moving."

There were a bunch of tiny little, white, worm-like things all over the bottom of the pumpkin and a circle of them on the tablecloth.

For me, this is when my fight or flight instincts kick in. I thought quickly and wisely. I made my oldest daughter throw the pumpkin outside in the trash. What? You really think I was going to touch that thing? I grabbed the tablecloth by the ends (the bug free zones), hosed off the stowaways and tossed it directly into the washing machine on HOT. Three washings later, I'm still considering throwing it out. (Sorry Mom!)

A little bit of mold on a pumpkin I can handle, but when it becomes fodder for maggots or worms or whatever they were.... um... GROSS. It was INSIDE my house. I had bugs!

Luckily, the creatures were confined to the pumpkin and the tablecloth it sat on. Otherwise, I'd be writing this from a hotel room.

4 Things they don't tell you about Phoenix in the summer

 Having recently moved back to Phoenix, I have found myself yet again attempting to acclimate to the desert heat. When I lived here the first time, ten or so years ago, I had an awful time adjusting. I avoided the outdoors completely during the summer months, and would only venture out when absolutely necessary. (Like when I ran out of sick days at work) I moved back here last June and knew what to expect. So I forced myself to stay outdoors until my sweat filled up the kiddie pool enough for the kids to swim in it. FYI, the average temp in Phoenix in the summer is roughly three thousand degrees. (It's actually 104, but that just doesn't drive the point home as well.)

Anyone who has ever been in Arizona during the summer months has heard that overused saying, "It's a DRY heat." And, if you're anything like me, when you hear this, you promptly feel the urge disembowel the speaker of this ridiculous statement. Yes, it's dry. It’s the fricking desert! But, that would be like saying, "Hey, that stab wound isn’t so bad, it was just a small knife!"...... "What’s that? It pierced your lung you say?"

So, I’ve compiled a quick list so you know what to expect.

4-Scorching sunburns.

So you probably could've figured that out on your own. But, there are still some morons out there who think they are impervious to the sun when they’re tubing down the cool water of the Salt River. Just because you’re feeling all fresh and breezy, don’t think for a hot minute that your skin isn’t going to turn into red leather, speckled with pink, watery blisters.

3-Swimming pools offer little relief.

Okay, so it’s hot; you're sweaty and unable to breathe. Hey, you can just jump in the water and cool off right? Maybe. If it's an Olympic size pool or one of a few lakes. If it's a backyard pool, chances are you're just taking a warm bath outside in the sun. Shallow backyard pools don't hold enough volume to keep the water at a cool temperature.  The sun and outdoor temperature wreak havoc on everything, including your pool. Throughout most of the summer, the average swimming pool water is near standard body temperature. If there is no breeze, you get no respite from the heat. And, now you're just wet AND hot which is only a good combination if you've just... Nevermind. You get the idea.  (Sorry Mom!)

2-Breathing is difficult.

I want you to try something. Grab your hair dryer and put it on full blast on high heat. Now shove it in your mouth. (No, don't do that. I really don't want to be sued) But, imagine how much fun it would be to breathe in and out while engulfed in flames. Then, triple that. That's how it feels to breathe when the outside temperature is over 110 degrees with ZERO humidity. Your throat gets dry and you start making those weird mouth movements that old folks make when they don’t have their teeth in.

1-You still sweat. Or, at least I hope you do.

Just because the air is dry, doesn't mean you don't sweat. No matter the humidity, your body produces sweat to keep your internal temperature at or near 98.6 degrees. As a matter of fact, if you indeed DON'T sweat you should put down that Pabst Blue Ribbon and seek medical attention, because your body temperature will rise to dizzying heights since you're lacking the sweat to keep you cool.  Dehydration is usually a buzz kill at barbeques. When the mercury shoots up and out of the thermometer, you basically have to quadruple your water intake because of this. For every Margarita you drink, you need eight gallons of water. Okay, I’m exaggerating. It’s four gallons.

So, if you’re still planning that Fourth of July trip to the Valley of the Sun, don’t say I didn’t warn you and your body.

You shall not pass! (English class)

I am not a wordsmith.  I am, however, a lover of words, a fancier of the English language, and a sucker for good prose. Unfortunately, I have a little problem.  I am, and have been for quite some time, a grammar nazi.  Most of the time I keep my chastising to a minimum.  But as of late I have been so consumed with misspellings, misuses, and basic ignorance of grammar rules that I have been unable to focus on anything else.  For instance, I haven't weighed in yet on who should play Haymitch in the upcoming movie "Hunger Games," or whether Lindsay Lohan should just go to jail already, or even if Lady Gaga really is a man who wishes he/she was Madonna... All of these important ponderings have been left unpondered.  And, I suppose I should get to pondering already...


Just kidding...


My main focus on today's lecture is speech...  Yes, my little hypothetical friends, speech I said.  As in grammar and spelling.  Any and all of MY grammatical/punctuation/spelling errors are me taking creative license, and as such, not subject to debate.  The focus is on those, shall we say, less informed individuals who make a mockery of the English language and turn it into some kind of monstrosity.  I give you permission to call some of them idiots.  Granted, it's not all their fault, some of their lack of awareness was begot by idiots, and had nowhere to go but down.  Bear with me my lovelies, I've actually researched and compiled notes on these barbarians.
*Please note, if you are one of these people, stop reading now, as I will no doubt offend you, or more likely, confuse you.


One of the most common, most often abused phrases, is also one of the most misunderstood.  When someone tells you, "I could care less what she wears to prom.  Her face will still show."  They aren't telling you what they THINK they're telling you.  They're telling you they are either a teenager or a victim of lobotomization. I personally COULD care less about the state of our economic affairs; meaning I actually DO care for them, therefore, there is an opportunity for me to care less than I already do.  What I COULDN'T care less about is what dress Adam Lambert wears to the Grammy's.  It's really his decision as to whether or not he wears pink taffeta or baby blue crushed velvet.  But, there IS one possible exception to the ignorance here that not many may realize.  In Yiddish, there used to be a saying that was very similar, although the translation of it implied that the speaker was saying, "as if" before saying, "I could have cared less."  In that context, for those of you unfamiliar with sarcasm, it makes sense.  So, unless you're Jewish, or are feeling a little frisky, don't use that statement improperly in front of me.


Recognition and rehabilitation:  These offenders are some of the easiest ones to spot.  If they are not wearing a yarmulke or are not native English speakers, they get a pass.  If they do not fall into the previous two categories, you will recognize them by their enormous egos, since they are not interested in anything that doesn't involve them.  These people typically only need a little verbal correction to nudge them in the right direction, and maybe a little lesson about what the world REALLY revolves around, ie. not them. A quick smack upside the head is sometimes allowed in the most extreme cases where offenders are unwilling to cooperate.


There was an episode of "Friends" in which the character known as Joey uses the word 'moo' instead of 'moot'.  This is a comical redirection of the next infraction that irritates me.  If you have ever actually heard anyone use the term 'moo' when they mean 'moot,' you should just shoot them in the face, right there on the spot.  I don't know of any circumstance where someone would refer to a situation that a cow wouldn't even want to discuss.  No, the more common offense is someone saying, 'mute' instead of 'moot.'  The term 'moot,' means arguable, up for debate, or a pointless endeavor.  When someone says the point is 'moot,' that is what they mean.   When someone tells you the point is 'mute,' they are hearing impaired.  The point is not, in fact, silent as they would have you believe.


Recognition and rehabilitation: You may spot these people because they are always yelling, "What?!?!" whenever anyone asks them a question.  I would suggest a good hearing aid.  I heard Miracle Ear does wonders.  Now, if someone who is not deaf or at least partially deaf uses this term, their insolence must be dealt with in a delicate manner.  Usually I would suggest for you hurl several angry, venom-filled spiders at them.  (The ones from Australia work best)  But, gentle reader, there is a chance one of those spiders may bite you before you get a chance to toss them.  This would be bad, hence the delicate manner required.  I would instead recommend to get a bag full of venomous snakes instead.  It's simpler and much safer for you.  Simply toss the bag in their car, office, or bed, whichever is closer, and then run.  Run far.


Another on my hate-list is people who actually still use "irregardless" in their vocabulary.  It never was a word, (I pray to all that is holy that Webster's never caves in to your reckless abandon of language to add it to the dictionary), and will never be a word.  Have we not bastardized the English language enough already?  Regardless, (See what I just did there?) it is still used all too frequently, although it has been debunked many, many, many times.


Recognition and rehabilitation:  These offenders are sometimes difficult to identify, but are easy to catch in the act... Typically, they attempt to imitate those people whom they identify as intellectuals.  They are usually mistaken, as the aforementioned intellectuals they mimic, are most often pretenders who like using big words that they really don't know the meaning of.  Correcting this bad behavior takes time.  The offender will most often easily slip back into using the faux word if you give them an opportunity to do so.  In this case, it is important to set up a strict schedule of regular beatings.  And whatever you do, do not miss one or you will have to start the program all over again.


The offense that bothers me the very most, so much so, that I have once attempted to spear my own eardrums to save me from ever hearing it again, is "supposably."  This, my uninformed reader, is not even a decent fake word.  It is, in essence, gobbledegook.  I assume they mean to say the word 'supposedly,' but they have either drank or smoked away too many brain cells, or may have just suffered exposure to lead paint as children.  The only time this is allowed is if you are seven years old and are cute as a button.  Unattractive seven-year-olds do not qualify for this exemption.


Recognition and Rehabilitation:  The offenders that use this nonexistent term are the ones that were always caught sniffing glue in art class... You'll recognize them by the rubber cement on their fingers and paint fumes emanating from their bodies.  I haven't quite figured out how to handle this situation in a good manner.  For now I would just suggest strapping a muzzle on them and maybe even lighting them on fire to get the point across.  It's not abuse, it's good discipline.  Or it's just a mute point.


We all have our literary and oral faults, but please... Do your part.  Spay and neuter your idiots.

Why having children should come with federal aid.

As much as I would like to take this opportunity to sound off on the horrible customer service practices of the local pharmacy (I mean, how long does it really take to count to 90 twice?), I realize I have bigger fish to fry.  The fish, in this case, being my children, and the frying pan, well, it's a frying pan.  

I realize that these are children that I'm talking about here.  Self-important, whiny, sarcastic, combative little  brats ahem, children.  What I don't understand is, why they feel the urge, no, need, to drive me to complete and utter insanity.  I can handle bickering.  I can handle the barrages of stupid, inane questions.  I can even handle the picky palates.  What can't I handle?  I'm so glad you asked.  

I am sitting outside on the back patio, staring at my dirt and messing around on my computer; taking advantage of the fact I'm not hearing screaming, hitting, swearing, or the thwomping of six little feet above my head.  Needless to say, this means I am about to be interrupted for no reason whatsoever.  My children have an innate sense, somewhere in the recesses of their brains, to know when Mommy's trying to relax.  

I have gotten interrupted for the lamest most important things today.  Such as, "my shoelace came untied while I was on the bus today, and I almost tripped."  Well, did you trip?  NO. You did not trip, therefore I don't give a rat's hindquarters that your shoe somehow intentionally untied it's own laces today.  I told you to double-knot them.  Not my fault you're shoelace-disabled.

Or, this little ditty...  "If I have six more bites can I be done?"  Sure.  There's only two bites left in your bowl, but you go ahead and take an extra four bites of air, why dontcha?

I know God has a sense of humor and all, but did he really have to go ahead and make children so completely dim-witted to the core?  I swear.  I was in the military for 12 years and dealt with some major contenders for the Nobel Prize for Stupid, but come on, how difficult is it really to sit on a school bus and not accidentally throw yourself out one of the windows?  (Don't ask.)

I may be crazy, but then again, I may just be crazy.

I really don't have anything in particular to write about today, but it's been a little while, and I know how much you've missed me, as my awesomeness has no limits.  So, I've decided to grace the blog with the pleasure of my presence today, for no reason other than my own entertainment.  I could go on a serious rant about all of the idiots that inhabit the mall on weekends, or the highways teeming with escaped mental patients, but I shan't.  I shall instead conduct myself with dignity... Oh who am I kidding?  I just don't DO dignity.


So, I didn't bring you here to tell you that.  And, yes, I'm fully aware that I really haven't made any point so far, but hey, this is me.  I've never claimed to be normal with you folks.  I'm sort of bored, so it's either this, or I call each and every one of you dedicated, hypothetical readers, and make you entertain me.  And, since you're not fulfilling your role in our little entertainment bargain, I guess I shall have to do all of the work.


We've been working diligently on landscaping/pool plans for our backyard as of late, and if I have to look at one more design plan, I may have my dinner re-surface.  Needless to say, I'm at the point of just picking the next thing I'm offered.  If that's the case, I may end up with a Playboy Mansion-esque pool complete with grotto and petting zoo, or quite possibly, a roller coaster.  I haven't really ruled out either of those yet, but I'm pretty sure they'd be budget-busters.  Darn the luck.  I really kinda wanted that pair of peacocks.  And, I guess there'll be no upside-downies, cavern-cruising coasters either. Ah, such is life.  Maybe I should just let Hubby make the choices... Oh, scratch that.  I do want something OTHER than a 1200 square foot workshop and rock in my yard.


So, I guess I'd better drink myself a bottle of Pepto so I can stomach getting back to the painful process of replacing my weed-infested, dirty, dusty, oh-so-brown backyard.  Somebody please just put a .45 through my occipital lobe so I don't have to look at it anymore.


I guess I broke my promise about no rants today.  Whoopsie!

Mama never said there'd be days like this.

I was a good kid. The "Mother's Curse" never even worried me as I got older and began having children.  But, then again, maybe I was wrong thinking I was so right.  Ok, I'll admit it.  I was not the perfect child.  I remember telling on my sister (I was 4 or 5, she was 6 or 7) for sneaking down to the nearby, partially frozen Mississippi River boat launch a block from my house.  (it was basically a very steep, scary hill that dropped off into the mostly frozen water)  Yes, I was there too.  Yes, it WAS my idea.  But she was older, and should have foreseen the punishment awaiting us if I opened my big fat mouth and told on her.  So, ultimately, it really wasn't my fault.  She knew I was a tattle-tale, and should have also known that I would still tell on her, even though it would get me into trouble doing so.  Okay, so maybe I was a sado-masochistic child.  But, on the whole, I wasn't so bad.


So, why do I feel the need to complain about my own children via blog entry?  Oh, just 'cause I hypothetically can.  As a hypothetical reader, you can close out of my blog and not listen to my whining, and I can continue ranting on to nobody in particular about how my children are big bloated hemorrhoids on my derriere. (Which is hypothetically small, by the way... My derriere, I mean)  I really don't remember fighting quite this hard or quite so much with my sister when we were younger.  I would ask my mother, but she tends to exaggerate how awful we were.  I just don't believe her.  Now, I will not deny that my sister and I fought; just that we were sooo much quieter when we did so.  We knew the repercussions if Mom, or God forbid, Dad, heard us.  It scared us into quietly beating each other into a pulp until one side gave in. (Usually her. Didn't I already tell you I was a tattle-tale?)


My children prefer a more boisterous form of fighting.  It probably includes a similar amount of violence as the likes of my sister's and my fights, but Good Lord; it sounds like someone has lost a limb most times.  But, I have found the most perfect solution to this very problem.  My super-smart-mommy remedy for this?  I'm glad you asked.  The iPod.  It's an amazing little thing, especially when you turn up the volume loud enough to drown out the Armageddon going on in the next room. For a mere two hundred-ish dollars, you too can enjoy your life, fight free.


So, just to summarize... Oh, crap... they're starting up again.  Time to pop in the ear-buds and crank up the tunes.

And, we meet again...

After a three month hiatus, and I use the word 'hiatus' extremely loosely here, I am back.  Back as in, well, for  right now I'm back.  Who knows how long this may last this time.  Have I mentioned I have ADD?  So, I'm now fully medicated, hubby's home, and kids are on spring break.  I'm not stressed at all.  (hint of sarcasm there, for those who didn't detect that).


The last three months have been filled to the gills with home improvement, furniture shopping, yard-work, cleaning, hair pulling, screaming, and tantrums.  The last three were just me, in case you were wondering.  A semblance of order has finally filled my house.  It unfortunately has not yet filled my backyard, as there is only dirt and a large number of weeds filling that area.  I will be overflowing with joy when THAT project is done, but given our current rate of progress, that will be sometime in the early fall of 2037.


I do have many a good tale to tell of our recent past, but all in good time, my hypothetical readers.  I have been diligently working on perfecting my ability to procrastinate, so it may be awhile before I actually get my tall-tales in order.  At the moment, I'm working on NOT cleaning. I'm really getting good at this procrastination thing.

I'm singing Christmas carols, I swear

I would first like to start this off saying, it is by NO means Christmas-time in Arizona... It was 80 degrees today. I have a very serious problem with this. We are in the northern hemisphere, something is tragically wrong with the universe.


That aside, I have been doing my darndest to make this a 'real Christmas' for the family, as my husband will be home for good, and it will be the first REAL family Christmas in four years. I am making EVERY possible treat known to man. Plus, I have the whole holiday menu planned for Christmas dinner. It may end up killing me, but I'm doing it nonetheless.


Yesterday, I made winter-time muffins, a family favorite; and also made some pretzel/turtle treats. Today, I made sugar cookie dough for an army, and then proceeded to make holiday chocolates... And, this is where the fun turns into pain.


I have three, yes, only three chocolate molds... This can be a problem when you have ten pounds of melted chocolate to make. Six hours later, all the chocolates are made, my back it shaped like a horseshoe, I'm covered in blisters, and I have chocolate imbedded in all of my fingers.


I'm not a huge fan of sweets, but I do believe it will be another five years before I ever put another chocolate to my lips. Did I mention that tomorrow I'm making cookies? Should be loads of fun!


*please kill me now*

Bring the pain.

Well, it's that season again... That one where I rue ever leaving my house, or having children IN my house...

That first little tickle in the throat... usually overlooked the rest of the year, is now cause for anxiety in my household. The little boogers brought home some germs.  I am not, I repeat, NOT a germaphobe.  But I swear that the next person to sniffle in my general direction is going to get Lysol sprayed in their face. I downright refuse to get the winter cold this year. I don't have any apprehension about wrapping myself in cellophane and wearing a gas mask the whole season. I will NOT get sick. I will have my husband home, and my family in full array for Christmas for the first time in years, and if hyperbaric chambers or oxygen bubbles are required, we will get through it!

Having three children and a husband who has been through the ringer and back, I am fully prepared for winter ills, but NOT for Christmas. The day after, they can be sick to their hearts content, but NOBODY is gonna mess this up for me. It's been too long since we had a proper family Christmas.  I am prepared to maim or kill the next germ-infested body that comes within 50 feet of anyone in my family. So, if you have the sniffles, or even worse, a cold, I would suggest you don't drop by or even call me; for fear you may send your germs through the phone lines. I am on full RED ALERT. DEFCON 1 here people.

If I only had a brain....

I think I may have misplaced my grey matter.  If anyone finds it please return it to me as soon as possible. There will be a reward of two gourmet meals if returned in good condition.  If returned in poor condition, you get hot dogs. 

I started my day much earlier than usual, as I was helping an unnamed 'friend' at his/her place of business.  Now, most of you know, I do not have a 9 to 5 job per say, I'm a full-time mom with all the benefits; you know, cooking, cleaning, listening to whining, and boo-boo fixing.  I used to have the whole 9 to 5 thing down pat.  And, dealing with most things military, I put up with a LOT of red tape and politics.  Needless to say, my military training did me absolutely NO GOOD today. 

Having many years experience in the business my friend is in, I have certain expectations.  I was not met with those expectations.  I was met with chaos.  Not just your standard day to day chaos, this was LA Riot-type chaos.  Other than the complete lack of organization (which normally is my forte), the lack of timeliness made my frustration level amp up even more.  Add in a little vehicular breaking and entering, and you've got my day.  And, my overly sympathetic behind signed up for more days of this. 

So, as I said, if someone finds my brains, I really need them back.  Of course, if it takes too long, you may have to look for me at the local mental institution.  Just ask for the girl with the glossy look, missing hair, and knot on the head (been banging it against the wall recently).

Technology has officially made me stupid...

I am a bookworm.  To most avid readers, I am what one might call obsessive when reading.  Very little can rouse me from the story I'm drawn into. 

I purchased a Kindle (electronic book) a little over two years ago, and have definitely gotten my money's worth.  Unfortunately, this has also caused some loss of normal motor functions. 

As I picked up a regular old hardback book this morning, I immersed myself into a world of wonder.  That lasted for exactly one page before my thumb tried to hit the "next page" button on the paper.  At first, I laughed at myself.  But then it happened again three more times!!!  As if that's not bad enough, after a couple of chapters, I closed my book to get some lunch.  Whoops.  No bookmark, no automatically going to the last page I had read.  I had to actually SEARCH for my page.  I'd like to write it off as coming down from an excessive amount of Halloween candy last night, but unfortunately, I didn't actually eat any candy. 

So, I've come to the conclusion, that as much as technology teaches us, it also kills off certain brain cells required to do things the old-fashioned way.  Is there an app to get that back?

Trick or Treat, Smell my feet, wait, that might not be wise...

Ah, to be ten years old again...  If only I had the stamina my once ten year old body contained, for just one night.  It's obviously a bad sign when you run out of energy before your five year old does, right? Of course, some of my drain could have been the hour and a half it took to coax her into wearing her WHOLE costume and not just the cool headgear.  Or, maybe it was the fact that after her bag was half full, I was on duty to hold it for her between houses.  I was on my last legs before we even ended the second street, and I knew I was in for it when I turned the corner onto the third street.  These folks went ALL out, every window had some Halloween ghoul in it and the yards were a bounty of spiderwebs and multitudes of creepy crawlies.  We didn't get to pass one single house by.  It was a feast for the eyes. Every creature and goblin was done so well, we had a difficult time picking out which ones were actual people waiting to jump out at us.  Needless to say, I was thankful for really good heart medication at a few of the houses.

When we had hit the last house, the five year old finally decided her feet were too tired for more.  I was thankful for a bout a nanosecond before I realized I was going to have to carry both her and her overstuffed bag of goodies.  Ouch.  Time to put my feet up and make one of the big kids answer the door for the rest of the trick-or-treaters! Happy Halloween!

I think, I thank, I thunk... What?!?!?

So moving to the west side of Phoenix has its drawbacks.  First off, if you think being "west" of the desert saves you ANY grief from the heat; you are DEAD wrong.  It DOES save you a little from the crime, but that's about it.  But, don't forget to add in the obnoxious noise that comes from the Air Force Base right down the road.  An atomic bomb explosion has nothing on the fifty fricking jets that routinely fly directly over my house.  I may be able to sue the military for hearing loss.  I used to actually work with the aircraft here in Phoenix, but I don't remember there being so much night flying going on!  I can't get to sleep before midnight.  Since when do these government-paid jack-offs work past eight pm??? I'm sorry, since when does anybody working for the government actually work?!?! I got paid to sit on my softer side 90% of the time...WTF?

So anyway, I didn't bring you here for that...  I have decided that the world's problems can all be solved by a little helium.  Don't laugh, I'm serious.  If my kids can get along by just sucking down a little bit of helium from a birthday balloon, why not??? I say we need to provide a little helium to ALL foriegn diplomats, and a LOT of helium to our stupid representatives (especially Obama) then life would be a hell of a lot easier.  Because seriously, how pissed can you be at someone who sounds like Mickey Mouse?!?!?  I've thought this out; done the math and everything.  It would cost the taxpayers next to nothing to achieve world peace with my plan.  Damn, I rock.  Or, maybe that's what I get from too much intake of helium... Oh, if you could hear me now...

Pavlov ain't got nothin' on me!

So, everyone who's completed high school psychology has heard of Pavlov's Dog... I have not only proven this theory, but put it to good use around the home.  We recently celebrated two birthdays, which means I have an excess of cupcakes and cake lying around my house.  Children LOVE cake. 
     I say, take that cake and use it to your own advantage.  I have successfully managed to get my now 5 year old to clean her room FOR REAL, not just shove everything in the closet so Mom "thinks" it's clean; and have even managed to get the now 12 year old to keep his nasty, stanky socks out of my family room... I tell you... Cake can work wonders in the house. 

     I may actually start making cakes, just so my kids will do what I want.  You may call it bribery, but I call it a happy home.  If a little bit of flour, yeast and sugar can make my kids actually pick up after themselves; well, call me Marie Antoinette, and "Let them eat CAKE!"

     You can use cake for darn near anything.  Need laundry separated? CAKE.  Need floors vacuumed?  CAKE.  Need toilets cleaned???? CAKE!!!!  Damn, I rule!  Why didn't my mother think of this when I was a kid????  Of course, this is the same woman, who, when I turned sixteen thought it would be a good idea to get me a french silk pie to celebrate the occasion... Have I not mentioned I HATE pie????

Ok, so, pumpkin pie is good, but other than that... not a big pie fan.  I have never made the slightest inclination for anyone to assume I actually even tolerate pie, much less will eat it without there being turkey, dressing and mashed potatoes to accompany it. 

So, I have completely gone off topic... ADD anyone? Oh look! A butterfly!

Release the Kraken!!!

Okay, way too long since my last post, but I SWEAR I have good reason.  First off, I've been sick.  I promise I'm going to the doctor next week to figure out what in Hades is going wrong.  But first, I must tell you of my most recent encounter with a mythological fiend.  A caveat to this would be that my ONLY fear with bugs is cockroaches... too many "too close for comfort" occasions.  Having lived on a military installation more than once, I have developed a respectful , yet obsessive fear of roaches.

I swear the crafty not-a-cockroach sucker was two feet long (some may repute that, but I'm sticking to my story).  So, I'm walking nonchalantly to the bathroom... Wait, let explain something about my background first...  I have lived in Arizona before... For FIVE years.  And, I have never actually seen a scorpion, so I wasn't expecting to see one anytime soon.  I move back, and less than five months go by, and one shows up in my hallway, on the tile floor, four feet from the bathroom.  Like a true child of the Midwest, I appropriately freak the crap out.  Things with stingers... NOT so good!  It certainly didn't help that I recently saw "The Clash of the Titans" in the last few weeks.  Tank sized scorpions have kind of been in the back of my mind.  So, you can imagine my horror when I see one, sitting on my floor on the middle of the hallway, right in front of the bathroom door.

The enormous monster that had to be at least a foot in length was front of me and was MORE than enough to keep me paralyzed for an indeterminable amount of time.  I then sanely (IN NO WAY) referred to hubby's best friend to deal with said monstrosity.  Turns out, the thing was already dead, and maybe an inch and a half long.  I have officially resigned my post as the Man of the House!  I must cry "Uncle"!

I think I need to add some more motivation to my diet.

So, I have put off laundry as long as I could. To quote Popeye, "I've had all I can stands, and I can't stands no more!"

By the grace of God, I woke up and had some bottled motivation, ie. caffeine; and finally started working on Mount Saint Laundry this morning. The laundry volcano isn't quite dormant yet, but I have managed to quell the lava flow.  In my defense, our electric company charges me a million yen to operate anything electric from the hours of noon to 7 pm; which is usually when I have the inkling to launder, so it has led to an inordinate amount of pile-up.  So, today, I have decided to bite the financial bullet and just get it done.  What's a million yen now anyway, right?  My major set-back now is that my dryer has decided to take twice as long to dry since we moved to the desert.  WTF?  So, now, I have to keep myself occupied and not sit down for too long, or everything will need to be rewashed or ironed from losing motivation and letting the clothes sit for an overextended amount of time.  Oh poo, I guess that means goodbye for now.  Maybe I'll go clean a toilet or two while I wait.  Ta-ta!

The mind is willing, but the body is opposed to EVERYTHING...

Ok, so here's the deal... I've been busily working in my kitchen at all things gourmet.  I managed to successfully create and cook a Beef Wellington last week.  I am so proud of myself for that one, as I spent 6 hours making it!  I also made chicken enchiladas from scratch, meaning I actually made and seasoned the chicken myself, which is something I've never done.  My next project is to make the perfect chocolate cake from scratch; no boxed mixes!!  Scary!  It may turn out to be a cake of chocolate cardboard.  I'll let you know.  The downside, is that I haven't been to the gym to work-out in over two weeks.  Therefore, I have yet to burn the calories I gained from eating said Beef Wellington and enchiladas.  My muscles have turned to flab, and succinctly turned to pure goo having no stable exercise in my life.

I think my body has declared a strike at my attempts to gourmet my life.  Someday I will be the ruler of Hell's Kitchen, but not today.  I may have to roll myself to the auditions, but someday...  Well, I will be the ruler of MY kitchen.  I'm not going quite so far as Julie and Julia, but I am planning on doing some more daring and difficult recipes.  But first, I have to wheelbarrow myself to the gym to burn off a few, maybe ten, thousand calories... Ah, such is life.  I'm beginning to have a love/hate relationship with myself.  I love the cooking I do, I hate what it's doing to my physical motivation.  I have had way too many food comas (hence the lack of posts) in the past few weeks, that I'm afraid to actually count them for fear I will have to attend Over-Eaters Anonymous meetings!

Needless to say, I have to get my body to cooperate or I'm going to have to declare war on my cellulite.  I'm running out of clean pants that are elastic waistband, so something must be done! 

Alas, as much as I need a good dose of reality, I don't think I want to take it... It kinda makes me gag.