Why Mom's gifts are never just for mom?

Now could someone please explain to me how husbands and children can literally get thousand dollar Christmas' and the only thing that anyone in the house wants to play with is Mom's one and only gift? I mean if everyone wanted a new lap top for Christmas why did they not just ask for one? On Christmas morning everyone spent nearly an hour opening all of their presents and laughing and dancing around so excited to get everything they asked for. By the way if I were Jesus I would be really ticked off that the entire world gets gifts on my birthday and barely anyone acknowledges that it is my special day. But hey that is just me and I supposed and even more hope that Jesus is not as shallow as myself. But anyway everyone gets all these great gifts a new guitar and amp for Drake. A new compound bow and bb gun for Peyton. Also a new cross bow for Peyton, although I think Tony bought it more for himself since Peyton lacks the upper body strength to pull the the back to shoot it, but that is another story. Needless to say all these cool gifts I lack either, ability, talent, strength or eyesight to use. Yet everyone in my house has taken quite well to my new laptop. When I opened it on Christmas morning I was so excited and thought how cool it would be to be able to have my very own computer with high speed internet connection. I thought wow I will really be able to blog more consistently as well as nose around on facebook and do a lot more research about getting my book published. Now I have to fight for a turn on my new gift. And then when I get a chance to use my one and only new toy I get to spend the entire time listening to my family argue over who gets to use it when I am finished with it. Listening to your family argue is not conducive to writing. It is very hard to concentrate on good material when your family is calling each other names and requesting that you settle with questions like "Mom Drake called me a ^%&%$ bag, Drakes says well it is only because you called me a %^%$ head and mom isn't a ^%&%$ bag worse than a %^%$ head? And in the mean time I have Tony saying I get to use it next because I paid for it. Oh really? I thought Santa bought it for me?I am contemplating a revenge for next week when everyone is back at school and back at work on a normal schedule. I thought perhaps I would be sitting in Peyton's room with the X-box controller in one hand while standing on the WI fit board Drake's guitar strapped around me and shooting Peyton's (Tony's) cross bow out the bedroom window when they come home and see how they like me playing with all of their shiny new toys. I even though about dressing in some of their new clothes but unfortunately I can't fit into anything they own other than their socks. Maybe I could squeeze into Tony's new thermal pants but, I fear if he seen me in them I possible could be jeopardizing my sex life. Something tells me skin tight thermal underwear on this body is an image he may not be able to get out of his head. Granted if I did this I would probably cause issues with my neighbor across the street. They probably wouldn't like it if by chance I shot one of their prized race horses in the field with Peyton's (Tony's) new cross bow. I will be sure to let you know if I follow through with my revenge plan. And in future blogs if you notice a lot more typos than normal you will know that I have decided to start doing all of my blogging while locked inside my car with my i-pod in to avoid listening to my family arguing about who gets to use my gift next. Being that it is so cold here in Snow-hio right now blogging from the safety of my car might not be a bad idea the heated seats could be quite soothing and much quieter.

Holidays and Hospitals

Wow I made it through the holidays!! Seriously sorry for the delay in posting anything new in my blog but I have had a couple of set backs. One little visit to the hospital and Christmas as well. I am not sure but I am thinking possibly the holidays may have lead to the hospital stay? Between trying to perform all of the duties a wonderful, wife, mother and daughter are expected to perform during this time of the year.I think it is a miracle the hospitals aren't full of women suffering from stress and anxiety. So two Saturdays before Christmas I am sitting at Drake's wrestling meet. (By the way I was sitting with the cool mom's) I new the new haircut would move me up in the ranks alt faster. I am sitting there in the stands talking with Drake about his latest loss when he was pinned in under forty five seconds and my right arm decides to take on a life of it's own. It is twitching and moving and doing things I am pretty sure that my brain is not telling it to do. So now i am thinking great I finally get to sit with the cool mom's and now I am developing turrets syndrome or something. I am just praying I don't start cursing at all the other wrestling parents since I can't seem to control my own arm I just know that my mouth is next. yes I know Tony would say not controlling my mouth would not be a new symptom. I don't think much else of my arm but the following Monday when I am on the phone with my mom going over her latest list of task that I am to perform for her as well as all of my regular duties I am seized by chest pains so bad that they bring me to my knees. So as not to scare my mother I tell her that I am having shoulder pain and I need to hang up for now. When the chest pain finally eases up enough for me to get up and walk I decide perhaps a bath and shaving my legs would make me feel much better. It doesn't so I decide now with my new symptom of shortness of breathe I may want to consider going to the ER. I am standing at the front door contemplating calling for an ambulance in lieu of driving myself when Tony comes home early from work. I think wow divine intervention my hubby is home to save me from what I have now convinced myself is a full on cardiac arrest. When he walks inside and sees that I am now crying convinced I am about to meet my maker and all I can think about is how unprepared I am to do that considering my behavior lately. I have been short tempered, rude, whiny and have used more curse words in the last two weeks than I have in the last five years. I am thinking great he didn't take me when I was on my best behavior. I explain to Tony what has been going on and that I may need to be seen in the ER to which my adoring husband says okay well I am going to the bank and to get a hair cut he tells me to be careful and he will meet me at the ER later then leaves. Holy crap I tell my husband that I basically think that I am dying and he continues with his errands like nothing is up. So I am now crying because I think I am dying and worse yet no one cares. When I finally decide the ambulance is a little too dramatic for me and I will drive myself in, Tony calls me to say he is coming back to take me in. I think God must have had a little intervention with him on the way to the bank or something. Tony finally gets home and takes me to the hospital. A little info for all, if you want to be moved to the very front of the line and get first class service at the ER just say you are of a certain age and you have chest pains and shortness of breathe. OMG you would have thought I was the President or something. Okay so maybe not president but at least the first lady. I was in a bed with monitors hooked up to me so fast that I decided that even if I came in needing stitches next time I will say yes I have cut my finger off but I am also having chest pains. This would be a marvelous way to avoid sitting in the ER waiting room with all those people suffering with who knows what mutating disease. After I have been poked and prodded and I feel I have given enough blood to keep and entire African village healthy for a month.I need to mention hear that the nurse or whoever she was had the audacity to ask me my weight while Tony is standing next to my bed? What in the hell is wrong with people you never ask a woman her weight out loud ever!!! Especially with her twenty nine inched waist husband standing next to her. I mean heck if I didn't have a heart attack already this line of questioning could surely cause one. The doctor comes in and says very matter of factly I may have had a cardiac event or a blood clot. Being the my son Preston is now by my bed I don't want to freak him out by freaking out. I am forced to play it cool like it is no big deal. I am praying that I did have a cardiac event as opposed to a blood clot simply because I think a heart attack is better. the blood clot thing really blew my oars out of the water. I mean I don't want to be sitting around at home and suddenly I fall over with a fatal blood clot. After a cat scan and ruling out a blood clot thank GOD!! The doctor recommends that I stay over night for observation and further testing when I ask her if that is really necessary she gives me a look quite similar to a look my mother would give me when I wasn't cooperating. So now that I have agreed to stay in the most expensive over night stay in the city. I am sent upstairs to share a room with a woman who is obviously in a lot of pain and has something pretty bad wrong with her. She has tubes coming out of various locations on her body and whatever is being sucked out looks pretty gnarly. I begin counting my blessings that I am only here for one night and at least whatever is wrong is not being sucked out of me by tubes and machines. I also am not lying in my bed writhing in pain. The blessing counting thing only last about three hours. I truly believe they have video cameras installed in hospital rooms and the moment they see you resting comfortably they come in to get blood, check vitals, or give you a pill or an injection of some sort. This is not to mention the mystery plate they try to pass off as food. I really would like to know how many people die in hospitals from food poisoning that they try to say it was something else. After being tortured for the entire evening and night I actually live until morning when I am told that I will be given another test before they will allow me to leave. According to the nurse most of these test are given in the morning and I should be sent home just a little after noon. Liar liar pants on fire!! At two thirty in the after noon when I begin removing my own monitors and am preparing to escape this torture chamber the nurse comes in to see what I am up to I tell her it is to close to Christmas for me to continue lying in the hospital. She tells me if I leave the hospital before a doctor releases me that my insurance will not cover my stay. This strikes me as funny since I don't have insurance and the only person suffering a financial dilemma is me!! This is also when I notice the IV is still in my arm. Have I ever mentioned what a complete wussy I am when it comes to blood and needles. I can't even pull a piece of glass out of my foot if I step on it I have to have someone else do it for me. Since I still have the IV I decide to table my great escape and cooperate. I have also discovered what is wrong with the lady in the bed next to me. I think she is septic. In her weakened state she can't use the regular little girls room she has to use a bed pan. Let me remind you we are in the hospital and the only thing between me and her bowel movements is a flimsy curtain. I guess none of the tubes they have hooked up to her are sucking out poo since she had used the bed pan five times today. I am praying for them to come and get me for my test even if it is invasive anything to get away from the stench permeating the entire room if not the entire floor of the hospital. When God finally answers my prayers and they come to get me for my test I am nearly so happy I could cry. They take me down to the basement for my test which by the way they keep calling and echo. This test require me to be topless. Yeah I always love laying around topless with two or three complete strangers walking around. Then to top it off the tech tells me I will need to lay on my left side with my left arm up by my head. When she tells me I need to put my hand up my my head it reminds of the scene in the Titanic when Jack sketches Rose in the buff. This is when I ask the tech if I resemble Kate Winslet in the Titanic or do I look like the Titanic. I think she is shocked by my humor when I explain to her why I am so happy to be down hear away from the stench of my room she is laughing and threatening to keep me down here just for comic relief. I also get to giggling when I look down at my left boob and it now resembles a flat tire. Lying on one's side with arms above your head is not a flattering pose for forty year old boobies. Will need to remember never to take this position naked in order to seduce Tony. I finally get out of the hospital after seven pm the next day. The doctor said they found a little abnormality and I am now scheduled for a stress test this coming Monday. Have I even mentioned how much worse my eyesight has been lately. I am telling you this forty year old thing is not turning out to be a lot of fun. Will keep you posted I am sure everything is fine probably just a little holiday stress is all I am thinking. That coupled with the fact that I have actually lost thirteen pounds in the last two months I have probably sent my body into shock.

Halleluah praise you Jesus it is Friday and my Jack Russell Boswell and my husband survived the insane racoon in our yard last night. When domestic and wild animals begin to lose their minds from the cold I think it may be a bit much for humans as well. To say that we have had our share of animal encounters down here on the farm would be an understatement. We have had run ins with squirrels, racoons, insane cardinals, horses, cows, coyotes, possums and snakes. So last night when Tony and the boys arrive home from wrestling practice of course demanding to know what is for dinner and asking if Buster and Boswell have been outside yet. Now they ask this everynight of my life. And everynight of my life the answer is the same "no" I can't let them out when hubby and boys are not home as they do not listen to me and I end up spending a half an hour of my life running up and down the hill in my yard trying to coax them back inside. As a more voluminous woman I do not like to run anywhere let alone after two dogs who listen about as well as my children and husband do. I think you might be getting the picture of the total lack of authority I have around here. So I release the hounds and they go barrelling outside to take care of business with Tony standing guard on the porch. As I am back in the kitchen tyring to complete dinner I hear Tony (I think every neighbor we have heard him) screaming at Boswell to get back. Then Tony starts yelling at me to come and see this. OMG what now? If he is carrying a dead animal in his mouth I am going to scream. When I go to the door I see my sweet dog sniffing the butt of a racoon like he is about to mount and mate with it. And what is worse is the racoon doesn't even care he/she is letting it happen. Yes I said he/she as my dog is sexually confused. Okay I will admit I think my dog is gay! So Tony is pickng up frozen walnuts still lying in the yard and hurling them at the love birds and they are looking at him like he is ruining their little moment of intimacy. As I am watching Tony trying to break up this little love fest in our yard I begin to form a picture of what it would be like if we had a daughter. I could just see Tony throwing frozen walnuts and rocks at any boy who dared to beckon our door for his daughter. See if Tony had a daughter he would fear she would date someone who had the same intentions he did as a teenager. Finally our dog caves in a comes back inside but the racoon is staring Tony down and he isn't going anywhere. So Tony throws a few more frozen walnuts and is actually making contact with this racoon and he isn't scurrying off. I try to tell Tony to just come inside and eat and let the racoon wander off but Tony being the king of his castle and the master of his domain is not going to give in until he scares him off. Now Tony is losing his cool as well as the battle with the racoon and he grabs for bigger ammo. He grabs the broom that I keep on the front porch. I have to keep a broom on the front porch due to Simon the squirrel who likes to bring the frozen walnuts up and onto my porch where he sits and eats them right at my front door. And Simon is quite a messy eater. Broom in hand he decides he needs a second weapon as the racoon is still not budging. Tony grabs the rake is in other hand and now with broom and rake he is going to take on this thirty pound racoon face to face. Tony heads for the racoon and lands his first blow with the broom. This is when the racoon bears his teeth and is standing up on his back legs and Tony heads around the side of the house with the racoon in pursuit. Drake and Peyton are laughing and I am trying to get them to be quiet so I can hear if Tony screams or anything. I may need to dial 911 if I hear him scream. I can hear him yelling but it doesn't sound like a painful yell just a frustrated one. I am waiting for him to come running around the other side of the house with a racoon on his head. (like in the movie Saving Silverman) Tony and racoon finally make it back around the house to the front where I can see Tony is dueling with the racoon with his broom and rake. At this point in the battle I don't know if I should contact animal control or grab the camcorder. My family could be the next big thing on You Tube if this battle gets anymore heated. Or maybe I could even when the $10,000.00 prize on AFV. Finally when Tony lands a blow by the rake to the back of the racoon he surrenders and runs off. PETA people don't go reporting us it was only a plastic rake. He didn't impale him or anything. Although I wish he had, this racoon had a lot of attitude almost as much as the State Highway patrolman who gave me the ticket last week. When the racoon battle finally ends and I get Tony inside to actually eat dinner the fried rice is now dried out, the egg rolls look like charcoal and the chicken and veggies have gone limp we sit down to eat. As they are complaining about how lousy dinner is I try to remind them that this will help them for their wrestling weigh ins this weekend. I don't panic about how inedible the dinner is. See I have a Reese's Christmas tree treat hidden in the laundry room for later. If I don't post another blog in the next day or so please contact the authorities as this will mean Rocky the racoon has taken out his revenge on me instead of Tony. There is probably a wildlife meeting going on right now in the tree line next to my house. I would be willing to bet all the critters around here are banning together forming some sort of militia to take our family out. The wildlife around here is getting braver and braver. I wouldn't be shcoked to see an army of furry little critters marching up my hill some day to finish us off. I also know the snake is their leader he is probably the one in charge of the whole operation. I will have to tell you about the snake later. I need to get to the grocery store to pick up some things for Mom she is coming home from Florida today. So next weeks blogs should be good Mom will be home and it is Christmas season. Then again maybe she will have me doing so much I won't have time to blog but probably not I will need somewhere to vent.

Dress and behavior for school functions

Alright so maybe I am just a little bit prissy but you would not believe some of the folks I encounter down here in the country. I just returned from Peyton's (he is my 12 year old 7th grader)Christmas concert. The cast and crew of What Not to Wear could devote ten entire seasons at just my local school district and they still wouldn't get to everyone. I wanted to stand up in the auditorium and scream out "hey do all of own a television?" Now don't get me wrong I know things move a little slower in the country. But let's be honest the 80's have been over for nearly twenty years now. Attending some of these events you feel like you have entered some sort of time warp. I would be willing to bet Tony's next paycheck (it is a lot easier to bet when you don't earn the money yourself) that eight percent of the people in attendance can still do the dance to Prince's When Dove's Cry video and know all the words to Hey Mickey by Toni Basil. Even some of the dad's there look like Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. (only about 100 pounds heavier and still just as high)The worst part about it all is not just the hair it is the clothes. Here is a rule for people to follow if you wore it in high school you can not wear it now. Even if it is back in style you still can not wear it. The skinny jeans that made you look so very cool in high school make you look ridiculous in your thirties and forties. Especially since you are no longer a size 5. Where on earth do they even sell skinny jeans in a plus size? And whoever does sell them should be sued. Another rule blue eye shadow even if in style should not be worn by anyone over the age of twenty five. Rule number three you can not wear concert and band t-shirts for the music your teenage son or daughter listens to. Rule 4 it is not appropriate to wear your John Deere, NASCAR, Ford, Chevy or Big Johnson hat during the Christmas concert. All head wear which has a bill on it should be removed upon taking your seat. Rule number 5 women of a certain size (I am not judging anyone I am of a certain size and no you will not be told what that size is) should really try to watch not only the fit of her shirt but the length of her shirt. Especially if you are sporting a tramp stamp tattoo on your lower back. As this is very distracting as well as frustrating to see when watching the concert. Because first I am trying to figure out why you still want to show off a tattoo that you can no longer read because your back fat has caused a crease and I can only see part of certain letters or pictures? And as bad as I wanted to know what it said I felt it would be really inappropriate to come up to you after the concert and ask you to please lift a portion of your back fat to allow me to see the entire tattoo. Rule number 6 if your younger son/daughter begin screaming and crying during the concert it is not only recommended that you take your screaming/crying child out of the auditorium it is actually mandatory. Rule number 7 do not consume vast amounts of alcohol prior to attending any event at your child's school. Especially if you have consumed so much that those around you can smell it. Even if you are not the one doing the driving just as a general rule you should not have to have a designated driver to attend one of your children's school events. Rule number 8 when your child's portion of the concert is over. It is not cool to stand at the back of the auditorium and talk loudly about anything. Especially anything that requires you to use that many profane words. Seriously it was bad enough that I couldn't even see most of the kids on the stage between your Big Johnson ball cap and your wife's giant 1985 hair. Now at the end when my son is finally up there and I can actually see now I can't hear what they are singing between the f bomb's being dropped at the back of the auditorium. At first I thought I was losing my mind because I actually thought the children on stage were singing "the First F'ing Noel" and Let it F'ing snow." These are just some general guidelines that I am considering taking to the next school board meeting. I think if we could all just follow them it would make for a much more enjoyable experience for all. And if by chance the lady with the tramp stamp tattoo happens to be reading my blog I would just love it if you would leave me a comment to let me know what your tramp stamp actually says. It is really starting to drive me a little nuts, as it is sort of like when you can't remember the name of the song or the movie you are trying to think of. Well as they would say from the back of the auditorium Merry F'ing Christmas to all.

P.S. Still trying to download the pic of my new do on facebook. I gotta go maybe if I go sit on Santa's lap I will get a new lap top under the tree. LOL

Three penis five fart minimum (at my house)

I finally figured out why my family feels it is okay to use a paper clip to unlock my bedroom door then use it again to unlock my bathroom door to come in a visit me while I am trying to take a bath. (or other stuff but we aren't going to discuss that, my mom does enough of that for the entire family) I am not looking for sympathy here I mean it used to be a five penis minimum before we got our two male dogs Buster and Boswell fixed. There is zero modesty when it comes to my family. I think everyone (besides me) is very proud of their man business. As for me there is not a lot about my body that I want to go parading around in broad daylight. The only part I really still like is my lower leg. I love my body from my knees to my ankles that part is still perfect. Okay so not exactly perfect I do get the occasional muscle cramp that sends me bolting up in the middle of the night and hopping around my bedroom like I am on some kind of illegal substance. But at least they still look good. Not the rest of my family though, I swear if I don't get a full view of at least three penis' per day I feel like something is tragically wrong. Not one of the three show even the smallest decorum of modesty. I don't understand this thinking. Why do all of them feel it is okay to walk through my home in search of items like, a towel, shampoo, deodorant, nail clippers and Listerine completely nude? I mean even when I had a cute perky sixteen year old cheerleader body I never considered walking completely across my mom's house in the buff. To me being naked feels sort of like when you get in your car and forget to buckle up and then you realize you didn't buckle up and you feel very vulnerable and doomed to injury. I am not sure if I am being irrational but when I exit a bath or shower the first thing I want to do is get some clothes on. Seriously if there were a clothing item I could wear in the shower or bath that would allow me to get clean while wearing it I would. I always fear that I will slip in the tub and injure myself severely and the paramedics would have to come to save me while I am completely naked. I have even told Tony and the boys if I am ever injured naked if they don't have the ability to dress me prior to calling 911 they are to leave me to die. I couldn't imagine ever leaving my home again if a few of the folks from our local volunteer fire department ever seen me in all my glory. I would not be able to attend concert and sporting events at my children's school. I wouldn't be able to grocery shop at our local Kroger or Walmart I would have to become a shut in. Granted I might lose weight since I am still on dial up with a desk top and it would be nearly impossible to do my grocery shipping on line. Another benefit of living in a male dominated home is the males' uninhibited right to pass gas no matter who is present or where they are. If men are the superior species why do they find farting to be some sort of comic genius? We have actually had entire discussions during dinner on "the farting subject". They will brag about how they let it fly in class or Tony will mention how he got one over on the site superintendent. They act as though farting is some sort of God given gift and they are better at it than others? I mean even if I could pass wind better than anyone I know I wouldn't go around bragging about it. I can't wrap my brain around how God intended man and woman to coexist and yet we are total opposites. Where I as a woman find nudity and bodily functions to be a rather private matter that I try to keep to myself. My darling little male family thinks the world (especially me) wants to see it, hear it, and smell it? They don't even care where they are when they do it. A couple of years ago I convinced Tony to expand his horizons a bit and talked him into taking me to the Columbus Museum of Art. Tony's idea of culture is a sporting event or action movie. While walking through the art museum I am in awe of all of the beautiful work and talent I am seeing, when suddenly I am hit in the face with a smell so pungent my eyes began watering. Now Tony is just a couple of feet ahead of me and the serious looking museum employee is seated in the corner making sure we don't touch any of the priceless art on the walls. Tony sees the look on my face and realizes I have discovered his silent but deadly poison. This smell is so toxic that I fear the paint on the art work is going to start running down the paintings and onto the floor. I wonder if the museum can sue us for damages to all of this artwork. This is when Tony walks up to me grinning and says "hey admit it, you could paint that one green and call it art." OMG this is who I married? This was the person I chose to spend the rest of my life with? According to my twenty something (at the time) brain I thought he was the pick of the litter? Don't get me wrong I love him dearly and I still get all tinglely when he comes home and he is still the best looking guy in any room I am ever in. Now I realize why men love sporting events so much. It is so much noise and fanfare they can let it fly without feeling even remotely inhibited. Then with the stadium or arena filled with other male species they can high five each other on what a good one it was. I have even tried to convince Tony that passing wind might be the reason for all of his sinus problems. I truly believe that perhaps passing so much wind and being in the construction industry around other men doing the same I think the toxicity of all that gas has eaten away at his sinus cavity. The last time I ever passed wind in public I was around nine or ten years old. It is a humiliation that I suffer to this day. I was with one of my best girlfriends Michelle. I went to Michelle's house to spend the night and I was standing in her dining room talking to her parents when I leaned back on a banquet one just slipped right out. Right there in front of everyone even being a child at the time I prayed for a hole to open up in the floor and swallow me up. Thankfully Michelle's mother and father had a great sense of humor and played it off. Though I can't remember exactly what her dad said since I think I may have blacked out temporarily from the rush of blood to my head caused by my own humiliation. So as for today I still have two penis sightings left Drake's already made his appearance this morning while getting ready for school when he came out to hand me a shirt that required ironing. I guess the five fart minimum is being saved up for tonight when they all get home. I just hope they pass it prior to attending Peyton's Christmas concert at the school. I am always afraid that if Tony does it in public and someone gets a whiff they will assume it is the chubby redhead not the good looking guy with the twenty nine inch waistline. I wonder what my family would do if I began displaying a complete lack of modesty. Perhaps they could come in a find me cooking in the buff they would realize how inappropriate it is. Don't worry it will never happen there is not enough alcohol in the world to get me to actually do it. Plus cooking naked would probably be quite dangerous without all the undergarments to hold various body parts where God intended them to be. By the way my new do is smashing. Would love to share a pic but my desktop dial up computer is not cooperating in uploading to facebook. Maybe Santa will bring me a new lap top and wireless internet card for Christmas. I think any woman who lives in a houseful of men deserves something quite lovely and expensive at Christmas. Don't you?

Tis The Season Not Christmas, Wrestling! Ugh

Tis the season, no I don't mean Christmas I am talking about wrestling season. My husband Tony is a former high school wrestler and current wrestling coach. Hence why he still maintains a twenty nine inch waist. Why don't former cheerleaders get this same metabolism? Both of my sons Drake and Peyton are on the wrestling team. No not the same team that would make my life way to kooshy. One is in junior high and one in high school. This means different tournaments on the same day. Requiring me to attend most of them alone. Therefore from about mid October to March my entire life is taken over by this sport. So for five months out of every year my life revolves around a sport that I do not even understand. Though Tony and the boys swear to me there are techniques and moves involved it all looks the same to me. Wrestling was a lot more fun when I was in school I mean I really enjoyed watching all the cute muscled boys running in the gym. At forty it is just disgusting to me. Note; the same hormones that cause you to get hot and bothered at sixteen are the same hormones that make you hot and bothered at forty. it just means something totally different. I get to spend all day every Saturday from here clear through February and into March sitting in a gym drenched in sweat to watch one of my sons wrestle for no more than twenty to thirty minutes out of the entire day. And I have to honest even when I watch my own sons I don't get it. I don't know who is in the lead, therefore I just ask my boys to please pin their opponent so I will at least know what happened. With wrestling season in full swing I also get the added benefit of weight being the main topic of most conversations in my home for nearly half of the year. Ain't that just fabulous? Seriously even the word "weight" make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and causes me to sweat. It is not a topic I like to discuss and I will be honest I can't really give advice on dropping weight since I can't figure it out myself. Plus no one in there right mind would take any advice from a pleasantly plump forty year old woman? Now every night at the dinner table Tony begins asking the boys "what was your weight today?" Now I am just waiting on the day when Tony makes the monumental mistake of asking me the same question. I really don't think he ever will I don't think he would risk his life like that. So while I am trying to woof down each nights meal, the calorie intake conversation begins and they start talking about will power and how food is just used as fuel for the body, it is not for pleasure? Come on, what planet are they from. Food is pleasure that is it's sole purpose. Every event my family (the one I was born with) revolves around what is on the menu. And most importantly what is for dessert? See I always remember how to spell dessert I used to confuse it with desert. The I realized dessert has two S's which stand for salivatingly scrumptious, plus two S's represent how I always want two desserts. With the conversation being what it is I decide I probably shouldn't go for the second helping of fried potatoes tonight. Then I have to begin planning on how I can sneak into Hostess Heaven later tonight without being busted by the food gestapo. Why did hostess have to make the absolute noisiest wrappers on the planet? My sweet husband possesses some sort of super power along the lines of sonic hearing and can hear the sound of a tasty treat being unwrapped from anywhere in the house. I am shocked he hasn't trained our two jack Russell's to bite our ankles if we enter the kitchen after 7:30 pm. I have discovered that the laundry room directly off my kitchen can be used as a decoy. If I turn the dryer back on (usually clothes do not come directly out of the dryer when the buzzer goes off) and turn on the washer and kick the mop bucket a couple of times I can get it unwrapped and into my mouth in two bites without being detected. I feel like a prisoner sneaking contraband into my cell. Maybe I should craft a homemade shank just in case the warden ever attempts to take my tasty treats? Now tomorrow the actual wrestling meets begin. This year with Drake being a freshman I have to make all new mom friends. This is not an easy task it is just like being back in high school. The mom's of the upper class men already have their own "little clicks" and you have to prove yourself before you can sit at the "cool mom section." I even volunteered to work bingo for the wrestling program last month at the VFW in order to try and meet some of the mom's prior to the meets starting. I guess I didn't make a good impression when I refused to walk around the bingo hall with an apron on selling tear off instant bingo tickets. They actually wanted me to walk around yelling out "Got your little pickles heeere, Got your country hogs heeere." Like I was some kind of beer and peanut vendor at a sporting event. I suggested that I might be better suited for concession sales they may have taking that as being prissy. Especially when I got to the concession stand and found out most don't get to work concessions without serving a little bingo hall floor time first. Uh oh, I guess I already stepped on a few toes on the volunteer mommy ladder. They should have a rule book because how can you know you are breaking a rule if you don't know the rules. So now I am just really looking forward to going to the first meet being that the "cool moms" haven't even contacted me yet to let me know what food items I am to bring to feed the boys. This is another thing that gets me about this sport the entire week is about cutting weight and exercising then on the day of the meet all the mom's show up with a giant spread along the lines of one of my family's holiday meals. The boys then basically gorge themselves on all the items that I have had to sneak into my laundry room all week? I don't get it. So I suppose tomorrow when I go I will take my sudoku book and my latest Jen Lancaster book and read for seven and a half hours that my son is not actually out on the mat. I don't mean to be negative I am usually a "glass half full kind of girl" but I would have to be a "half assed fool kind of girl" to think I will make it to the "cool mom" section during the first meet of the season. I will let you know how it plays out but in the mean time pray that I am not the awkward weird girl no one wants to talk to because that makes for a very long day. I am also considering getting a petition going to have recliners installed in the gymnasium during wrestling season. I think wooden or metal seating without back support for eight hours is cruel and inhumane. I will even let you know how my new do turns out. Perhaps I will post a new picture on facebook showing it off. Hey maybe the "cool moms" will have to talk to me just to find out where I got my trendy new style, wouldn't that be great!

PMS Walmart and Policeman Don't Mix

You know you have all had those days when before the sun even began to set you knew you should have just stayed tucked in your bed. Since you are already aware of my random cycles and never knowing when the painters are coming. Well woo hoo for me they decide to show up today right in the middle of walmart. Although it does explain my wild mood swings these last few days even with this I still don't find it all that convenient. So here I am in the middle of the cosmetics aisle trying to figure out if my next twenty to forty dollar purchase of anti aging cream will be the one to actually work and here are my painter friends. I truly feel they were intending on painting a large six thousand square foot home by the severe and sudden bloating and cramps. Needing to speed up my decision for the miracle winkle remover and rush to the front of the store. I do this only to find that out of the 26 different checkouts in Walmart the manager thought opening only three of them was a good idea. When I try to figure out which aisle will be the lesser evil of the three. I opt for the one with only one screaming child but his mom has two carts. I am perplexed by her purchase seeing that she has basically purchased all of her groceries and her screaming child's Christmas in one stop. So as I am standing there praying to God not to let suffer public humiliation before I can get out with my wrinkle repair (term used lightly, I will let you know if it actually works) I am trying to analyze how she explains all of the toys to her child without letting him know it is his Christmas gifts? Then after a few more moments I personally think the child should be put on the naughty list and get a bag of coal. When I finally see the light at the end of the tunnel for Miss Santa's purchases the cashier has some sort of idiot attack and can't figure out the code to weigh Miss Santa's granny smith apple purchase. While the cashier is fumbling with his little fruit and veggie three ring binder I discover Miss Santa has two other kids who have been randomly wondering about the store alone. They start harping on Miss Santa asking how much longer? Are we going to McDonald's? What is taking so long? Then the genius cashier has to call produce about the stupid granny smith apples and I am ready to snap. If this were to occur in my current state I would likely be the lead story on the six o'clock news tonight. When I finally have had enough and am ready to tell Miss Santa that I will pay her fifteen dollars to forget the apples and give her children money to begin the walk across the highway to McDonald's if she would kindly get the #$&% out of my way. This is when I make eye contact and realize this one is even more hormonal than I am and she has be by a good fifty pounds. I decide it would be best for my physical safety to keep my mouth shut. Plus I don't want to be the next YouTube hit found by searching "Woman gets smacked around Walmart."When I finally get my turn at the cashier I feel the painters have decided to apply the first coat. Just fabulous, since today I didn't even go to my local Walmart no, God decided to get his funny on today and I drove twenty miles north to the Walmart with the Starbucks next to it in hopes of getting a Grande Mocha Frappacino on my way home. So either God was trying to prevent me from consuming 465 calories of drinkable deliciousness or I didn't deserve it. (I prefer to think he was just watching out for my BMI and weight) I am one half mile from making the turn onto my road as the painters are now applying I believe their third coat being highly focused and determined to get home and inside before I destroy my tan leather seats of my car I don't even notice the State Highway Patrol coming the other way. As I make it home and leap out of my car to make a run for the bathroom when the State Boy in his bubble gum machine pulls into my driveway. As I am making a break for the front door he explains I need to put my grocery bag on the ground and give him my license and registration. I get back in my vehicle and grab the registration and my ID from my wallet and hand it to him. I don't even ask why he is in my drive. Little trooper boy obviously wasn't having a good day either because, when he hopped out of his cruiser he immediately informed me that he would be issuing a citation for speeding. And let's just say he wasn't very nice! So as I am making my way to the front door little trooper boy uses the public address system on his cruiser to say "Maam do not go in the house, you will remain outside until I say so." OMG he did not really just order me to stand outside in the freezing cold while the painters are working overtime. Okay this is where I lose my cool I may have been intimidated by Miss Clause at Walmart but trooper boy here has messed with the wrong hormonal housewife today. This is when I use my own PA system known as my voice to tell him he will have to handcuff or arrest me to stop me from getting inside. Now the trooper boy is getting out of his vehicle and telling me to remove my key from the door and get back to my vehicle. I really lose it and tell him to try and stop me and that he nor his little mayberry badge intimidate me and that if he wants to arrest me for entering my own home that is fine but he will arrest me pants down from my toilet! Now I suggest to him he get back in his car and issue whatever citation he is going to issue and he can bring it to me when he does all his work of completely ruining my day. When little trooper boy walks back up to my door to give me my citation for speeding he has the audacity to tell me to have a nice day. To which I respond that I will as soon as his ignorant arrogant face (okay so maybe I didn't use the word face) is off my property and slam my door in his face. Now Tony keeps coming out here as I am typing tonight and I have to keep minimizing the screen. See I haven't yet told him about my little encounter with the law today yet. Don't you dare criticize me I have to play nice tonight I have a haircut scheduled for tomorrow and I need money. I mean it is really for his own good that he is unaware of this until after the haircut why hit him with a double whammy on a Thursday night. Plus tomorrow is payday he is always in a better mood on payday. I also personally think I will get a better reaction if I give him the news with a cute new do. Plus I need something to distract him from the bloat that has me looking like I am in my second trimester.

Men are helpless and women should rule the world

It is official the good Lord has to keep me here long enough to get my children raised. Of course it doesn't look like they will be raised at 18 or even 21 at this point. My family absolutely can not function without me. I don't mean to complain I am aware that many folks would love to have a job where they were truly indispensable given our current economy. It would be great for me if I didn't work for a non-profit known as McComas Industries. I really mean non profit Kohl's and Target have not seen me in months. Kohl's misses me so much they sent me a ten dollar gift card for anything in the store just to get me to come in. Okay now for why men are helpless here it is. My brother comes in town for a visit from Florida, he is staying at my mom's house. So I plan on going to visit him at Mom's but, being the dedicated amazing wife and mother that I am I know this will cause me to be late in getting dinner. So trying to be proactive and not starve my dear family to death I fry my hamburger early in the morning and add some spaghetti sauce and pop it in the crock pot. Pretty simple you would think? I lay a box of spaghetti noodles next to the crock pot. I am thinking this should be fairly easy for my family to manage the rest of the dinner preparations. All they have to do is boil water and cook some spaghetti noodles and voila it is dinner. That evening as I am visiting with my brother and mom my cell rings it is Drake. He ask when I am coming home and he also wants to know what is cooking in the crock pot? I explain to him that it is spaghetti sauce with meat. Then my precious boy says "uh oh really?" I explain that unless some dinner fairy showed up and changed the contents of the crock pot I am definite that it is spaghetti sauce (this is why I left the box of spaghetti noodles on the counter next to the crock pot) Drake proceeds to tell me that he and my sweet hubby thought it was manwich and they just put it on bread and ate it. OMG seriously, what on earth did they think the spaghetti noodles were; a garnish to the crock pot? When your family can't even boil noodles to finish a simple meal you really know how badly your presence is required to keep the family going. If only all careers had this much job security there would have been no economic crisis. So the next time some over achieving highly paid Kate Spade bag toting, Italian leather shoe wearing employed corporate drone looks down her nose that I am just a stay at home mom. I can promptly put her in her place and say "yeah honey if I don't show up the whole enterprise shuts down. I don't think you could say the same although I am sure they would miss your daily fashion show." Maybe I should try to find my self help book about not being bitter? Then again maybe women shouldn't rule the world. Perhaps we could do flex time and on PMS weaks you got that off (paid of course) but this would be really random for me since I wouldn't be able to request off in advance since I never know when mother nature's little gift is coming since I turned 40. I am sure we could put something in the Ruling the World handbook to accomodate other woman of a certain age. Sounds good to me what do you think?

Fabulous at Forty Not

I swear if I read one more magazine article telling me about being fabulous at forty I am going to throw a screaming tantrum more along the lines of a four year old instead of a forty year old. Can anyone tell me what is so fabulous about being forty. I am now ten months into what has been described as the best time of my life. And I have to say so far I am not impressed. What is fabulous about having a zit in between your crows feet? What is fabulous about the randomness of my cycle? Hell, sometimes twice a month then maybe not again for three months. All the other fabulous at forty woman say they are more confident and self assured. How am I supposed to be confident when I don't even know when the painters are going to show up or if? I am also still searching for all of the infinite wisdom that is supposed to come with age. I guess it must have been lost along with the nail clippers, my freshman son's homework and the coupons I keep meaning to use at the grocery store. So as for fabulous at forty I hope I discover something fabulous about it in the next two months. Otherwise I will have totally missed it. What is the catch phrase for forty one? Is it perhaps forty one now your done? It also helps that my twelve year old reminds my of my age every time I have a mood swing or complaint he says "is this that menopause thing they talk about?" Seriously, the mirror reminds me of my age every time I walk by it I really don't need to be reminded of it by my little angel. I also want to mention about gravity as you age. I happen to think it is a line of bull. After hitting forty my once cute perky bubble butt and perfectly proportioned hips have actually headed north and have somehow wrapped themselves around my middle. I know have a flat bottom and can no longer distinguish where my butt ends and my leg begins. Am I crazy but I truly believe there was once a line there to indicate the transition from butt to leg. It figures the only line I would have liked to keep is gone and has been replaced by several on my face. At the rate my mid section is expanding I perhaps could have a job playing Santa at some mall next year. It would be easy to get hired since another perk of aging is random facial hairs I am now finding. What is up with that? I mean how can you go to bed after applying make up remover, exfoliating, moisturizer, eye cream and go to sleep with a hydrated smooth face and wake up to a couple of two inch hairs hanging from your cheek and skin so dry you would swear you were suffering from dehydration. I also have gained a new understanding as to why woman have always colored their hair. It isn't about vanity to cover grays, really it isn't. It is totally to be able to maintain some control of it. Gray hair I feel is nothing more than pubic hairs on your head. Those wiry little burgers are like little antenna on your head that will not surrender even with the very best of products. I will let you know when I find the fabulous part of being forty but so far it is not looking too promising. At least you won't be disillusioned as I was about it. But I will let you know when I discover anything about this even remotely fabulous.