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Thursday, March 29, 2012

I Have A Finger, And I'm Not Afraid To Use It...

I have an addictive personality. There, I've said it. To my husband, whose conversations I've ignored, to my kids whose drawings I've barely glanced at, and to anyone whose phone call I've not returned - you can blame my friend Scott. And this horrible game called Draw Something (think: Pictionary but via cell phones).

Once upon a time, in a time before I was a doting wife and an attentive mother, I was quite an amazing artist. I was this close to going to school to hone my skills. When reality set in, I decided that I'd rather have art as an enjoyable hobby than a job controlled by "the man". In the past 14 years, my husband has rarely seen me break out my supplies and nourish this talent of mine. When he has, he said he was dumbfounded.

And then...in an attempt to be playful, I invited said friend to a game of Words with friends. I'm not sure if he didn't like me handing him his ass, or if he was just not committed, or if the thought of me singing the Jeopardy tune while he took his sweet-assed time playing a word prompted this, but he resigned and then invited me to a game of Draw Something. Ahhh, the fateful invite.

Here, I figure I can excel once more, and unleash my skills of an artist! Want to know what I've come to find? I can draw anything in 30 seconds or less and do it in a manner that would lead you to believe a four-year-old illustrated it. I can do it in a mere three colors, and that you can, indeed, pull a muscle from laughing.

Most recently, my biggest artistic triumph was my move to my Sister-in-law. Bless her heart, she was the (I'm sure) proud recipient of one terribly out of proportion ball sack and penis...peeing all over. You see, I had to draw the word: Pee.

Quickly, I thought: draw a toilet. Draw someone on the toilet. Make the water in the toilet yella. No, no. Too time consuming. Draw a toilet. Make the pee yella. Use an arrow to point to the pee. Still too long!

And then it hit me. First I draw my stick man with what looks like a third arm, complete with a bicep with my stream. Excellent! Took me all of five seconds. Wait. She might be confused. It does look rather, un-human. Junk it. Start again. Then there was this brilliant moment of loopty-loos and a few awkwardly placed ovals with a giant fat yella line coming out. Oh yeah, baby. No one could foul this up.

Although, I'm slightly frightened. See, in my former life - I was a realist. A perfectionist. I was known for trashing canvas and burning paintings not good enough. And strangely, horribly now, I'm reduced to drawing with my finger. On a phone; as if I am Picasso's illegitimate something. Pathetic. And yet - wildly hilarious.

If you haven't had the chance yet...invite me to play. It's worth it. And if you've been the recipient of my hellacious drawings...I'm sorry. Or not.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Kids Say The Darnedest Things...

One only need be in the presence of a child for moments to find out the darnedest of facts, details and meaning in their young lives. The cake in my household has been taken by my youngest; my lovely three-year-old daughter. I thought to share a few of her most recent greatest hits...

Shortly after emerging from bath, in her clean jammies and undies, my delightfully scented child hunkers next to me on the couch and loudly informs the inhabitants of the living room, "I can't sit still because my undies are up my butt crack!" Yikes, that sounds like a problem indeed.

Strangely, this child is fascinated with California. She's already decided that she will be moving there upon growing up. "I'm going to live in California because it's nice there. The polar bears don't live there. If they did, they would destroy your house, but they're not there so my house will be safe." Good to know. I'll guard against the random polar bears that inhabit our back yard in the winter months.

She gets on your lap, gets off your lap, gets on your lap, gets off until, flustered, you inquire if she has ants in her pants. Her reply? "No! If there were, they'd eat my crotch then I couldn't pee any more." Seriously? I better watch out for crotch-eating ants - I imagine this being one of the most tragic species of all...

She hates wearing socks. Socks can be found strewn about our house at any given point. Just last night, she plops down on my dining room floor and tells my friend while picking out her toe-jam, "This crud gets in my toes from the air. Air is bad for this dirty toe-jam." Then proceeds to wipe the sock fuzzy from between her toes on my floor. Ugh, gross kid, we eat in here!

I inquire of my children, "Hey guys - how did this pink marker get on the couch? Do any of you know?" The resounding reply shouted into my ear? "Daddy did it! I saw him! Now, are you going to spank him? Please?" Wow, Daddy...watch out, LBG's got it in for you!

Like most kids, mine LOVE to play "En Garde" with sticks. When I requested they drop their sticks because someone was going to get hurt, I'm told, "We're not going to hurt each other, we're just bashing our sticks together until someone gets whacked." I see now...you're not going to hurt anyone playing like that.

While rough-housing with Grandpa she requests, "Can you pinch my hiney?" He looks at me weirdly then complies with a shrug of his shoulders. I nearly fall over in mirth as she scolds him, "Not like that. That's all wrong. You need to do it like Mommy does." Sue me, there's something irresistible about pinching your kid's butt; I can so see why football players are so keen to it.

And last, but certainly not least has to come the grunting from the bathroom. This child makes sure to close the door while she does her business "because she needs her privacy" which is great. What's not so great? Hearing a shout, "Daddy, get in here! I need you to hold my butt cheeks apart so that my poopin' can come out!" I've never thanked God so much as I did in that moment that she chose him as her favorite parent...

Friday, March 9, 2012

You Mind If I Eat That?!?

I'm chubby. Three kids and about 1 zillion Ho-hos after my wedding, I've packed on about 40 pounds. It doesn't help that I'm a baker by heart & soul. I love to bake...and cook. Plainly, I enjoy food. I don't eat because my daddy didn't love me enough or because I was last picked for dodge ball in gym classes growing up. We have healthy and nutritious home cooked meals in my house most every single night (with splurge items on the weekends - homemade macaroni and cheese with sauteed mushrooms & rosemary or chicken with caramelized apples in a amaretto sauce). I eat a little too much because, well...it tastes so damned good.

On my road to shed those 40 pounds (it was 50 not so long ago, thank you), I've discovered something. I know why some people are referred to as "Skinny Bitches". These poor creatures are starving. Mind you, I'm on an aggressive diet (that I keep sneaking snacks on...which surely is not helping the fact that I've maintained my weight three weeks running and only this morning bitched out my scale for a slight Oreo transgression last night) that mainly limits me to 1390 calories a day - that is until I shed another pound and it drops; but I've rediscovered some things about myself.

I'm one mean SOB when I'm hungry. Lately, that's most every five minutes. Stay the hell out of my way. Especially if I am en route to the microwave with yet another bowl of tasty and delicious low calorie soup I made & froze. It's soup people - really, I'm thinking about sinking my teeth into some wonderful burger laden with cheese and something sauteed. This is a terribly sad substitute. I think I told some poor coworker to jump off the building when he greeted me in passing. I think I might have strangled the innocent person who offered me a bag of low calorie microwave popcorn as an alternative. If I did, and you find the body - please call me so I can conceal it better the second time around.

Skinny bitches. I've wanted to go back to being one for so long that I forgot how I used to stare at food. I forgot that my normally sarcastic self became down right evil. I remember looking at people with disdain while passing through the food court in the mall thinking, "I'd maul that guy just to get one of those fries..." Which is funny, considering I rarely eat fast food. I've even contemplated tackling random babies to obtain their scrumptious, if not drool covered teething biscuit.

So, the next time you see a skinny woman cussing someone out, or note the rail thin driver who cut you off then gave YOU the finger...just realize this poor darling hasn't eaten properly in possibly years. The tiny high school girl who budged in front of you in line at the grocery store - she was just trying to score a bagel that would provide her life sustaining nutrients for the next eight hours. Cut her some slack. And carry a bag of carrots. This might potentially save your life.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

I've Looked into the Eye of Sauron...

As I sat tonight thinking about what to write, I listened to the sounds of my children coming from their rooms. Normally, this is a happy sound filled with laughter and toys beeping, clanking, smashing and crashing. Tonight, that was not the case. The sounds I heard were just plainly disturbing. My seven-year-old was reading some freaking potty training book we inherited to my three-yea-old, who incidentally IS already potty trained.

Tonight, I learned that Prudence makes wee-wee and poo-poo in her potty. [Mind you, I already know the book and I’m aware that her “potty” looks more like a pottery orange juice carafe than an actual potty] I heard them discussing Prudence’s poop hole. They were generally amazed that Prudence “sat on a pitcher in her room” to take a dump. They contemplated Prudence’s bigger issues – like what would happen if her mommy didn’t empty the crap into the potty…and if Prudence would have to do it herself: GROSS!



My girls discussed the fact that Prudence walked around with no undies on. They thoroughly dissected the fact that she would need some pairs when she went to kindergarten. They wondered if she wore her pants without her undies too. Frankly, I hope I never live to find out that particular answer. Or that I don’t have to be home when my husband has to have the “you cannot go to school commando style” conversation with my son.

Enter my son into the actual mix. Now, conversation turned to Prudence’s poo-poo and the fact that it wasn’t as big as a dinosaur’s. Then the oldest screamed about how much that would stink. The youngest chimed in that Prudence couldn’t smell as bad as chicken butt. I knew at this point, I should have stopped the conversation, but plainly – I was transfixed.

Transfixed that is, until the children in question emerged from the room, and entered mine. Suddenly, Prudence and her poop-hole were shoved in my face. I was treated to many disturbing pages of Prudence’s naked hind end. I sincerely hope that the author and illustrators are proud of themselves. I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my natural adult life. If I never see another poop-hole again, it will be too soon!