WOK friends...

I was on the phone last night with my best friend, Amy, and we were just chatting about life. She had called to check in on me, since she's the 'rita girl from the "accidental drunk" post, LOL. We got to talking about what our plans are for the rest of the week, and I told her that I, and my oldest son, Caleb are going to hang out tonight, since Aidan is going to a sleepover, and I don't have to arise at the buttcrack of dawn on Friday. She asked what we would be doing, I told her that Caleb loves to read almost as much as I do, my bedroom walls are lined with bookshelves, and every flat surface has a least one stack that just won't fit anywhere else, so we talk books, just hang.

Then I found myself confessing something to her, that I wouldn't confess to any of my friend's with kids. I enjoy my children more as they get older. Babies are cute, don't get me wrong, but they cry. Scream actually. They poop ALOT. Then they head into the whole toddler phase, which is reason #2, why I don't ever want another child (the pregnancy part being the first. I'm a roller bitch when I'm knocked up, and I feel like shit too). Toddlers, don't have alot going for them. It's all "don't touch that", "please don't wipe boogers on the walls, or on mommy's face", "Please don't crayon on the furniture", "GODDAMMIT, I SAID STOP", that type of thing. ALL day long. They have their cute moments, don't get me wrong, but they can't really hold a conversation, or debate who would win in a death match between Indiana Jones, and Obi Wan. Which, for the record, if Indiana Jones could divide himself up into village children, the way that Gary Oldman did in Bram Stoker's Dracula (but with bats), he's kick Obi Wan's ASS.

I like the fact that my kids are getting old enough to actually TALK to. We eat dinner together most nights, and we can have some really interesting conversations. They actually EAT their vegetables without being strapped down in a highchair and forced to, so you can leave that part out of the table talk. So, we talk politics (which usually ends in a food fight), or about art (Aidan wants to be an artist when he grows up. When pointed out that he already is an artist, since he makes art constantly, he informed me he is also going to be a dentist, to pay his bills, LOL), or religon.

Do you notice there is no mention of boogers or crayons?

I don't really LIKE kids. I love my own, and most days I really dig them, but I am not, by nature, a kid person. I don't walk into a person's house, and head straight for the charming child seated at the table, and try to hold a conversation. She is obviously busy, shoving playdough up Mr.Potato Head's nose.

No, I walk into someone's house, and head straight for the hooch, followed by a cigarette on the back deck.

'Cause I got my OWN kids. And I have to like them. I don't, however, have to talk to other people's children, or even like them. Cause, frankly? Some of the kids I know are little SHITS. Some days, those children are my own.

Why is it, that it seems so...disloyal to say that? Why is it such a big deal to admit, that even though you are a momma, you just aren't that into kids that don't belong to you, and sometimes, it takes effort to be into your own? I'm a person OTHER than a mommy. Really. This doesn't mean I don't love my kids (even now, I'm qualifying what I mean, geesh), it just means I don't want to be the momma all day, everyday. I enjoy just being able to be Danielle with them sometimes.

Just let me introduce myself...

My name is Humpty, pronounced with an 'humpty...

LMAO....

This was originally supposed to be a post introducing the newest kidlet in my world, but got distracted "and my sounds laid down by the Underground"...but again, I digress.

Emma Josephine was born somewhere around 4:30 AM, weighing in at 6 lbs, 5 oz...while her older sister did headstands on my bed. Literally. AT 4:30. That's AM. As in, unless you are the one who just gave birth, or strung out on coke, you're asleep for. Oh, and unless you're my in-laws, in which case you're probably still playing Texas Hold 'Em, and drinking Coors Light, if it's a weekend.

Wow. That's a whole 'nother post.

I haven't posted for a few days. I know, I know, my masses of adoring fans were heartbroken. I got an accidental drunk on, Saturday, and then Sunday was spent recovering, since, at the ripe old age of 29, I've managed to learn how to get a hangover. Lordisa, hangovers SUCK. I used to be able to drink entire bottles of Jim Beam, and not get hungover...now, give me a pitcher or two of margaritas, and I'm no good for a day or two.

It really was an accidental drunk. You know how it goes. Out with friends, no kids tagging along, you're being a pissy bitch because your baby daddy was gone all day helping his brother tear down the stone facade of his house, you're on the rag....so your friend offers you a margarita. You accept one, and drink two. Then you leave, and the stupid bartender cannot comprehend NO SALT. As in, NONE. Not so much as a kernel (is it a salt kernel? or a piece of salt? a salt sprinkle, but that implies more than one, since when you sprinkle...you know what? Nevermind) . So, I managed to drink 1/2 of both anyway. Back to their joint, where you have one, maybe 2, or 3, then they give you a "traveler" (for the record, responsible momma was NOT driving. At that point, I wasn't even walking so well), and BAM. By the time you are 1/2 way home, you're singing along at the top of your lungs to the Harper valley PTA, that your so very mucho NOT drunk husband is insisting that you listen to, because he didn't get to have any fun tonight, so he'd like to torture you with country music on the ride home. I don't even remember going to bed.

The nice part about marriage, is knowing that even if the other person takes advantage of you, while incapacitated, you're not going to get an STD.

There are other perks, or course.

There are.

I'm sure there are.

Hang on, I'm working on it....

Well, let's just say there are, and leave it at that, k?

So, I'm strolling....

down cranky-bitch lane this evening, and I got an email from a friend, who lost her husband this past fall. In the middle of bitching to my baby daddy about the house, the insane amount of company we've had since getting this pool put in, and just being an ASS. Now, on top of being throughly ashamed of myself, I find myself counting my blessings.

1-An oldest son, who almost didn't even get to be born, who is adorable, helpful, and every bit as much of a wise-ass as his mother.

2-A middle son, who has big brown cow eyes, and asks questions such as "Do lightening bugs really have hospitals?", after becoming distraught over "breaking one of it's legs, on accident".

3-A four year old boy, who can give the sweetest, tightest little hugs, as he wraps his arms around my neck, while simultanteously wiping a booger on my shirt, and smearing peanut butter in my hair.

4-A husband, who, though did turn down a quickie earlier (which helped speed up the above stroll), loves me inspite of the fact that I'm smarter than he is, and that I clap for ALL the players who strike out, when he drags me to Orioles games.

5-A great house, with tons of character, as evidenced by the marginally racist wallpaper hanging in the foyer, and the crumbling plaster, only held up by the aforementioned wallpaper.

6-No longer owning one of our dogs. Yes. I'm one of those people. The kind that take their damn dog, that they rescued from being taken to the pound in the first place, to the SPCA, after he bulldozed yet another section of the fence (why go over it, when you can go through it?) and almost caused another car accident on our street.

7-My kitties. They kick litter all over my husbands side of the floor by our bed, everytime he irritates me. Us gals gotta stick togther.

8-My friends with children, who freely commiserate with me over children who mindlessly peel cracking leather off your favorite chair you found at the local thrift store.

9-My friends without children, who freely drive my ass to the bar, when I'm being a total HAG who needs to forget she's got children for an evening.

10-The man who married one of my best friends, bringing her back to me. I missed her.

11-My momma's group, who continually make me laugh hard enough to snarf coffee in the mornings, who never dissapoint in a contest to see who can come up with the most bizarre fetish to discuss.

I'm grateful for all of the above, and much more, but most of all, right now, to my cousin. Who left me 1/2 a bottle of strawberry twist vodka, which I've mixed with grape koolaid, for a slighly disgusting, yet satisfying drink, that y'all can thank for this particular post, when she housesat for us last weekend.

a really, really, REALLY icky post...

A friend brought to my attention today, that you can now buy Jesus-scented candles.

Yes. Really.

You can now buy, for the low, low price, of $18, a candle scented with myrrh, aloe, and cassia. Apparently, there is a psalm (No #45, kinda like Chanel #5, but older) that refers to Jesus's clothing smelling of the aboves smellys. The candles are called "His Essence", a line that is apparently, not just for porn movies now.

According to husband (it's a husband-wifey team), Bob Tosterud, "We see it as a ministry".

Now, far be it from me to mock religon (okay, maybe once or twice), but a MINISTRY? At 18 bucks a pop for a candle, buddy, that's a BUSINESS.

I'm an old-time religion girl myself, but even as someone who does not subscribe to the judeo-christian religion, this just SMACKS of crassness (is that even a word, LOL?)

I was going to ramble on about religion for awhile, but my head is THROBBING, so I'll leave that particular topic for another day.

Moving on...Evidently, when I wasn't looking, I have become a doormat.

I was shocked by this particular revelation this evening, as I was giving my niece a bath. At 9:00 PM. To explain, I watch her while her mom and dad work. They have a new business that Cheryl (da momma) runs, and Matt works for her father, in his heating/AC repair business. Sage is dropped off at 8 AM. I'll pause while you do the math. Cheryl got tickets for a dinner theatre, and was taking their older son, so Matt was to pick up Sage. By 7 PM. I'm not sure how they came up with this time, as the original game plan was 5-5:30, and now has stretched to, most days, 6-6:30. I'm a ballsy kinda gal, generally a take-no-shit, etc...I'm also, clueless, apparently. I'm WHINEY tonight, which is attractive to no one, so I'm gonna wrap this up, take 4 tylenol PM, and crash.

I hate these kind of posts. But, for shits and giggles, it's going up anyway. I have to have some sort of evidence I actually did something today.

Oh, besides my house, which is clean. For the moment. And only because I have company AGAIN tomorrow. For anyone debating on whether to get a pool, don't do it. Really. You'll be fending off every freaking kid that your kids know, your relatives, and random acquaintances.

Sweden. Where everything makes sense.

As a public service announcement, for those of you who live in Sweden, or plan on a vist, please be aware of the following: Apparently, it is legal to SELL sexual favors, but illegal to BUY them.

What's a gal to do?

Disaster on a stick....

Apparently, having nothing better to do with their time, as well as desperately needing to find a new PR firm, Snapple decided to errect the world's largest popsicle today in New York. In June. In 80-something degree heat. Then, they were apparently *shocked* when it melted, flooding Union Square. Firefighters spent hours hosing the remanents of the 25 foot tall, 17 1/2 ton 'sicle, off the damn sidewalk.

"“What was unsettling was that the fluid just kept coming,” Stuart Claxton of the Guinness Book of World Records told the Daily News. “It was quite a lot of fluid. On a hot day like this, you have to move fast.”"

So many raunchy comments. I cannot chose.


Competent Mommy moment of the day: While visiting a friend today, I realized, an hour into the visit, which, by the way, we had walked to, I put my 3 year old neice's sandals on the wrong feet. As well as my 4 year old sons.

Betty Crocker can kiss my ass....

Having grown up with a mother who was Betty Crocker on speed, one must wonder, HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THIS? You know how, when your children are infants, you think " I can't wait until they talk/sleep through the night/walk/can pick their own nose/manage to vomit on something other than the $300 blanket you just bought from Crate and Barrel? Then, they can do all of those things (with the exception of the vomit-aiming, which, apparently, given my husband as an example, is not a skill that boys EVER learn), at which point, your thoughts start running along the lines of "WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING". How the hell am I supposed to help a 10 year old boy, in the throes of pre-adolescent angst, figure this shit out, and at the same time, still be able to find my living room floor on a regular basis? I mean, I was queen of angst, still am, on some days (I'm working on getting more and more tortured in my old age, which is surprisingly difficult these days, so I'm leaning more towards cranky), but I didn't understand boys then, let alone now. My husband (who, from now on, will be referred to, my baby daddy) is no help. I swear, he's the most normal person I've ever met, in my entire life. No angst. Nothing. Happy childhood, parents love each other, no skeletons in the closets, nothing. How the hell is that even possible, in this day and age? But I digress....which, you'll notice, happens alot. It's another skill you loose when you have multiple children. The ability to maintain a thought pattern for longer than 2 or 3 minutes. I spend most of my day saying "What the hell was I just doing? I know I came in here for a reason?".

My oldest son, will be 10 in a few months. If I allow him to live that long. He was always my example child, my "TV kid". Now he's angry, defensive, and apparently, has inherited his momma's dry wit. Lovely. It's just peachy to live with a hormonal, smaller version of yourself, but with a PENIS.

So, as I sit in my messy ass house, which, was spotless yesterday morning (seriously, I had company), I wonder, just what the hell are these people ON, anyway? And you know exactly who I mean by "these people". They're the ones that whenever you stop over, their house is clean, they've just finished baking bread, and are teaching their pre-schooler algebra. I actually got up early to make a lesson plan the other day for the boyos. I printed out age appropriate activities, planned this week and next, made a list of supplies that we would need. They woke up, I made breakfast, got everyone dressed, and then dragged FIVE children to the store (2 are spares. I'm fertile, but not insane). I even had time to brag on my mom's list about all the neat stuff we would spend the next few days doing.....

By the time I got back from the store, it was all I could do to slap PB&J sandwiches together, throw some strawberries on their plates, and lay their asses down for a nap.

I spent two hours planning, $60 at the damn store, and so far, everything is gathering dust on the top of my previously clean fridge.

Whatever.