Br'fast Convo

At the br'fast bar in the kitchen at the butt crack of dawn:
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Lil brother(with no shirt on and rooster stick up hair munching on cereal):I wonder what a Napoleon zombie would look like???
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Me:(in the purple granny gown stumbling around with an empty coffee mug):.....blink.....blink blink.......blink....
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Big Kid(chipper and alert heading to the shower):...short with a complex!
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...so it begins...

Hummingbird Collage

The proper office of a friend is to side with you when you are in the wrong. Nearly anybody will side with you when you are in the right.- Mark Twain's Notebook, 1898

For my beautiful women friends...you know who you are...

Ocean's 11...AU...Starfish...Whore-as...
Hummingbird....Lady Bugs....Mystical Cat...
Hobbit hands...Quarters!...FMITA!!!(raised fist)...
Just spit on it!...Jelly trash...
Casseroles & Spaghetti dinner....
and oh! the Italian beef!...
Camel whore...5-0 rehash...Rain, rain go away!...
Truth or Dare virgins...Yo front AND Yo back!...
Who's next???...Kitchen slut...TURN RIGHT HERE!!!...
THE HILL...Mellow Mushroom & Special Needs Partnerships...
Coochie fan...Poopy Virus...Big ocean, small boat...
Shopping...Napping...Snacking...
Laughter & tears...Nosy neighbors...
Sexting...Gushing!!!...OMG....!!!
Keeping it real...Get out the whip!...
Sister Wives...Mafia...
In it for Life...

COCKSLAP!!!

Therapy: been there, done that...

ANALYZE THIS: I have graduated from therapy. Yup! I DID it! I mean, in no way do I think I'm cured (I feel your skepticism, gentle reader), but I did get my uber-cool therapist to concede that there is just some sh*t that will always get you down, piss you off, and stir up your personal crazy-no matter how much you talk about it or gnash your teeth. And you know what? I can live with that. Comfortably. Sh*t happens. And that's the truth. So when I told Mr B that I probably wouldn't be going back, I could tell he was a little concerned (the bugged out eyes gave it away). So I spent a minute analyzing that. And I guess he's a little worried that now he's gonna have to be my 24 hr on call therapist for THE.REST.OF.HIS/MY.LIFE. Now how cool is that?!? Lucky guy...

Anyhoo... Since sitting in the therapy hot-seat, I have totally neglected one of my fav TV series, In Treatment (HBO) about the uber cool psychiatrist Dr Paul. So I spent spring break catching up on Gabriel Byrnes (the beautifully tortured Irish actor extraordinaire), aka Dr Paul. And oh, God! I totally have a therapy crush on him-the lilting Irish brogue, the deeply intense stare, the cool analysis... pretty HOT, huh??? This show totally gets on Mr B's last nerve, and he refuses to watch it in spite of my waxing poetic about its fascinating intricacies and complexities of psychoanalysis. He just thinks it stirs up my personal crazy and makes me wanna drag out all my issues to play with, kinda like a crazy show & tell of sorts. Mr B is just not into that kinda whackadoodle business. But whatev... I am totally digging playing arm chair therapist with these TV characters. You know, since I have graduated, an' all...

Rage Cleaning

"The only advantage to not being a good housekeeper is that your guests are so pleased to feel how very much better they are."
Eleanor Roosevelt
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I knew I always liked this 'ol gal. She may not have been much for her good looks, but laws was she sensible...and powerful. My favorite kinda woman...

I had to lecture lil brother on his house cleaning chores this morning-which he mightily resented due to it interfering in his DS gaming session. "You are NOT going to rage vacuum and bang up all the baseboards, furniture, and floors! Do you hear me?!?" He sheepishly nods/shrugs his resentful assent while keeping his pissy thoughts to himself. So yes, I feel like a hypocrite giving this lecture since we all know that rage housecleaning is the only kinda housework I manage to do-every other week or so. But this is not a Do-As-I-Do-Democracy over here at blither blather headquarters. Ho-no-siree indeed! You will do as you're TOLD...and pretend to like it. Thank you very much.

Jesus Murphy Malone! I frickin' hate cleaning the @#$! floors!

DOM-LOUD & PROUD!!!

I was recently talking to a gal pal about her kindergartner's experience at his new school. Of course he's learning and loving it, but she did confess to having some mama-drama at this much sought after alma mater. Turns out some rather snooty moms labelled her a DOM...yes, that's right, a DROP-OFF-MOTHER (gasp! clutch your bosom, gentle readers!). As in the kind of mother who rolls to the front door, gives her kid a kiss and a wave, reminds him to grab his backpack and to use his powers for good before he walks himself into a safe environment that is closely monitored by paid professionals. Oh, the horrors! She also said that the yearly fundraiser was a disaster. She made the egregious error of not reading the seven pages of directions for proper delivery of said donation casserole before sending it to the Chairperson of the Casserole Committee (who wouldn't want this esteemed title on her resume???) who chastised her for not sending a FROZEN casserole. Imagine the earth shattering consequences! Peace in Israel will probably be delayed, dear friends...

I am glad to report however that this mom now seems to have turned the corner into the "Oh, f*ck 'em!" stage of school age mothering. Unfortunately we moms all fall into the pit of needing public approval before real life slaps us in the face, and we just can't be bothered by casserole committees and MILF wanna-be moms who carry their obnoxious 4th graders into school on their backs in a Gucci bag along with their psychotic chihuahuas.

DOM's RULE!!!

Fake Indian Crap

This past weekend I went to G'burg with a group of gal pals. So on our way home we search out a last minute tourist crap-trap store so we can take home a treasure or two to our eagerly awaiting children. One friend spots a Cherokee Indian Trading Store and promptly reminds us, "My kids LOVE fake Indian crap!" Well, who could resist??? And laws was she right. My two sons woulda bankrupted me had they been there to see all that Made in China/Indian crap. And it pains me to say this, but I spent a wad of cash there that I am currently trying to repress into my murky subconscious (MR B would be PISSED if he knew how much money all that junk cost...). Anyhoo.... the boys LOVED all that fake Indian crap! Of course the boomerangs broke pretty quickly, the dried peas for the pea shooters spilled on the carpet within minutes... But the unquestionable hit of the fake Indian crap has been the rustic stone/wood tomahawk that I bought for big kid. He came down to breakfast with it this morning and laid it by his cereal bowl, he watched the movie last night holding the tomahawk, he rode his scooter holding the tomahawk. And honestly, it does look like a pretty serious weapon that could split open a skull or two. All the kids in the hood are begging to hold it, and I am a little worried about my glass coffee table as big kid nonchalantly hoists it around the house ...What the hell was I thinking???

FYI-lil brother got a wooden sling shot.... I'm not that big of a fool at least.

Rain Check

I had to duck outta a bunco invite a few nights ago when a friend called to ask me to sub for her group. "Uh, hmmmm, well... I have essays to grade," I lamely stammer. AWKWARD PAUSE. Yeah... I might as well have just said, "I can't stand those drunken sluts with glitter lotion on their boobs and clear porno shoes on a Tuesday night." Wonder what she woulda thought then??? So I just stayed home in my bathrobe watching the Real Housewives (and no, I didn't grade essays). I mean if you're gonna spend a night with drunken wanna-be-porno sluts, just Tivo the Bravo channel. That way you can mute 'em and once you're done with them, you don't have to make stupid @ss excuses that no one is gonna believe anyway.

OMG!!! I just noticed that big kid has hair on his big toes!!! WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN??? Where the hell was I?!? ...Guess I'm still gonna love him anyway... Just not gonna look at his toes anymore though...

Weekend Recap

So it was Pinewood Derby weekend for all the lil cub scouts in our area. And according to Mr B, dad tensions were running high over their lil cubby's race car. Mr B said that actual f-bombs were released....in the church!....where the race occurred. Aren't men ridiculous?!? I mean it's just a race, for crying out loud. It's not like the Olympics or world peace is at stake. Good grief...

Lil brother spent the night with Honey (Mr B's mama) this weekend. He said they had a good time watching Deal or No Deal and that mostly Honey stayed awake while he was there (she frequently takes geri-naps with no warning). Lil brother said that Honey even let him make toast in the broiler (I know, RIGHT?!?) And he said he burned it really bad, but Honey wouldn't let him throw it away. "She dus scraped all de black off and ate it anyway!" he reports in amazement. "She said it tasted pretty good (he looks sceptical at this). But I didn't want any..." (nose wrinkled up).

I tell you what, old timers aren't about to throw a single solitary scrap of food away. There will be no wastefulness on Honey's watch-ho no siree!!! There is no black crust too tough for her scraping skills. Mr B swears that we are all gonna die of botulism one of these days from Honey's cooking because she will keep every scrap of leftover food in the freezer for YEARS...and then whip it out and boil it up and put it on your plate when she knows you're coming for dinner. Laws! It's a eat-don't-ask policy when dining with Honey.

Activist

Please excuse my absence from blither blather headquarters lately. I know-I have been remiss in posting my usual blogging drivel; however, I have a good excuse. I even left my household and laundry unattended, on a Saturday mind you-so I could march on my state capitol and let my elected officials know that I am unhappy with their anti-teacher legislation (HB130 to be exact). Not only have I been marching and rallying, but I have been writing vitriolic SHAME ON YOU! letters to the governor, my senator, and my representative. I am so pissed about this issue that I actually listed by name those who I consider to be enemies and traitors to the American people to big kid who is my avid audience. As he listens to my wild diatribe all wide-eyed and impressed, I try to temper my political propaganda by explaining that there are many complexities to the issue and that he should certainly work to be well informed before making his own judgements. He shakes his head and says, "No mom, I believe YOU!" And for the moment I am satisfied with this poiltical coup-my son is proud of his liberal bra-burning mother who won't hesitate to shake her fist at ignorance and injustice.

BTW-when I got home, the house was all busted up, lil brother had watched TV all day, no one knew if the piles of laundry were clean or dirty, the dog hadn't been fed, and Mr B was happily watching the History Channel. And after a full day of freedom fighting, I just didn't give a damn either.