Climbing Mt. Laundry

I'm a little bit behind in my laundry. OK not a little bit, more like a lot. Today the goal for the day was to tackle the giant pile.

I started out with "the forgotten load". You know the one. The one that was forgotten in the washing machine last time and now smells like an old cellar. Based on experience with "the forgotten load" I have found that it works best to get rid of this smell by first drying the load before rewashing and drying again. (There's my Suzy Homemaker tip for the day).

After reviving "the forgotten load" I drug the laundry hampers from each bedroom. I'm pretty sure that having a hamper in each bedroom is my down fall in trying to stay on top of the laundry. If I only had 1 hamper I would have to run a load a whole lot more often - like every hour.

My washing machine is against me in this chore. The stupid thing has a digital timer that tells me how many "estimated" minutes left in the cycle. I'm no expert but I don't think it should say the "estimated" time left is 1 minute for 20 freaking minutes!

Of course this task could not be completed without the help of 3 pairs of tiny hands. Little Bear trying to be helpful, Fuzzy trying to be destructive and Wee One trying to be playful. Thanks guys, but I've got this one on my own.

I don't even know where half of the clothes come from. While sorting my loads I found clothes that I haven't seen in a very long time. In fact I'm not even sure they belong to anyone that lives here.

Since there was such a large amount of laundry I decided the best method to attack this chore would be to dedicate 1 empty basket to each of our 5 family members and one for towels and linens and sort each load into them before folding. This method also helped to prove that I need to buy some clothes since my basket was the least full. Somehow the person with the smallest clothes had the fullest basket. I ended up with a 7th basket full of clothes that are too small for one boy but too big for the next.

After all day of continuous load changes I only completed about 7 loads and have not yet made my way back down the other side of Mt. Laundry. I guess we know what the goal for tomorrow is now.

Manic Monday

I hate Mondays. Regardless of whether I have to work or stay home with the kids, I hate Mondays. For some reason this specific day of the week gives me the roughest time. It's not even like Monday signals the start of the week for me. My days just kind of flow with no set work schedule and now no school schedule, Monday don't mean jack.

Apparently Mondays signal something for my kids though. It means that they are to get up earlier, grumpier and poopier than usual. They are then to act like animals that have been caged all week and then released into my kitchen. They run from one end of the house to the other yelling and hollering and acting like psychiatric patients.

I usually have a headache but 10 am on Mondays that doesn't leave until Tuesday. I try to get out of the house every Monday. Mainly so that my house may remain standing and not crumble to the chaos going on inside it. This is fine except that it requires herding the 3 wild animals that have been unleashed into my home. It's hard to dress them when I can't even catch them.

Mondays are the days that it is most likely to find oatmeal on the ceiling fan and toast stuck to the bottom of the table. The day that someone is most likely to remove their own diaper and the toothpaste will "slip" off the toothbrush. Mondays are the day of lost hats and missing shoes. I don't know where they went, perhaps Sunday swallowed them.

Mondays require twice as much preparation than any other day of the week. I know that I will be chasing the boys for twice as long to eat, get dressed, brush their teeth and get ready to go so I therefore plan to get up much earlier. (I say PLAN because sometime the plan is foiled by the snooze button). I set out clothes the night before and try to have bags and backpacks packed ahead of time to cut down on time but we are almost always late anyways.

I hate Mondays and today was no different than the rest. I'm so glad that it will be yesterday in less than a half an hour. Goodbye Monday I'll wrestle with you next week.

Crap!

I just spent the last hour writing and editing my entry for today and accidently hit the wrong damn button and erased the whole damn thing. Crap. So I guess no entry for tonight. It was a good one too.

Send This To 5 Friends

Everyday I get a dozen or so emails. A bunch of them are just junk. Advertisements and "you have a chance to win a free vacation" notices. A few are jokes and quick messages from friends...and then there is the inevitable chain letter.

You know what I'm talking about. The emails that go on and on about something or other and then at the bottom they say something like "send this to 5 friends in the next 5 minutes or you will have 5 years of bad luck". Some say something fantastic will happen if you pass them on and some say something bad will happen.

According to the one I got a couple of weeks ago I should be dead by now and I should have the worst luck ever, and a leprechaun isn't going to visit me and grant my wishes and I will be ugly, and poor, and I won't know my true friends. I'm pretty sure I'm still OK. I don't think by not passing on an email chain letter I am playing Russian roulette with my life/luck.

Who starts these letters? Who actually sits down and writes this crap and then sends it to their friends expecting them to pass it on. I usually only pass these on to the people that flood my inbox with them. Ha ha sucker, you pass it on or deal with the bad luck.

*IF YOU DON'T EMAIL THIS BLOG ENTRY TO 5 FRIENDS IN 5 MINUTES YOU WILL BE CURSED WITH 5 YEARS OF BAD LUCK*

Mystery Tourist - Love This Freaking Guy!

http://www.youtube.com/user/NYCMysteryTourist

I can watch this over and over again though the hip thrusts do make me a little nervous.

Mission Accomplished

I did it. I got a bathing suit. I went to the tortured chamber that is the dressing room at Walmart and tried on suits. Walmart because I absolutely refuse to spend more than $30 on a bathing suit that I am not going to wear more than a couple of times and not likely out in public. I managed to stay under my $30 budget with a $28 purchase of a pink and black tankini. Pink top and black bottoms.

The search for a decent looking suit wasn't nearly as painful as I had thought it would be. This could be due to the fact that I had very few choices to pick from. Basically they had the same 3 bathing suits in 5 different colours. It is from experience that when it comes to tankinis (or really any suit really) black is best. Anytime you stray from black (or navy) you are just choosing which part of your body you want to inflate. In my case I choose to inflate the top part of my body because it seems that my several daily iced cappuccinos with extra cream have already inflated my bottom half.

I'm still not 100% sure about the pink top but seeing as they didn't have the style I liked in black in my size I had to go with an inflating colour.

The first suit I put on was soooo not flattering but rather fattering. I know I'm carrying a little more weight than I normally do but geez I don't really think we need to separate my flab into nice, shiny, Lycra secured rolls. So that was a pass.

Next was a one piece. I don't know why I even bother with these they almost always look like I'm wearing a box. For some reason as soon as I put a one piece on my hips totally disappear and I am left looking like Spongebob Squarepants on super white stilts.

2 suits were definite no's and didn't even get to grace the dressing room with me. I was pretty relieved when I put on the last suit and there were no major issues. In fact it actually makes my boobs look pretty frigging good. However I really need to do something about my glow in the dark legs. They really are distracting.

1 hour on the hunt and I can officially say mission accomplished. I now have a slightly less than disastrous garment to wear to take my kids swimming.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

500 hits on this blog since June 8th, 2009.

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

I absolutely despise liars. Hate them. I have been lied too more times than I can count and that drives me nuts. Why do people lie? Do they think it’s going to keep them out of trouble? Chances are very good that if I find out you lied to me you are soooo not going to be staying out of trouble. In fact the rathe you will endure for lying to me is probably twice that of the actual crime you are trying to get out of.

I married a liar. Scratch that, I married the king of all liars. He was the king, until I caught him and knocked him clean off his throne (and kicked him in his family jewels a few times too). That was the worse part of my marriage ending. Knowing that I had been lied to for years and years about all kinds of things. Turns out I didn’t really know this creep I married at all.

People lie about the stupidest crap too. I have a certain relative that just lies for the sake of lying. He isn’t lying to get out of a sticky situation. He is just lying because he has lied so much in the past that he doesn’t know how to tell the truth. Or maybe he lies because his life is so boring and uneventful that he needs to spruce it up a bit. Buddy, I think you are even less cool when you lie to me especially since it is so very clear you are feeding me B.S.

Telling the truth is such a much better way to go. I sometimes get my self into trouble for being as honest as I am. Sorry (well not really), if I am brutally honest rather than gently deceptive. I think brutal truths hurt less than lies because they aren’t fabricated. I don’t sit and deliberately try to deceive a person knowing that there is a good chance that A. They are going to find out the truth anyway or B.They will find out that I lied to them and be hurt more.

Not everyone I come to meet appreciates my honesty, including my family. Some of them are such good(bad) liars and story tellers that they think that is the way to go. They aren’t sparing anyone’s feelings by what they do. They are just worried about having a better story to tell. So what if that means changing the story completely or adding bits that didn’t really happen? This frustrates me to no end.

I don’t hand other people the truth and not expect some brutal truths to come my way. I am not perfect so lets not lie about it. I’m a big girl, I can handle it. There is that saying, “The truth hurts”. It might but a lie hurts so much more.

Boobies

Boobies, breasts, titties, hooters, big guns, the girls, melons, coconuts. It doesn’t matter what you call them boobies are boobies.

Some are big, some are small but boobies are boobies. I was going to say women have boobies but some men do too so I won’t discriminate.

Boobies serve all kinds of purposes. They are for feeding babies and holding up tube tops. The are for hood ornaments and for play toys. They are for balance and life preservers. They are food catchers and temperature gauges.

They come in all shapes and sizes. From perfectly perky and round to low and saggy. From giant H cups to barely there A cups. Boobies are boobies.

I used to have myself a nice pair of barely there perfectly perkies. That was before I had any kids. Now I have a pair of ugly slightly saggies.

Thank god for bras even if the size is a lie. I am referring to my most recent bra purchase of a size D cup. If you have ever seen my slightly saggies you know full well they are not a D cup but that’s what the tag says on my new bra so they are a D dammit. Everyone that has a pair of slightly saggies or worse super saggies should always wear a bra in public. Stop scaring children!

When I’m all done having kids (that’s right I’m NOT done yet) I’m going to save my pennies for a nice boob lift (and maybe a bit of fill). That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to enter into middle age with a nice store bought pair of decent sized perfectly perkies.

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Polka Dot Bikini

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny what? Oh hell. Bathing suits are torture. Well at least they are when you live in the reality of having had 3 children of a good size. If I were one of those Victoria Secret freaks I would probably view bathing suits in a different light.

Once upon a time in a far away land there was a teenage girl who was cursed with the figure of a teenage boy. No boobs, no hips, no nothing. There was nothing attractive about the poor young girl in a bathing suit. The End

In case you didn’t know the poor unfortunate soul from the story is me at about age 16. While other girls were covering their newly blossomed bosoms in cute little bikini tops I was wearing a t-shirt (yes a damn t-shirt) over my one piece bathing suit to cover my scrawny, flat chested body

Then around age 20 while on a weekend to a friends cottage near the beach another friend, Ms Smoke (she’s going to love that as her alias but whatever, I once rubbed sun screen on her butt cheeks so I can call her what I want. I earned that right) suggested that I try a bikini. “Your skinny and you’ve finally got SOME boobs, try it on”. So I did. Hmm...not terrible. Not swimsuit model either but not horrid. So I bought it and I wore it and I felt pretty damn cute in it too. Then I found out the reason that I actually had “some boobs”...I was pregnant with my oldest son.

Well shoot if that isn’t a twist of fate on the bathing suit front. I had finally gotten up the confidence to wear a bikini and now I was going to get fat, and stretch marky and hippy and my butt was probably going to double it’s original size. If that was my fate I was going to wear the heck out of that bikini that summer because it was probably the last bikini that was ever going to grace my body....and it was....

My Little Bear was born in March so that meant I had a bit of time to shrink a little before bathing suit season came back around. For the most part my body was pretty well back to normal with the exception of my new silver strips on my abdomen. I bought what is called a Tankini. A 2 piece suit that covers you pretty much like a 1 piece but it’s not. That’s still kinda cute. For the next couple of years that was my style choice.

My next bathing suit was a tye dyed maternity “tankini”as I was pregnant with my second son, Fuzzy Bear. Adorable for a giant pregnant person as I hear it all the mammoth whales are wearing them. Served it’s purpose and got me through the summer.

After Fuzzy was born in November I had a ton of time to slim back down. With the help of my ex husband who was kind enough to provide me with enough stress I was able to shed the weight- and him in no time though sometimes thin isn’t always enough to be attractive in swimwear. I had stretch marks on top of stretch marks. Hidden under jeans all winter long was fine but exposed to the world was another issue. I think I wore a bathing suit a total of 3 times that summer.
The next summer started out as another preggo summer and the return of the tye dyed tankini. The Wee One was born in early June so there was no preparing for bathing suit weather so the maternity tankini stayed for the entire summer.

Now we are approaching another summer and though it has been over a year since my last baby I am not looking forward to shopping for a swimsuit. I haven’t dropped the extra pounds that I am STILL carrying with me from Wee Ones pregnancy. Maybe I’ll just pull the old t-shirt back out and hid out under there.

I promise to fill you in on the bathing suit hunting experience.

Minivan Mama

I vowed I would never drive a minivan. When I only had the 2 oldest boys my little silver Cavalier suited just fine. Unless of course you wanted to bring anything with you or bring anything home that is. However when Wee One (baby #3) came along there was just no way I was going to fit 3 kids in car seats and boosters into the back of that little car.

Papa Bear had a quad cab pick up at the time and this was going to be our solution but after a few trips with all 3 boys in the back seat it was clear that this was not going to be long term. Little Bear (6 year old) and Fuzzy Bear (2.5 year old) took turns poking, pinching, and pulling at Wee One the entire trip. Fuzzy took his toys, blankets and hats away and left Wee One screaming as if he had taken his left arm or right leg. This would result in Little Bear yelling/hitting at Fuzzy and then Fuzzy would scream too. So now I had 2 screaming kids and one complaining about the crying for the duration of my trip. No thank you.

We needed to go shopping for a new vehicle. We looked at a few cross over and small SUV type vehicles and whatnot but none of them where going to work for us. They either didn't have a big enough trunk to fit a stroller or they were too hard to access the 3rd row seating. I had to face the fact that a van was the only feasible way too go. So I test drove and surprisingly liked the newer style Caravans. Since Papa Bear is a Dodge man this seemed the way to go.

A van. A freaking van. A kid hauler. A loser cruiser. A grocery getter. A coolness repellent. A mini bus. A Mama mobile. A family truckster. Ah, Man.

Ok, if it had to be a van I was going to get the coolest van possible so I decided on a Sunburst Orange coloured Dodge Caravan with all kinds of cool features. A DVD player and a touch screen radio with a hardrive. Power doors, liftgate and windows. Stow and go seating...You name it this van has it. Short of launching into space this van does it all. It took some getting used to. I had to get used to driving (and parking) a much longer vehicle and figure out what all the millions of buttons did.

I've been driving the Kid Hauler for a year now and don't tell anyone because I'll probably deny it if they ask but I freaking LOVE my van. I can carry my 3 kids with all their diaper bags, strollers, extra clothing, snacks, toys, backpacks,etc and still have room for groceries or whatnot. The radio is pretty rocking for a factory radio. The sliding power doors are great. The power liftgate never ceases to come in handy. The DVD player is a lifesaver at times and keep the 2 oldest occupied on trips and the colour doesn't scream "I'm a sensible Mother who goes to soccer games and volunteers on the PTA". All in all it was a great purchase.

I love my loser cruiser <3.

Daddy's Day

Today is Father's Day. I'm not a father but I have one and I live with one so we celebrate. I will be celebrating from work but I will still be celebrating.

I picked out my cards a week or so ago. A cute one for Papa Bear (fiance and father to my youngest). A funny one for X (the ex husband and father to my 2 oldest). A neat one for my father-in-law from the boys and 2 for my dad (one from me and one from the boys). It was quite the challenge to pick the perfect card for each of my men with 3 young boys in tow though my oldest is very "helpful". He likes the $6 cards that play music and stuff. I'm more about the $3 quiet cards.

Next the boys and I picked gifts for the daddies. A small (but very cool) tool accessory kit and some crafts made at daycare for X. New leather sandals (to replace the disgustingly hideous double Velcro strapped sports sandals that I HATE) and a T-shirt baring an appropriate message across the chest for Papa Bear.

The 2 oldest went to spend the night and all day today with X and Papa Bear and the wee one get to hang out, just the 2 of them all day while I deliver customers coffee goodness. After work we are headed to the in laws for BBQ and probably cake. There is almost always cake for special days at the in laws. Other than that for the most part just another day but with extra hugs for Daddy :).

Grrrrrr....Cougars

No, I am not talking about the large cat that lives in the wild. I am talking about a whole other species of animal...older ladies that are trying to live 20+ years younger than they are. They think they are young, hip and reeking of sex appeal.

You know the ones. They are the ones that wear too much make up and use too much hairspray. They wear tight fitting, loud clothing most commonly in some sort of animal print. They paint their nails in bright colours and wear huge gaudy jewelery. They hit on much younger men and spend too much time in tanning beds.

These are the kinds of ladies that own a dozen jars of wrinkle cream that they smear on their laugh lines and crows feet religiously trying to turn back the hands of time. Sorry ladies but you can resurrect a dinosaur either.

There should be some rules for these cougars;

1. you may not shop in the junior section.
2. You may not borrow clothing from your daughter/granddaughter.
3. Leather is what your boots should be made from not your face.
4. Animals are the only ones that should really be wearing animal prints.
5. Bigger is not always better.
6. Bikinis should not be worn by anyone over the age of 40.
7. Just say no to miniskirts after 35.
8. When it comes to accessories, less is more
9. You should not date anyone that who's age is less than yours divided by 2 or more.
10.Make up does not need more than 1 coat...you are not painting a house.


If these ladies would just simply follow these rules the rest of us might stop staring in disbelief that you actually left your houses like that.

Nothing.

I'm sure at one time or another you have had someone ask you what you were doing, what you were up to or what did you do today and I'm sure you at least once replied, Nothing.

Nothing. That's what I did today. Did I really do nothing? Well no, not really. It is impossible to do nothing. My nothing consisted of getting up at the bloody crack of dawn to load my oldest son onto the bus and off to school. I also nursed a baby, slept a little, watched a tiny bit of TV, made breakfast for both wee ones and used the bathroom. I Facebooked, Twittered (or is it tweeted?), checked my blog hit count and my email. I changed a lot of diapers, had a shower (with the company of my 2.5 year old), got myself and the boys dressed, brushed our teeth and applied deodorant and make up. I loaded the dishwasher, tidied the kitchen, made lunch and made a donut shack run. I picked my oldest son up off the bus, cooked dinner (hot dogs but I still cooked them) and took the 2 oldest boys to their Father's Day event at the daycare with their grandpa. I washed hands and faces and helped with PJ's, answered the question about how babies get out of the mommy and put all 3 to bed (a little late). I visited the homes of 2 friends and took the new truck for a drive.

If you ask me that isn't really a lot but it isn't nothing. I didn't even include the fact that I did all this nothing while my heart beat, my blood pumped, I took breathes, regenerated cells and digested food. Sounds like a pretty productive nothing when you list it like that. In fact the next time someone asks me what I did today I think I WILL list it like that. It sounds much more exciting than nothing

I think a more appropriate answer to the questions, what are you doing, what are you you up to or what did you do today is not a lot rather than nothing when infact you are always doing something.

The Destruction Path of a 2.5 Year Old

I live in the destruction path of a 2.5 year old. He is small but he is mighty. He can generate a mess like no other. From the minute he wakes up for the day to nap time and then again from his nap until bedtime he goes non stop. Like a humming bird he flies from mess to mess reeking havoc on my house.

My oldest son never really went through a "terrible twos" stage (though he is making up for it now) so I didn't really expect the insanity associated with raising a 2 year old. I'm scared. Scared that the "terrible twos" are going to last longer than the time he is actually 2. He shows no sign of slowing down.

If anything he is getting worse. Now he has the verbal skills to go along with his physical destruction. "Please help mommy clean up the freshly folded clothes you just pitched out of the laundry basket"
"NO" and takes off running. He's like Tasmanian devil disguised as a cute little puppy dog.

He makes it impossible to discipline him. He flashes "the" grin or says something cute or hugs me and says "I torry mom" and I'm done. He knows he can beat me at this game. He knows that no matter how big a mess he makes or how much he terrorizes his little brother if he uses one of those weapons he will win.

Chasing a 2.5 year old is a full time job. I am always amazed to see what kinds of destruction he comes up with. I can't help but be impressed with how productive he is in a day. He can clear a toy shelf, empty a dresser, throw his breakfast/lunch from his booster seat, clean off the movie rack, toss his brother's toys out the front door, help himself to the contents of the fridge and dump 2 laundry hampers and all before nap time.

Then when bedtime comes he doesn't want to lay down and go to sleep. I'm exhausted from chasing him all day so he should be tired too. I wish. Bedtime is party time. This is evident when he gets up in the morning from a bed with every stuffed animal he owns along with all his tractors/trains/dinky cars in there with him.

He's nuts. He just goes, goes, goes. Living in the destruction path of a 2.5 year old adds spice to my life and will laugh about all this some day...provided he grows out of it that is.

The Bloginator

Dear Readers,

I've been blogging now for a little more than a month and a half though not a lot until the last couple of weeks. I didn't think it would be for me. As I wrote in my first post, I didn't really know what to blog about and I didn't think I would be very consistent in posting but here I am blogging away and loving it.

I was talking online to a friend and coworker and asked him what he was up to and he responded "Blogging".
"You're whating?"
"You know blogging" and he sent me the link to his blog.
This got me thinking...I don't really know what a blog is or what I'm supposed to do with it but hey what the heck. Nobody is going to read it anyways right?

I wrote the first few post just trying out my wings as a "blogger" with the thought that the only one that would ever read them would be my friend and I. I just blogged about well..blogging and Mother's Day and my birthday and The Crazy Mamas. Then on a shopping trip with the Mamas I mentioned that I had a blog. The Mamas requested the link basically so they could see what I had wrote about them. So after a few changes to the Crazy Mama post;) I surrendered the link.

The response to what I had written was overwhelmingly positive so I thought hmmm they like it, no s*#@. So I posted another and then another. The Mamas were eating them up so I decided to share with a few more friends. I thought maybe they were just being nice saying that the posts made them laugh. Or maybe they only think its funny because they know me and know that what I was writing was real. That my 2.5 year old does indeed wake up every morning with a diaper full of poop and the Mamas' descriptions are pretty dead on.

When people started completing my surveys from the survey post I realized it was more than just the Mamas reading. I wanted to know how many people were reading so I added a Live Traffic Feed to my blog. People from all over were stopping by but I couldn't tell how many.

After I posted "Long Day at The Donut Shack" I started to get a few comments and the Mamas were still praising and I really wanted to know how many people were checking my blog. I added a StatCounter to the bottom of my blog. In one week I had 200 hits. Holy crap! People really want to read what I am posting. That added a little pressure to be interesting.

Finally I posted the link to my blog on my Facebook page and invited even more people to tune into my ramblings and still more positive feedback. I'm pretty excited. I love reading the comments (even the dog park lady) and hope I can deliver more entertaining posts to keep you entertained.

I can't wait to watch my StatCounter show more hits and read more comments. If you have a topic you would like to read my thoughts on please drop it in the comment section and we'll see what I come up with. Thank you for reading and laughing and coming back for more.

Sincerely,
The Bloginator

What do YOU want for dinner?

Almost every night is the same. "Hunny, what do you want for dinner?"
"I dunno, what do YOU want for dinner?" And then the game begins. Pork chops?-don't like them. BBQ ed/baked/stuffed/stir fried Chicken?-no chicken. Pizza?-not again. Lasagna?-too heavy. Salad?-too light. Steak?-to expensive. Tacos?-rather not. Spaghetti?-not the way either of us makes it. Fish?-ewww.....What do you want from McDonald's?

This goes on at our house just about every night. I've tried lots of things to get us out of this pattern. Organized shopping lists, New recipes, Meal plans, you name it. Meal plans would work if one of us could remember to take chicken/pork chops/steak/hamburger out of the freezer the night before or in the morning so it would be thawed and ready to go for dinner but that very rarely happens.

If certain people would expand there pallet to include a little more interesting dishes this would be helpful too. Who wants to eat the same crap all the time? Variety is the key to getting most kids to eat something. My guys anyways. Of course what they like this week is totally different than what they are going to like next week.

Another thing that works against us is time. Both me and the Mr. work and don't get home until 4:30-5:00 when dinner needs to be started. Both of us are exhausted and the kids are running around like maniacs or need a diaper change/drink/help/etc. Neither of us are really excited to cook either. I cook only out of necessity. I can cook I just don't like to. I think those people that say they love to cook (along with people that say they like to garden) are either liars or nutcases.

I want to feed my family nutritious, well balanced meals but it Harvey's doesn't have that on their menu. I always said that I would eat out less when I had kids (with plans to make those proper meals) but it seems we eat out more than before the kids. So now I feel the guilt of filling my children up on processed, high fat, high sodium, high sugar, high calorie foods.

There is lots more I could write about this topic but it is getting hard for me to type and take bites of my Big Mac so I'll call it quits for now.

Tis The Season for Construction

GRRRRRR...Tis the season for construction. I don't think I have seen so many orange pylons in my life as I did today. A 45 minute drive ended up taking well over an hour. This is on a day when I have a time limit and have to back by a certain time.

The ride was started off by me getting behind Grandpa Jones who must have forgot today was Monday and was out for his Sunday drive. Why bother posting a speed limit of 90km if Grandpa is going to drive 70km? Of course he was impossible to pass too.

Next came the bump in the road signs. BUMP in the road? More like a freaking portal into a new dimension. What the heck was that? Pretty sure I bottomed out the ole kid hauler over the first one.

After the "bumps" I came to the man with the stop/slow sign. Today's man with the sign was a little more interesting than most. In the 15 minutes I sat behind his stupid stop sign, he ate his lunch, drank an entire water bottle, applied sunscreen and scratched parts that he shouldn't have scratched in front of a line of 20 drivers. Thanks for that buddy.

The 20 other cars and I were finally led through the maze of construction vehicles by a golf cart with a giant sign attached to the top of it with a flashing yellow strobe light driven by a young man who looked like he was on spring break. I think every single construction worker along the way stared at the drivers as we approached them like they have never seen a minivan or a Volvo or a Taurus.

We were back on our way. Just then Grandpa Jones(who is still in front of me at this point) decides he is going to turn. No, no he's not. Wait, yes he is. No, not going to turn. Make up your damn mind Jones! Thankfully it was shortly after this that I finally got an opportunity to pass. Praise Jesus.


Now I thought I was in the clear just to run into another construction site just a short way up the road. What the heck? I'm pretty sure I'm going to dream about those damn orange cones tonight.

Pale is the New Tan

Red or White. These are the only 2 colours my skin ever turns. Usually just white but sometimes in the summer I am "lucky" enough to get some colour and it's red instead of a nice golden brown.

I have never had a tan. Ever. Not even when my former mother in law bought me a gift certificate to the tanning salon. So in order to save my self the pain of red I try to prevent getting burnt. I'm not always successful. Like today, I not only wore my SPF 50 but also sat in the shade to watch a baseball game and still managed to burn.

I'm not asking for a hardcore dark brown, half Jamaican looking mega tan. Just a little sun kissed so my pasty white legs don't glow in the dark. I'm not sure which is worse, those over tanned leather looking people or my super bright caper the ghost like legs.

In the winter months my pastiness is not really an issue to me. However when summer comes around I would love nothing more than to wear a cute little sundress or Bermuda shorts but I refrain to preserve the eyesight of the people I may reflect a glare at from my super white skin.

I guess I could just stop shaving my legs and the hair would help cut down on the glare but I'm thinking that won't be very pretty with a sundress either. There is also the option of self tanner. Great idea but have you ever seen one of those people that have applied that stuff to their skin? They almost always have a definite orange ting to their body and streaks where they didn't get the lotion rubbed in well enough. Or nice tanned.....palms? Yeah, that looks natural.

I have accepted my paleness as just a fact of life and have adapted by avoiding cute little sundresses and Bermuda shorts and embraced summer attire that includes mostly capris. I also try to avoid wearing a bathing suit anywhere besides my in laws backyard pool. I might as well learn to live with it and try to pretend that pale is the new tan rather than cry about it. At least I will never have to worry about looking like an old leather purse or a dried out raisin when I hit middle age.

Sleeping With A Bear

I sleep with a bear. Every night I snuggle down into the covers with a big, fur covered, toasty warm growling bear.

Ok not really a bear but if I were to reach over give it a poke with my eyes closed I would swear it was a bear and the growling, well that would be him snoring directly into my left ear.

Sleeping with a bear is much different than sleeping by yourself. You have to abide by the center line rule. You know the rule that says no body part or pillow my cross invisible center line of the bed or it is open to be poked, pushed, squished or thrown back onto your side of the line.

There is also the fight for the covers. The species of bear that I sleep with has exceptional thick fur and therefore does not often require covers but that doesn't stop him from sleeping ON TOP of them so that I may not have the amount I require. Sometimes, when the bear gets cold enough to need covers in the middle of the night he doesn't necessarily pay any attention to which end of the covers he grabs to hurl over himself. This results in the blankets that were over my legs and feet to now be somewhere up under my armpits.

My bear is a very talented bear indeed. He has the ability to snore not only while sleeping on his stomach but with his mouth closed and drooling at the same time. Why don't I just wake him up and tell him to roll over and stop snoring in my ear? Well my bear is almost deaf in one ear. He always sleeps with his hearing ear mushed into the pillow and won't hear me anyway.

Sleeping with a bear does have its benefits as well (besides the obvious ;)). If I wake up in the middle of the night freezing I just need to slip over the center line and snuggle up my big warm bear to get toasty in again. That's something I wouldn't live without. Thanks Hun :)

A Visit To Dog Doo Park

Today was a lovely day. Not too hot. Not too cool. Just about perfect. The perfect day for a playdate at the park with the Crazy Mamas and their kiddos.

With a plan to meet at one of the biggest parks in town for a morning playdate I packed the sippy cups and a snack. I lathered the boys in SPF 50, plunked hats on their heads and off we went.

When I pulled into the park entrance I was hit in the face with an intoxicating and pungent odour. A scent I recognized well. The distictive scent of....Dog doo. Thinking that is was just a pile in the near vicinity of my minivan I unloaded the kids and proceeded with caution. However the smell got worse the farther into the park we ventured.

There were various piles of doo along the trail in to the climber. I'm pretty sure I dry heaved a few times. So I focused hard on keeping my 2.5 year old out of the landmines and hoped that the playground would be doody free (hahaha I'm hilarious).

The playground was NOT free of dog doo. There was a pile right up there in the sand that surrounds the swings. Gross!

Not only do these doo drops (man, I am punny) pose the possibility that one of us Mamas may end up scraping doo off the bottom of tiny shoes to save our minivan interior but they are also a health issue. Kids do weird stuff. They eat dirt. They lick their hands for no reason. They drop their sippy cups and snacks and pick them right back up and put them in their mouths. There is a very good chance that some doo particles may end up on the tongue of at least one child.

What is wrong with people? To allow your dog to just drop it anywhere is disgusting. I know dogs need to go just like you or me but should their owners not be helping to direct them to an area outside of the play equipment and then scooping it up as the bi-law requires?

Where are the town workers we pay to take care of the parks? There is no way that many piles of doo just merely got overlooked. It is impossible not to smell let alone see that there is an overwhelming abundance of doo in this particular park.

I am seriously considering writing a letter to the local newspaper and hoping for a reaction from either the dog owners to change there etiquette or from town workers to get busy scooping. I do not believe that I should be packing a shovel in my picnic basket to be able to enjoy the park. That's just CRAP.

Rubba Dub Dub I Can't Relax In The Tub

If you asked just about any working woman with 3 kids, what they do with an hour of free time I think the majority would say they would like to take a nice relaxing bubble bath...Not this chick. I hate baths.

It's not that I don't like to bathe or anything like that it's just the thought of sitting in a pool of my own filth repulses me. I don't see what is so relaxing about getting buck naked to freeze off any body part that may not be totally submerged in water. Or if you have a super hot bath that is capable of heating the entire bathroom, you sit there and sweat. "Boy, do I ever feel clean now that I have sat here and perspired". I just don't get the appeal.

Now, provided I had a larger tub than I do I would not be opposed to having a "bath" ;) with someone else (an adult of the opposite sex that is). That may bring baths up a few notches in my books. However, I would still feel the need for a shower after the bath.

Another thing, what is so great about a bath with bubbles? Sure they were great fun to play in and make bubble beards out of as a child but as a grown woman I am at a loss to see what the fuss is about. To me bubbles do little than make for a slimy film to cover your entire "freshly bathed" body that you don't rinse off.

What are you supposed to do in the tub? The thought of shaving in the tub makes me puke in my mouth a little. Just chilling out as your leg hair floats around you - yeah that feels clean. Sleeping poses some risk of drowning. Reading puts your collection of romance novels in jeopardy of ending up damp. I can't get caught up on housework from the tub (ha! Right). If I don't want to experience an electrical shock that could send me into my next life it's probably not a good idea to try to save time by styling my hair in the tub. I can't bake from the tub and anyway eating in the tub just adds the possibility that crumbs may end up stuck to places I don't really want crumbs to be stuck. I can only sit and stare at my shower walls (that need scrubbing) for so long.

I am much more a shower person. I could stand in a shower for an hour easily and when I'm done I can feel a sense of accomplishment. I can successfully multitask by prepping one area for shaving while letting shower head rinse off another. I can wipe down my shower walls while I rinse my hair. I can come out of the shower feeling squeaky clean without any kind of filmy residue coating my body but most importantly I can be glad that no water that touched my ass came anywhere near my face.

So give me an hour of time to do what I please and I will tell you to clear the way I"m going to have myself a steaming hot productive shower. You can keep your damn bubbles.

Dealing with Addiction

No, this is not a post about dealing with a loved one who suffers from an addiction to alcohol or drugs or sex. It is far more serious than that. This post is about dealing with your or your loved ones' addiction to online games.

These stupid games invade your computer and your life. They are on Facebook and in web ads. People send you invitations and emails inviting you to join in their obsession. The take over your thoughts and steal your time. Like a virus the need spreads.

My name is SlightlyInsaneStacey...and I am addicted to online games. There I said it. I'm not alone, this I know. I know others who are also addicted. Some are deeper in than I am and some not as much.

The Germaphob from the Crazy Mamas is WAY addicted. At coffee night the other night she confessed that when she looks at peoples' faces she just wants to move our noses up between our eyes to make a row (if you have played Bejewled you know what I'm talking about). This is bad. When a silly game affects your social interaction with others you are in trouble.

Another lady that I work with has her own choice game that she talks about all day long. She counts down the hours and minutes to when she can feed her addiction again. This can not be healthy.

After my kids were in bed the other night I started playing one of these highly addicting games and lost 3 hours. Just lost them. Gone. Never to be seen again. 3 hours I could have spent doing housework (ha! right) or sleeping or something much more productive but who can stop when you are just 100 point off from having one of the top 10 scores among all of your facebook friends? Not me.

I have to confess that I have stayed up past my bedtime on several occasions submitting to the urge to play some puzzle/word/speed/racing game. I just lose control. I zone in and continue to play "just one more game".

I'm not to the point of wanting to rearrange my friends facial features in order to get a high score or letting these games penetrate into my everyday thoughts like a drug but I do spend far too much time partaking in them.

I don't know how to deal with my obsession except to turn the computer off, step away slowly and find something to do to stay busy...like housework (ha! right).

Granny Grouch-a-lot

When I grow old I am going to be a Granny Grouch-a-lot. You know them. Those cranky old ladies that torture the rest of us in the grocery store and such places.

I am going to walk around with forgotten curlers and hair combs randomly sticking out of my hair. I'm going to count out $2.48 in all pennies in the long line at the grocery store.

I'm going to go to the local Donut Shack and order a "brown" donut and then after the person behind the counter names off every brownish coloured donut on the shelf I'm going to point to a muffin and say that is the one I was talking about. I'm going to buy the cheapest item off a restraunt menu and then complain about the price.

I'm going to give crappy Christmas gifts just to watch my grandkids fumble with an appropriate comment and thank me as if I had given them the latest and greatest video game. I'm going to pinch cheeks and wear a gallon of the strongest floral purfume you can buy for under $5 a bottle.

I'm going to talk about the weather as if anyone cares and how much cheaper things were "back in the day". I'm going to tell my grandkids that children never did this or that when I was young and always listened to their parents.

I'm going to drive super slow where it is impossible for people to pass me and park using 2 spots. I'm going to drive the longest car I can find and let my little nasty dog sit on a pillow on the passager seat. I'm going to have a crocheted blanket folded across my backseat to protect it from wear.

I'm going to share with random strangers my many aches and pains. I'm going to describe for them my bowel problems and how important bran is to my diet. I'm going to tell them how many different medications I am on and the side effects of each.

I'm going to run into people with shopping carts and hit them with my cane "by accident". I'm going to fart loudly in public and act as if I didn't hear anything.

I'm going to wear the boldest coloured/printed outfits and wear big cheap looking bead necklaces. I'm going to wear a ring on every finger and earring that are too heavy for my ears.

I'm going to do all these things and it will be ok because people will still say "when you get to be that age you have the right to be a little grouchy".

Long Day at the Donut Shack

I once heard in a comedy act that you are in sad shape if you still work someplace that requires you to wear a hairnet and a nametag at the age of 30. Well folks I'm only 2 years off from that. Sad as it may be that's my life.

That's what I get for marrying the man of my dreams- that turned out to be the jerk from my nightmares instead getting a post secondary education. I'm not a moron but this has turned out to be the most moronic decision of my life. I am now a divorcee who's only skill is to pour coffee. Man, the job offers are just a pouring in...NOT.

So for 8 hours I bust my ass physically working harder than any lucky chap sitting in an office and for what? Minimum wage. Minimum stinking wage. Wow. 28 years old and working for minimum wage...that IS sad. I'm tearing up just thinking about it.

I guess I have to back up a bit to explain how this happened because really it was my own doing. I WAS a manager of a Donut Shack but I proved that I make a terrible pregnant manager. I was too busy puking my guts out daily with my second child to really be very focused on much else then not getting and vomit on my uniform. So I was demoted to Assistant Manager of the Donut Shack.

Assistant Manager is a fine job if you don't work for a 300 pound dyke football player with a chip on her shoulder who thinks you are after her job. Geez, she was scary. However after the birth of my third child I decided that I didn't want any added responsibility at work and didn't want to work as many hours so I could make my children a priority as they should be. Therefore I am a minimum wage earning part timish employee. That's it in a nutshell.

Let me tell you though I am more than earning my minimum wage salary. I am running the soles off my shoes. I am straining muscles I forgot I had. I am working up a sweat (I don't do much to EVER work up a sweat) to bring Joe Customer his large double double and chocolate dip donut.

Customers don't think about this when they order the world and expect it quickly and without error. I try to always make the customers experience a positive one but that is not the goal of all employees. Most are only willing to give the effort minimum wage buys you...not a lot. It is also difficult to see the reward of your efforts when your smile and quick delivery of a customer's order is met with a snarl, snap, growl, obsenity or non-reaction. Thank the employee for their effort damit or don't be surprised when they don't put that effort forward. Afterall if it wasn't for those minimum wage employees busting their asses in their hairnets and nametags you wouldn't have a nice hot cup of coffee to sip while sitting in your nice comfy desk chair behind your nice big desk at your important well paying job.

Survey Says

I love to do surveys. Love them. I also like to make surveys and check out the results. I don't know why but the way ppl answer surveys interests me. A while ago I stumbbled across a site that lets you make your own surveys and send the link to others to take your survey then it displays the answers in an easy to read layout.

So I made my first survey to survey The Crazy Mamas and the way we run our "society". That was so much fun for both me and my survey takers that they said make another. So I said ok give me a topic....Sheep. That is the topic I was given...Sheep. So I created a survey about sheep. Next was a survey about donuts and then men. I was survey crazy. So because I like surveys so much and am interested in what kind of answers I might receive here are the links to the surveys. Enjoy :)

Sheep Survey:
Click Here to take survey

Donut Survey:
Click Here to take survey

Men Survey:
Click Here to take survey


*OK For some dumb reason the links are not working so lets try again
Sheep Survey:
http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=1wpxQyNikuG5M1vnJqGvbA_3d_3d

Men Survey:
http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=1AhCoX_2betaLiTooD8_2bCgcQ_3d_3d

If these don't work then I don't know I'm not that bright with the whole computer thing.

The Crazy Mama Society

(As predicted I am a lousey blogger. I want to be a good blogger, really I do. I have lots to blog about. I write it in my head and then get too into "Facebooking" that I forget my excellent ideas.)

I belong to a group of 10 moms that call our selves The Crazy Mamas Society. We get together on a regular basis for weekly coffee nights, monthly dinners and other random craziness.

The group is made up of an array of characters. Meet The Crazy Mamas:

Chesty McBreasty; (Extra) large breasted mother to 3 children she delivered and 1 that she married. She's terrified of spiders but not much else. She will get drunk tonight and teach sunday school tomorrow morning. An undiagnosed shopiholic and addicted clearance sale shopper, like a needle in a haystack she will find the $1 t-shirts in a warehouse sized clothing rack. Who needs cable anyways when you can have $3 shoes and 50 cent hats in bulk?

The Absent Minded Photographer is a newly seperated mama to 1 child (who thinks she is a puppy) and is trying out her wings as a single working mom on a mission. I'm not entirely sure what the mission is and neither does she as she forgot it herself by the time she got out of bed to start at it. She lives her life for her now surrounded by her daughters love for everything dog related and a cloud of smoke.

The Sweet and Innocent (she really is...for the most part) is an over extended super-mom to 3 kiddos with a 4th on the way. She never fails to find the good in a rotten situation and is the biggest advocate for second chances even when no one else agrees that a second chance is warrented. She is the kind of mom that never forgets the sunscreen and always remembers to "use her words".

The Recovered Party Animal is an entertaining lady full of stories from her wilder days from fighting off biting, angry strippers to other things only seen on TV. She is a good sport and takes the ribbing she receives from the rest of us with a classy elegance. She is a mom to 2 small busy babes that keep her on alert. She cuts and colours her own hair and prepares recipes that include more than 3 ingriedents. She may or may not be colour blind which interfers with her ability to match socks.

The Germaphob is a sweet sensative mommy to 1 little baby boy...so far. Being fairly new to the mommy thing we often like to shock her with tales of our own child rearing experiences. She will most likely throw up if you mention that you may have shared a piece of gum with a friend when you were younger or that your 2 year old ate an ant covered stale corn chip off the floor and then pooped out the carcasses. Just don't piss off this hand sanitizer toting mama though or the pent up anger will surface and profanities will fly.

The Servicer is the oldest of the mamas but young at heart. She co-owns a hair salon with the wicked witch of the west, she is divorced and is raising 3 girls. One of the funnest mamas to drink with where she will demonstrate her stellar dance moves and her wilder side. She is loved by dogs everywhere for reasons that only the dog could describe.

The Nut is a quirky little thing and mother to 2 girls with a 3rd on the way. She doesn't own white sheets and has more snow in her back yard then her front yard in the winter. She has a slight obsession with food and her Facebook status almost always has to do with eating, cooking or food of some sort. Don't try to take food off her plate or you are bound to get stabbed with a fork.

The Newbie is (obviously) the newest member of the CMS and also to motherhood. She is married to a pretty bizzare fellow. She's pretty easy going and isn't easily ruffled. She works in a photolab so be carefull what kind of pictures you take to be developed, you just never know who might be checking them out.

The Young Blonde Wannabe. The youngest of the mamas and former blonde is unsure about her new appearance but we all like it WAY better so step away from the bleach lady. She is mom to one little man that she raises Monday to Friday on her own. She is determined to be a good friend and great mom. One of the most gullable of the mamas she is fun to pick on like a little sister and will believe just about anything you tell her if you can keep a straight face.

Finally I am The Ringleader of the Circus Freaks (group appointed). I am raising 3 crazy sons. I've been married, divorced and engaged again and I'm not even 30. I only care to a small degree what other people think of me (or at least that what I let others believe). I love to make people laugh especially The Crazy Mamas. I am glad to have these ladies in my life to help me through the rough patches and to celebrate with me in the good times. I hope that we are able to keep our little group intact for years to come. Everyone should be so blessed as to have not only 1 or 2 good friends but 9. You guys rock!