The Answers

UPDATE...

My toothbrush has been located! Found it in a pocket of our luggage. Complete with dog hair and red Very Cherry Jelly Belly spit. Thanks, Ash!

In Regard to the Hanging Lovies

In Aidan's defense, he was absolutely convinced that his babies loved hanging from playing on his swingset. He's honest to God never mean to real animals. Well, except when he wanted to smash the Preying Mantis with a piece of wood. Or when he and Daddy high-fived with severed deer legs. But those times were different, dammit!

7 Odd Facts

If I were smart I'd try not to scare you all by giving examples of just how crazy I am but I'm fearless like that. So, here goes. 7 random/odd facts about me...

1. I think flies are the most disgusting creatures in existence. I feel an inappropriate amount of rage toward them and and inappropriate amount of joy when I kill one.

2. I had my tongue pierced twice in college. As in two different times, not two different holes.

3. There is a dead bug in Aidan's closet that's been there for months and I'm just too lazy to go get a napkin to pick it up.

4. I've had 8 different vehicles since I was 16.

5. I think Angelina Jolie is a homewrecking slutbag and Brad Pitt is a tool.

6. I gained 53 pounds when I was pregnant with Aidan and only 11 pounds with Asher.

7. Most meat grosses me out. I'm borderline vegetarian much to the disgust of my meat eater husband.

Is There An End To This?

Can I just ask a question? Exactly how long am I going to have to wipe Aidan's ass? I'm so incredibly done with this shit! No pun intended.

And while I'm asking questions, where in the sam-Hell is my toothbrush, Asher?!?!

Letter to the President

Hey Mr Big Shot,

You're almost done fucking up our country. Praise God! I didn't blog everytime you were photographed reading a book upside down and I didn't keep a running tab on all the stupid shit you say every other day. I mean really, you are the leader of the free world. Turn off the fucking mic before you start talking shit. I'm all for a little venting and in my opinion, the cursing helps but you are under a little more scrutiny than I am. Act like you have the sense to know that.

But that's not the point, the point is that now you've pissed me off. I was out of town on Wednesday and had the DVR set to record Criminal Minds. So last night I curl up on the couch with some Twizzlers all ready to watch my show. Instead of seeing super-sexy Special Agent Derek Morgan, I see your pinched up, wrinkley, head spouting off at the mouth about all the help you are going to give and how you are so very worried about us. Shut the fuck up! Go home to your mansions and ride it out with the rest of us. I've got a feeling you'll be just fine - fucking fantastic, indeed. So since your lying ass took up the first 15 minutes of Criminal Minds, the last 15 minutes of Criminal Minds got cut off.

So, Mr Big Shot, tell me, what happened in the last 15 minutes of that episode? There was a bomb in the building and super-hot Special Agent Derek Morgan was going to drive the bomb away from the hospital... and then nothing. Yeah, thanks for more nothing!

Cops and Hankies

On Thursday I took the hellions with me to visit an old friend, at the police department. He's a cop, not an inmate!

Aidan was all excited about going until he got inside. I think he caught a glimpse of his possible future so he refused to talk to anyone and pretended to be shy. He just couldn't be charming and sweet, make it look like I have some authority over him, that I'm not raising a future felon. Naw, that would have been way too much to ask for! Asher, on the other hand didn't have a care in the world, ran straight into one of the officer's laps. The officer might not have known it but Asher had him.

As soon as the door to the station closes, Aidan turns to me and says;

"I didn't know policemen weared Grandma Fleisher's hankies on their heads."

I'm glad he didn't say that in front of him, I don't think I could have stopped the snorting. Eudell wasn't on duty so he was in street clothes which that day included a bandana on his head. It really wasn't a pattern I could see Grandma pulling out of her pocket, m-kay? I don't even know how Aidan put that together. The way that kid's mind works scares me.

But, oh, this gets even better...

Later in the trip Aidan wakes up from a dead sleep and this is the conversation;

"Mama, does Deedle let his little boy wear his hankie?"

"Do you mean Eudell? Which little boy?

*I'm crying from laughing already!*

"The one at the bumpooter that played with Asher." *meaning the grown-ass man officer!*

I don't know how old the officer is but he's older than I am. Yet apparently not too old to be 'Deedle's little boy'. It's a good thing we were close to home by then cuz I'm gonna admit it, I peed a little from laughing so hard.

There's No Stopping Now

I went in on Monday for my 3rd Tramp Stamp torture removal session. Have I said before that shit hurts? Well, that. shit. hurts. This was supposed to mark the half-way point in a worst-case scenerio. Worst-case being 6 sessions being needed to erase the permanent reminder of my idiot college days. Of course, I was hoping for the best-case scenerio, 4 sessions. I asked her opinion about how much it was gonna take. "Oh, I'd say 5." I'm thinking, hell yeah, for once something is gonna come (or in this case, go away) rather easily. "5 total, right?" A completely rhetorical question in my mind because given a 4 - 6 session estimation, there is no possibility for the total to be 8, right? Mmmmm, if you answered yes to that, you'd be way off the fucking mark! "No, 5 more, honey. You've still got some ink left. It might be only 4 but..." I quit listening. I shouldn't really be suprised. I mean, really, they do this for profit, not because they regret my tattoo as much as I do. In fact I supspect they may have sponsored 'Spring Break 2000 Miami'. And what is my choice now, not finish having it removed? Yeah, cuz that'd look even better. I could just say the jack-ass ink-needle weilding terrorist was as drunk as I was and that's why it's just a bloody blur on the small of my back. No, I'm gonna plop down another grand on a completely non-covered procedure (what the fuck is insurance for anyway?). And they know that. I think that's why I saw a smirk and heard her say "gotcha, bitch" on my way out.

Is God Reading Martians?

There IS a God in Heaven and He actually listens to my prayers - or reads my blog. Hey, however the message gets across, I'm not picky. Aidan and I have had numerous conversations about his behavior at preschool. Sometimes he would placate me and say he was gonna be good from now on and other times he would taunt me by saying he was gonna kick me in the toes and run far, far away all by himself and never come back again. I'd just smile and think to myself, "you promise?" We made a chart to keep track of his chores and allowance he can earn for doing them. On Tuesdays and Thursdays one of his chores is to behave at preschool. Behaving at preschool gets him a whole $1 in addition to the possible $1 for his other chores. Pissing me off Not behaving at preschool costs him the bonus $1 AND the possible $1 for the other chores. It's also possible it could earn him a red ass but I'd like to stay out of the DHS office so...

Okay, point of the story: Aidan had a freaking FANTASTIC day at preschool! He walked right in, kissed and hugged me, and started talking to his teacher! And when I picked him up he was getting an award certificate for being so good all day. I'm so not kidding! I thought his teacher was gonna pee her pants, she was so excited and proud of him. She let him have 3 suckers. I wasn't sure she was gonna stop giving him crap. It was like everytime she thought about it she just had to reward him some more. He loved it, obviously. And quite honestly, so did I.

For The Boys

My rough, tough, farting on cue, belching, booger picking, all boy Aidan is apparently afraid of bugs all of a sudden. Granted, it was a big damn bug, but he's a little boy! They're supposed to live for this crap!

Aidan wouldn't touch it, didn't want it in the house, told us to take it outside and smush it with a piece of wood. Asher, who squeals like a little girl piglet every day, couldn't keep his little sausage fingers away from it. Go figure.

Their Other Side

Despite all my complaining about them, I really do love my boys. And contrary to the nature of my usual rants, they really aren't horrible monsters every second.

Like when they're sleeping for instance.

Or when they're playing shirtless, peek-a-boo cowboy.

Blasted iPhone!

I swear to God, this iPhone is gonna be the death of me! I connect it to sync up and CRASH. It was as if you could actually hear it crash. Well, actually it sounded more like "bitch, I'm an iPhone, you can't handle an iPhone! Buh-bye." 2 hours and a disconnection later, I'm back up and running. So, Drew at iPhone tech support, bless your geeky little heart! And suck it, iPhone!

8pm

Can I just say Thank God in Heaven for 8pm? Or in tonight's case - 7:48pm. If it weren't for 8pm, my children would be motherless. Or I'd be childless. I usually start the countdown around 11am. They piss me off and I just close my eyes and scream think to myself, "oh kid, in 6 hours and 32 minutes you do not exist to me anymore!" And now in the peace that is post-8pm, I spend that kid-free time bitching about the kids! This is what motherhood has done to me.

Letter To My Boys

Dear Aidan and Asher,

Asher, you are far too young to throw a hissy fit to the extent that you do. Look at your brother for a glimpse into your future. But keep in mind that by the time you reach his age I will have left any guilt over you missing out on fun trips with your friends or missing your favorite cartoons in the afternoon far in my past. It's entirely possible that I will have found a military boarding school that will accept kids his age and my guilt over sending him away will also have subsided. If, by chance, I haven't already reserved your spot there, I will bribe the dean to get you in, too.

Also, swiping my iPhone and running when I reach for it back is irritating enough. Chucking it when I get close to you is unforgivable. My entire pregnancy and delivery to have you cost us less that that phone did, so consider that next time, k?

And just so you know, throwing your food onto the floor makes me angry. I don't find it funny. No matter how big you smile, I am not smiling. Lexi might love it but I do not. And as your mother, what I like matters more than what the dog likes.

Aidan, where shall I start, son? Telling me that you will "beat my butt" if I don't help you put your shoes on one more time is likely to result in loss of said shoes in your own butt.

Taunting me with that super-obnoxious cackle/laugh you are so fond of is a huge reason you will not be getting any more siblings. I live in absolute fear your brother will inherit your cackle and I'm not willing to risk it again.

You are 4 years old. I'm gonna have to go with your father on this one; you are much too old to ride your bicycle around the neighborhood nude. It was cute at 2 and 3 but not 4. I'm sorry.

And last, Aidan, I cannot stress to you enough how incredibly changed you will find your life if you do, in fact, get kicked out of preschool. I do not want to have another conversation with your teacher or the director about ways to handle your antics at drop-off and pick-up time. You know what I'm talking about. So hear this, I will sell all of your movies and toys at a garage sale. All of them. Baby, Puppy, Lucky, Dog, Big Bear, your guitar, all 1400 of your balls, and even your precious Rhino. You will sit in a chair and help me take money for your treasures. You will get to watch some little boy drive your Rhino away. Just try me.

Love, Mama

P.S. Asher I do, however, love to see you bobbing your head and waving your hands in the air during loud music. Despite Daddy's comments about our sharing dancing skills, it's fantastically adorable. And Aidan, I find very few things funnier than when you crack up laughing while watching Tom & Jerry. You two are my favorite little boys. It's just so much easier to remember that when you are sleeping. Wonder why that is?

Here We Go Again

So I've been checking the MomDot Dottie Awards like a fat kid waiting for the ice cream truck. And I'm getting a little sad that I'm slipping in the ratings. I'm almost last. As in not winning! As in not winning by a lot! I don't expect the German pervert to vote but based on StatCounter, I should be getting at least 20 votes a day. I don't even have 20 votes total. So, this is me shamelessly promoting myself for Drama Queen again. I never got any of that crap in high school. There really wasn't a Moodiest Senior or Most Likely to Hit You With her Car category so I got screwed. I don't want to get screwed again 11 years later. That could cost thousands in therapy. Do you want me to cry? Cuz I will. I'm just sayin'...

Eh?

New contestant for weirdest search that lead to my blog...

Billedet er muligvis formindsket og ophavsretligt beskyttet

It may not actually be weird but I don't read German so it goes on the list. Maybe Lenka can translate it for me. How 'bout it, Lenka? What's the German pervert looking for?

What Is Going On?

I almost wish I didn't have this thing that shows me what people are searching for to find my blog and what posts they are looking at. This post is by far the most popular desitination. Why? There are so many more posts of Aidan's nekkid butt and stuff I could see attracting some pedophile POS. The post doesn't even have any words that the twisted internet people could find the least but arousing. *ugh! nasty internet people!* I'm failing to see how this particular post is on the radar. Or why, for that matter. I'm gonna have to continue this post in my grown up blog because I'm getting angry and when I get angry the uncontrollable urge to let a certain four letter word fly is just too much to resist. And quite honestly, I don't want to resist it!

The Way Things Work Out

Aidan hasn't gotten over the bowling obsession yet, not even in the slightest way. I mean you mention bowling and he immediately screams, "oh, right!!!", while pumping his fist in the air. It's almost enough to get me excited about it. Almost. So we took him to Fast Lanes Saturday night. Bad idea. It was wall to wall emo kids and drunk skanks. Packed! I don't really like other people that much so packed isn't my favorite condition for a public place. We get on the waiting list for a lane - a 45 minute minimum waiting list - and then we go throw $10 into a bunch of dumb arcade games. We play all of these games in order to get tickets so that we can save up fourteen thousand of them to trade them in for some 85 cent plastic piece of crap that I'm going to throw away the very next time I clean out his toyboxes. *Did you like that massive run-on sentence? I think it emphasises my disgust over the situation* Man, I just love to spend an evening in that degree of hell.

An hour later we go check to see where we are on the list. Another hour, best guess. Yeah, so we didn't get to go bowling, we never even traded in our tickets, and ended up eating crappy fast food for dinner on the way home.

So, to break it down;

The intention was to bowl one game, for which I had free tickets from Aidan's birthday party left over. We might have broken down and bought a couple of drinks but that was it!

What ended up happening? We blew $10 on arcade games, didn't even get cheapo plastic piece o' crap toy, didn't get to bowl at all, and blew $15 on greasy fast food. Oh, and to top it all off, I ended up taking Aidan back Sunday afternoon to get his bowling in that I promised. But I didn't get to use my free tickets because I washed them all in my jeans. So add another $25 to bowl 2 games and $20 on pizza, drinks, and a huge chocolate chip cookie.

I just love it when a plan comes together!

Prepare Yourselves...

...my new design is coming very soon! Tell me what you think and then go buy your own from Becky! But don't try to hog her, I'm gonna have her working on my other blog as soon as possible.

It Continues

And now for the second installment of "crazy crap people search for and land on my blog". The most recent (in no particular order of crazy); children who look like martians, gayer than doodlebops, and sissy milking martians. There was one other of questionable motive that shall go unmentioned - well, except that I kinda just mentioned it...

Road Rage

Correct me if I'm wrong but the purpose of two lanes going one way is so that the good, read: fast, drivers can pass up the slow, read: pussy, drivers, right? So why the hell are there always two guys - and yes, they are almost always male - in semi-trucks driving down the damn freeway side by side for 10 damn miles? It's times like these I wish I had a CB radio. I'd be all, "Breaker 99, this is Queen Bitch in the red SUV behind you. If the two of you could just pull over to the side of the road, whip out your peckers, make a decision on whose is the biggest, and let the winner in front of the line, that'd be great. Some of us have screaming babies and motor mouth preschoolers that need to get home before someone learns a new bad word! Over and out!"

A Realization

What the hell is wrong with me? I take Aidan to the store this am before preschool to get him a new backpack. He picks out an Elmo one. Elmo is riding a skateboard and skateboards are Aidan's most recent fascination. *Do not buy him one for Christmas, you have kids and I will repay the favor!* The best thing about this particular backpack, $5 on clearance. And what do I do, I make him keep looking to be sure that's what he wants because he's been known to change his mind quite a bit. I should have just shut up and left with Elmo because he spotted a Razorbacks backpack and suddenly Elmo didn't exist anymore. Not that $15 is gonna break the bank but dang! It's as if I am genetically wired to reject the cheapest thing. Matt's been saying that for years and much as it pains me to admit he could possibly be right...

Don't Even Get Into It

It's like the blogging universe is poking and prodding me to throw my 2 cents in regarding the upcoming election. It's everywhere. And it's all I can do to not comment on those blogs or post up my Obama Mama or McCain Chick blog button and wait for the ensuing chaos in my own comments. I learned a long time ago to just not get into it. So what if the people you love vote WRONG? Just let it go. It'll only piss you off and you'll be no closer to making them see that they are WRONG. In fact, I learned that lesson well enough that I honestly do not know - nor do I want to know - the political preference of those friends I spend the most time with. I mean, I like a little drama as much as the next girl but I don't wanna daydream about beating a pal's face in over politics. So, this is me, not getting into it. Yep, just keepin' my mouth shut over here. Not gonna do it. Keepin' my opinions to myself.

Okay, dammit! Here I go...

Nope, not gonna do it!

November 4 better come along quickly because my willpower leaves something to be desired. Be strong, Sissy!

His Other Side

You sort of have to understand how most of my family and friends view my husband. In their eyes, he is perfection. Seriously, they like him more than they like me most of the time. He is quiet, polite, calm, uses perfect manners... in short, buncha bullshit. I know the man that exists in private. The man whose profanity ridden rants rival mine on any given day. Do you think anybody believes me when I try to tell them this? Hell no, it's just bat-shit-crazy Sissy talking nonsense again.

Okay, now that the scene is set... About 6 years ago I was working as an office manager for a couple of pain in the ass psychiatrists. I had finally talked the tight asses into getting me a cordless headset so I could answer the phone without having to stop licking their shoes or whatever other bullshit they had me, their bitch employee, busy doing. I get this contraption all set up and plugged in. I just need to try to answer or make a call to see that it worked right. So naturally I call my husband because he's not busy at work or anything, right?

Ring! Ring!

Mr: Engineering, this is SB.

Me: Hey honey, I'm just trying out the new headset. Can you hear me?

Mr: Hello?

Me: Honey! Can you hear me?

Mr: Hello!?!? Ugh! (hangs up)

I make a few adjustments with the thing, check all the plug ins, look at the instructions to be sure I've got it right. And then I go for it again.

Ring! Ring!

Mr: Engineering, this is SB.

Me: Honey, it's me, can you hear me?

Mr: (growling) Hello?

Me: Honey! It's me!

Mr: Goddamn it! (hangs up)

I sit there laughing for a few seconds and then recheck to be sure the thing is hooked up right. It appears to be. Then I compose myself and try again.

Ring! Ring!

Mr: (grumbling into the phone) Hello?

Me: Honey, It's me, can...

I can't stop laughing long enough to even type this!

Mr: (in a voice low enough not to be heard by everyone in his office) oh, you cock-sucking mother fucker! (slams phone down on desk a few times and then hangs up)

It was awesome in many many ways.

A New Blog Series

Well, that settles it, I'm being forced to start a "crazy crap people search for to find my blog" series.

Today's strangest: sucking newborn booger with your mouth

Some past faves include: tramp-stamp tattoo removed, sissy boi milking, kids puking mom blog, doodlebops gayest thing ever, and boogers in hair.

The one I can't fathom a reasonable result from is sissy lockable clothes. Lockable clothes? Is there such a thing? And why sissy?

Then there are the P.O.S. perv searches. Well, you all know how I feel about those.

I Have No Heart. I'll Live.

I keep reading blogs about how upset mommies are when they drop their babies off for the first day of school. Upset? Why?!?! Are you friggin' kidding me? That's like 8 hours or something without the kids at home. 8 hours of peace. 8 hours without wiping a butt. 8 hours without nuking a corndog. Do you know how many laws I would break to have my kids gone for 8 hours? Several, okay? I'd be at the school with Asher like the Chinese and their gymnasts - "I swear he's 5, he's small for his age! For the love of God, just let him come to school!" Yes, I realize it's possible I might feel differently next year when the time comes to send Aidan off to Kindergarten. It's also possible monkeys might fly out of my butt. I'm not sure which is more likely.

Only My Kid

How many times can you call poison control before they send DHS to your house?

I made another call today. Aidan was jacking around in my truck in the garage. He was supposed to be putting his bag of toys in there for our trip this evening. Mere seconds later he comes running in, tongue hanging out, hands wildly slapping his own mouth. I had no idea what the heck he could have done. I went out to the garage to see my can of pepper spray laying on the floor. Yes, Aidan sprayed himself in the mouth with pepper spray. He was freaking out! I know how that stuff feels, I had to get sprayed in the face with it during training when I was a parole officer. But I had the sense to keep my mouth shut at least!

Now after the trauma is over I can't help but laugh about it. Dang fool kid! I'm just thankful for some blogging material. I'm going to hell for that aren't I?