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Monthly Archives: November 2010

Toy Hell

I do love Christmas – it is my favorite time of year…

Or at least it was until I had children…

I am now pretty terrified of it because…

Of the toys…

Not because the toys are so damn loud or because of all the small pieces leaving puncture wounds in my feet…

No the real terror starts with actually opening the toys.

OH MY GOD!

 

Have you tried to open these toys?

You need a swat team.

Let’s paint the picture, shall we.

 

First of all it looks as if a pepto bismol missle has just released all it’s fuel in a circular pattern in my living room.

All mom’s of girls know…

Every damn thing is pink.

Devil's Spawn

The toy culprit is two fold…

one is the secure-a-tach. I know what this is all too well as I was an assistant manager at Toys R Us

(or as I like to call it birth control)

Go on admit it..

you are jealous!

This is a secur-a-tach — it is also the devils spawn.

Notice it is applied with a gun… this is no accident.

Devil's Spawn Best Friend

 

 

 

 

 

 

The other toy nemesis is the thick plastic casing, with a greasy slickness making it difficult to hold on to and a razor like sharpness sure to cause injury.

So you are struggling with all your inner strength and egg nog on Christmas Eve to open Santa’s haul.  It is your job as Santa’s number one helper to free the entrapped toys.

These flippin plastic ties will not budge.  You can pull and pull, brace your fat bum against the front door and shove…

Honey it’s there to stay…

Meanwhile the little plastic vixen has shredded your hands…

Little pools of mommy blood…

On Christmas…

Forming little bloody Rorschach tests right in front of the children.

“Mommy are you otay?”

Hell no I am not okay…

freakin’ satanic toy industry…

Plotting to immobilize my hands…

And single handedly pluck my last nerve…

And on DAMN Christmas.

La Di Freakin’ Da

 

And my other Christmas rival is the plastic.

Seriously…

What?

It is so shiny, children stand no chance.  It lures them in like a giant chocolate lollipop with sprinkles.

And your sweaty Christmas hands can’t hold on to the degenerate gadget because it is so damn slippery.

So you drop the wretched pink (unrealistic) Barbie and while doing so break her feather headband (sure to send a toddler over the edge).

When you do finally open the plastic…

All the microscopic pieces (shoes, Barbie comb, magic wand) scatter in your pattern rug…

Never to be seen again…

Until your two year old chokes on one.

And you, Mommy, have sliced open your thumb…

On the polished covering…

And you are pretty certain you could use 3-5 stitches…

And sadly… you have opened one toy…

There are 28 more from Santa alone…

Let alone the monstrous toy mountain waiting under the tree.

You have begun to cry…

Wail really…

Your children stop at first to check you…

Then cry and scream louder…

A new holiday game just discovered.

But wait…

There is that thing…

You know…

The thing?

The thing to help you open it.

That’s it…

It’s called “Open It”

Isn’t that just the most clever name?

Open It

 

And here is a picture of it.

Doesn’t this look uber safe for the holidays?

 

It will be great for opening the rest of the toys this holiday morn…

And quite handy should you need to sever a calves limb or cut down a small tree.

 

 

But you try…

And the open it does open it…

But the plastic pieces fly…

Into your eye…

And you cry…

Again…

 

And you make a note to self…

To get safety goggles…

And more eggnog.

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Posted by on November 30, 2010 in Shopping, Toddler

 

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Cashews Please and a Beer For My Friend

Parts of this are a repeat.  I ran in to a friend this weekend and she mentioned this story.

I thought I would repost it.

I have a pretty large pantry in my small house.   I had it redone about 2 years ago.   It has so much storage – I LOVE IT.  Sometimes I just stand there and marvel at it.  I store all my extra groceries and kid stuff down there.

So I go in there for something important…

Like goldfish (honest to God, those damn things are CRITICAL)

Hmmmm

I noticed that some things were on the ground in there.  I thought maybe it was the cat.

EEEEEKKK!

Little black poopies.

OMG

That was not the cat…

IT WAS A MOUSE!!!

Appropriate screaming follows.

I really really really hate mice.

But the door is secure and I am a full floor away, so will be safe.

The next morning I must revisit the pantry of terror for the paper de la toilet (TP) and I notice more things on the ground.  This little mouse is a messy little bugger…

Hearing a scuffle, I look up to see a furry tail…

In my pantry…

With my food.

IT WAS A SQUIRREL…

AKKKKKK            ACCCKCKKK                  ACCKKK

I really wish you could have heard me…

Just know it was something like this… only without the knife.

I screamed like the sissy girl that I am.

Throwing the child in the car, I raced to Home Depot and got some boxes and chicken wire to fix the problem.

I am just about to hyperventilate as I drive.

Okay I can do this…

Child in bed for nap, I venture down just to take a little peak…

OMG

The little shit squirrel (which I fondly refer to as deadman) has come back and knocked over a bottle of balsamic vinegar dressing.

Do you know how that smells?

It was everywhere -on the Glad trashbags, on my handweights, a headset, ream of paper…….  ggrrrr.

Deadman

Adrenaline kicking in…

I shove  bricks and cardboard in the open area. I don’t even think air can get in now.

I am about to damn die…

There is a rodent in my home…

And I have a clean home — where did he come from?

So…

During the infestation, it is also time for the alarm dude to come check out the windows/doors for security.

Well we examined all the windows.  The last one was the one in panty/storage closet.

I was showing the alarm guy…

Curtis, now my close personal friend, the pantry window and it just didn’t look right.

I looked closer and am wondering how my kitty Bonnie got in there, when…

It raises its head…

Satan’s squirrel.

ACCCKKK!

Hauling ass out of there…

Curtis is a quiet man…

Thoughtful and purposeful…

He is staring in wonderment at my quick departure…

He says… “Is something wrong?”

Sweet Jesus man are you blind?

“There is a squirrel in there… in the window”

I am seriously jumping up and down now…

I look like I have bedbugs…

Curtis braves the pantry for a closer look and comes out to say

“well no, its actually two of them”.

akkkkkkkk!  akkkkk!  Oh my GODDDDDDDD!

These two squirrels were sunning themselves in the window…

all sprawled out and relaxed…

as if to say…

“cashews please and a beer for my friend”.

I was so freaked out…

Curtis was too, let me tell you.

He said “do you need me to call someone”.

I said yes and meant the exterminator.

I think he meant the men with the white jackets.

ACCCKKK!

 
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Posted by on November 28, 2010 in Animals

 

Burning Down The House

It is Thanksgiving.

Wahoo.

Honestly not my favorite holiday.

I don’t eat meat…

and even when I did I thought turkey was overrated.

Moving on.

So it’s all going…

Cranberry sauce

Cornbread dressing

Green beans

Carrots

Rolls

Mashed potatoes

It’s a symphony of pots and pans

I the conductor

My spatula the baton.

Ave Maria in my kitchen.

Or is it a bad rap song…

such as…

Love the Way You Lie Flat -Eminem

Deep and meaningful…

Homemade rolls..

Yeast a-rising…

Okay that even made me laugh…

But they are in the oven on warm…

Homemade honey butter (that part is actually true)

Potatoes done.

Dressing cooking

Cranberries percolating…

I rock.

Look at me in yoga pants and northface

I’m a semi-fit flippin’ Julia Child.

Feeling proud I am…

until…

A gooe’d up yogurt cup lands on my black suede boots…

Courtesy of slippery toddler hands..

And why are my boots in the kitchen…

I haven’t had time to move them since Monday.

CRAP

Then I hear a hiss…

and see the cranberries have boiled over…

Putting out the gas flame…

And leaving a sticky crusty heap…

I fear even a blow torch will not remove.

 

And then the smell…

DAMNIT…

Where is that number for Dominoes?

Toasting almonds…

Except broil is not toast…

Broil is…

Fire in the hole!

2 pounds of fresh almonds dead…

Burned beyond recognition…

All those Omega three’s down the drain…

19.98 and the only healthy thing on the menu…

WASTED.

I am seriously thinking that my original plan…

turkey hotdog with a catsup ribbon for the kids…

wine for Mommy…

was…

Brilliant!

 

HAPPY THANKSGIVING YA’LL

 
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Posted by on November 25, 2010 in Cooking, Thanksgiving

 

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Southern Belles

I am Southern, raised in Alabama. Then a 15 year trip to North Carolina.

So I am a bonafide Southern belle.

And as such…

I feel qualified to comment on what that means…

Pardon me... but could ya'll get lil' ol me a mint julep?

So here we go.

If you are a Southern Belle…

 

Well…

For 1, you like your barbecue…

But southern barbecue…

It must have a heavy tomato base…

More is so much better with barbecue.

And if you are in Alabama, you must pick a school for which to root…

Auburn or Alabama

I don’t want to sway your choice but.

Weagle Weagle, War Damn Eagle, Kick em in the butt, Big Blue, Hey!


Belles are clever…

I swear you could give them a piece of dental floss and head of cauliflower…

and somehow they will create the most beautiful centerpiece ever.

You are pretty…

Southern women, they say, are the prettiest in the country…

Playboy came to Auburn when I was in college for that reason…

Because they said the women were so pretty…

And can you BELIEVE?

They didn’t pick me for the centerfold.

Assholes.

Diddy is what you call you father (regardless of whether you are 8 or 80)

Yes Ma’am and No Ma’am are mandatory…

Pretty much if you are over 18 you are referred to as ma’am or sir…

And if kids don’t say ma’am and sir…

They get a whooping.

Speaking of whoopings…

You will most likely have been made to “git” your own switch…

And you best pick one that is the right size or you diddy will be gitting a bigger one.

You say reckon…

A lot.

And ya’ll…

A boatload you say…

It’s my personal favorite.

SEC football is your life.

And honey you dress for the game.

Skirt perhaps and even heels…

Oh yes …

You will look good when you are trashed at the game.

I’m betting you are always put together.

Never without mascara and lipstick.

11th commandment – though shalt not be naked of face.

You think ing’s are really unnecessary…

Such  as baking, fishing, fixing

Instead you prefer bakin’, fishin’, and fixin’ – (my #1)…

And used in a sentence…

I am fixin to be bakin and fishin.

You go to the Southern Batptist church in all likelihood

You probably got married young, like right after high school college.

You know a thing or two about fatback.

If you went to your 10 year high school reunion as a single girl…

you were one of 2.

That were unmarried,..

(and one was engaged)

You call your mama…

A lot

You are likely not a Vegetarian

Paula Deen is your idol.

If you are Southern I bet you can make a mean pecan pie and a smoking cornbread dressing (honest to God that stuff is killer).

I’m guessing you have at least two Easter bonnets.

You might like a little Jack at times.

Your husband is fond of Skoal and his chew.

Your living room is the portal to Southern Living Magazine.

Immaculate… doilies and all.

And Pièce de résistance is

Bless her heart is your mantra…

And it’s great because it’s like a get out of jail free card.  Example:

Mary Lynn did you see Georgia’s pants…

Lord child…

they were near bout painted on…

bless her heart…

she’s been putting on the pounds since Fred had that affair with her cleaning lady.

You can say anything you want…

And Bless Ya Heart…  (or bless his heart or bless ya heart — use interchangeably)

Like erases it all.

Ya’ll enjoy now… ya hear!

 
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Posted by on November 23, 2010 in Beauty

 

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Ode to a Sponge

It’s just been a day

A day of hysteria and toddler drama

A day where I sincerely do not think it is possible…

to say my name at anything less the ear deafening volumes.

“MOMEEEEEEE!”

Running to the source.

“yes?”

Landon – “TennyEsun”

(which is how she says her sister Tennyson’s name)

“Mommy TennyEsun put your makeup thing in the toilet”

Looking in the toilet bowl…

I do not see my favorite makeup sponge

the one I use EVERY DAY

It’s a good sponge for makeup application…

Let me tell you.

And this sponge is no stranger to spackle application…

On no my friend.

 

Sonia Kashuk @ Target — 9.99 (yes it’s a lot for a stupid sponge… but you will LOVE it)

Sonia Kashuk sponge

“um…ok… where’d ya put it?”

“I flush it Mommy”

“but it be back”

“I just need wash it”

SAY WHAT?

And it’s coming back?

From the Denver sewage system?

EWWWWW!

Bye Bye Sponge

 
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Posted by on November 21, 2010 in Potty

 

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Not Your Mama’s Fruit Salad

Fruit Salad ….

By Landon Ozley

They asked the children at school what they like to put in their fruit salad.

Fruit Salad?

This is Landon’s version:

Pepperoni
Marshmallows
Chocolate
Candy
Cheese

 

And yes…

 

I do realize that there is actually NO fruit in her fruit salad.

 

Wanna come to dinner?

Please bring your favorite “fruits” such as…

Cheeseburgers

Chocolate chip cookies

Gummi bears

And really any form of pie

Perhaps this idea was encouraged because she has listened to this substantive…

(must have taken years to write) Wiggles song about 843 times…

(this month).

OMG …

it’s in my head…

That damn song…

GET OUT OF MY HEAD YOU SISSY FRUIT BOYS!

 
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Posted by on November 19, 2010 in Cooking, Gummi Bears

 

Damn Clogs

It was a busy day…

super busy actually…

And I was  bit preoccupied.

So when I finally rushed off for a quick workout…

I arrived at the gym…

in clogs.

Yes clogs…

And yes I could have gone home but…

I have like one little slot in the day to do this…

and I was not going to give it up.

The cause of the fall

 

This clog right here.

I like a good clog I will admit.

And these are cute right?

Like for a ball game or brunch with the girls.

 

 

But…

They are not cute for athletics.

They do now work well on the climbing machine.

They do not allow for full freedom of movement on the BOSU ball.

Jumping rope is completely out of the question.

You can manage no more than 20 minutes on the elliptical…

and that will produce a golf ball size blister.

I know this…

for a painful fact.

 

The treadmill…

well…

you can try but…

I do not advise it…

 

I looked a little something like this lady…

except I wasn’t doing all that scratching (what the hell is her problem?)

and not quite as graceful.

 
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Posted by on November 18, 2010 in Exercise