A trip down my memory lane

Okay, I'm feeling kind of nostalgic all of a sudden. As a result, you guys are going to be treated to a few stories from my my past. There will be plenty in these stories to offend, but, I think they are pretty hysterical. Read at your own risk.

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Once upon a time, what feels like a bajillion years ago, I worked third shift at a gas station. I loved that job. It was the craziest retail job I've ever held, and I've pretty much done it all. I started out in a department store, went management, and hated it, because there were too many factors outside of my control in an operation that large. I put in my resume with a company that has a large chain of convenience stores because a friend of mine was working in one of them, and her job rocked....I wore pantyhose, heels, and had dry cleaning....she wore jeans, sneakers, and a smile. I got the job, and I rocked it.

The nightly drama was freaking awesome. The witching hour, otherwise known as after alcohol sales cease, is very entertaining. The strippers, hookers, cab drivers, and police officers comprised the majority of our clientele. I have a wicked sense of humor, but, it is dry and a tad bitchy. That shift was better than anything else I've ever seen for comedic value.

It was around three in the morning when a very drunk woman and her guy stumbled in. She was a redhead, and I had her pegged as a dancer from the moment she tripped in. I turned them down for alcohol, and they were pretty good natured about it. The woman crooked her finger at me, "I wanna show you some'in," she slurred. I figured she was trying to give me money to sell them the beer, so I stayed put.

"Oh, you want me to show you over there?" She walked over to the counter and threw her stiletto pump clad foot, up on my counter. She was wearing a short skirt without panties. "See," she carolled, fingering two tiny silver hoops, "I just got my clit pierced tonight, aren't they pretty? Do you want to touch them?"

No, no I did not. Though, I did make my district manager listen to this story. At the point where he turned scarlet and covered his ears, I threatened to show him the security tape instead.

*The guy she was with then, ending up being one of my best friends, though, the first time I heard, "I'm In Love With a Stripper," I knew it would forever be my ringtone for his number.

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It was bright and early in the morning and I was working, my shift was drawing to a close. I was just waiting for enough change so I could make my deposit. A hooker walked in the door. She was wearing a black lace shirt and skirt, completely see through, with nothing underneath, and dollar store flip flops. She had a large army bag over her shoulder.

My motto was live and let live, but, her behaviour was hinky, not doped up, just shifty. I watched her walk up and down the aisles throwing items in her bag. When she finally hit the register area, she asked for an ice cup. I gave it to her and watched her fill it, when she returned to the register to pay for her $.10 cup, I asked if she was planning to pay for the rest of her stuff.

She freaked. She threw the dime at me and started to run. I jumped the counter, a feat I still can't figure out how I managed, and I took off after her. After about a block, I was close enough to grab the strap on the bag. I wasn't letting go, and neither was she. We ran a mile and a half like that, until she finally dragged me out into the middle of traffic. There must have been three cabs following us, with their blinkers on, when the police finally showed up.

The officer's first words were, "why are you ladies fucking up traffic?" Half of the stuff she had ripped off from my store (and a dozen others on the same street) she had tossed into the bushes as we ran, but the ice cup she paid for? They had to put that on the roof of the control car when they cuffed her.

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Back in the day, before most gas stations were equipped with electronic gear that measures the height of gas in the holding tanks, we had a very special way of obtaining that information...we would sprinkle baby powder on a very long stick, where the powder remained, we marked the height of the gas.

I was sticking the tanks when I saw a guy running out the door with a cheeseburger in his mouth and two cases of beer under his arms. It was quite obvious he was stealing it. He looked me dead in the eye, "don't you fucking try and stop me bitch," he screamed, as he ran past my gas stick, I picked it up off the ground, and 'accidentally' crushed his balls with it. The 'get away' car dragged him for a half a block before they were able to haul him into the car. He got away with half the cheeseburger, he dropped the beer and bit off the other half of the burger when I made contact with the family jewels.

People like that don't need to reproduce anyway.

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It was another early morning when a girl walked in, obviously rolling. "Don't judge me!" She shouted over and over as I watched her pick up her necessities. A bag of hard candy, a bottle of gatorade, and a Vick's inhaler. When she hit the counter she pulled a five dollar bill out of her purse. When I unrolled it...powder flew everywhere.

I handed her the change. "Are you just going to leave all that there," I asked, I thought sarcastically, "you must have enough for another line." She surveyed the counter, and slipped her ID out of her pocket and began scraping the dust into a neat little line...turning the key pad for debit cards over so that the powder that had settled there too, would fall on the counter. "Hey," she said, "lemme hold that bill I just gave you for a minute."

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Finally, I leave you with this one. After all of the above incidents, the one that I found myself in trouble for was innocent. A police officer was in the store, as was customary on his shift, when it was quiet, he would wander in to shoot the shit.

The topic of the night was tattoos. "I have an amazing tiger tattoo," he said.

"Really? I do too!" I enthused.

"Well, where is yours?" he wanted to know. I told him it was on my chest, and he acknowledged that his was in the same place. He pulled at his vest, "can you see it?" I couldn't though.

He started to unbutton his shirt and proceeded to take off his vest so I could see his ink. I was in shock, his tat and mine were just about identical, though on different scales. I unbuttoned half of my shirt and undid the clasp on my bra so that I could, somewhat demurely, show him my tattoo.

At that point, I walked around the counter and started to stock the cooler, and he followed me, chatting more about tattoos as I got some work done. Show and tell was over.

I thought nothing of it until they gave me a written reprimand...turns out there weren't any cameras in the back of the store, and when two people walk off camera after beginning to undress, the obvious conclusion isn't a shared love of all things feline...or maybe it is.

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Thanks for putting up with my stroll down memory lane. I hope I haven't embarrassed you, and that at least a couple of you chuckled. I for one am glad that I finally wrote these things down, when I'm old(er) and gray(er) it will be nice to look back and laugh, because truth is always stranger than fiction.

Me and my temper, temper

Tonight after dinner, I took my 7 year old on a walk to the gas station up the street to buy candy. Not only is candy usually forbidden, but this stuff was the non organic variety...ooooohhh. I did decide though, that we would walk, burn off a couple of calories before we ate any.

The walk there, about 10 minutes and mostly uneventful, on the walk home however, I lost my temper. Not with my son, but, rather some daft bimbo who couldn't understand why the car in front of her wasn't making a right turn...so she jumped the curb and nearly ran us over. As she was screaming expletives at me, I lost it. I shocked my son by responding, "it's a fucking crosswalk, and you're supposed to yield." Frankly I was kinda proud I kept it to a minimum...sorta, because the blood was roaring in my ears and I was reminded of another time that I was that upset and angry.

Several years ago, I was at a bar with a few of my co-workers. I ended up sitting across the bar from a rather obviously shit faced guy and his slightly more sober buddy. He sent me a couple of drinks. I sent the bartender over with instructions to reciprocate, thank, and not allow any more to be sent. Obviously, Dude confused my polite 'buzz off' with playing hard to get. He walked around the bar and sat down next to me. I got up and moved. Twice. He followed.

Finally, he made a grab for me, and I swatted him away. Being seriously drunk, and leaning back, so that his stool was on two legs, put him at a serious disadvantage, and my little push was all he needed to go down. He smacked his face on the foot rest around the bar and broke his nose. He got up swinging. I ducked and he crashed into the bar, hard enough that it looked like his jaw was broken.

Various and sundry people responded to the call, and he was somewhat patched up. He maintained that I had hit him, which I did...sorta. Finally it came down to one question, "do you want to press charges," they asked him.

"No, what are you fucking kidding me? My wife'll fucking kill me."

I am pretty sure that was the last time I was even close to being as angry as I was with that woman tonight.

This makes me sad

An old friend of mine is going through an extremely difficult time right now. I've been following through her status updates on FaceBook. She has two daughters and while I knew that she was divorced, I didn't know that her ex husband is from India.

Apparently, he sought passports for their daughters, for which they have 50/50 custody. He was granted the right to obtain the passports from a judge in their county. She is panicked that her husband will take the children and never come back. Rightly so it seems, her latest posts are about Indian law in regard to international parental child abduction...as in it isn't a crime there. Can you imagine?

Maybe this hits home for me more deeply than some, as my husband is from Iran, and we have all seen the Sally Field movie. While, I know now that my husband would *never* do this...I'm not sure I would have been able to say this with as much confidence when I was younger, dumber, and blinded by love.

As it were, several years ago we hit a rough patch, and separated for a time. I recall someone asking me if I was afraid he would run away with our children. I remember laughing, pretty hysterically at the time and saying, "the only way I think he would go back to Iran is if the judge granted him anything more than supervised visitation...and then he would run to get away from the children." Which really isn't a dig at my husband, he would tell you the same thing if you asked him. My husband is a very loving father, but our children scare the hell out of him, and exhaust him, the latter probably influencing the former.

Anyway, the moral of the story is this? How can you protect the rights of both parents where conflicting interests is a problem?

Three reasons why I shouldn't be allowed to think

Those of you who play FarmVille, on FaceBook, did you notice the big BBQ grill you can now buy in honor of the culmination of the football season? Does it not feel strange to put that grill next to your dairy farm? I did it anyway.

Last night, I broke down and asked my kids if they had any candy stashed away. My son said that he had just eaten the last forbidden Milky Way, but, he asked if I wanted him to go to the store before heading to the bus stop today to get me one. I said no, and that he was absolutely not allowed to cross our street. He claimed our street isn't very busy. I reminded him the high school kids around here, drive like bats out of hell. "There aren't any high school kids on our street," he said, "you're the only one who looks like they could be a high school kid around here." Send me some positive vibes people, because now that I have a child that realizes careful flattery of the people who matter, makes all the difference...I'm in trouble.* what movie am I referencing here ???

I have corrupted my sister. She sent me an email today asking me to feed her fish in FishVille on FB this afternoon, because she would be at work. It was just what I needed this morning, to start my day with a smile. Those games are like crack people...LIKE CRACK!

9-5 material I am not...updated

Lately my husband's job situation has become quite tenuous again. I've decided that I don't care, which of course isn't true. I care a lot, being uninsured again scares the hell out of me. Ditto to starving to death. However, if he lost his job, he would most likely have to come home. Then, I further fantasized, to keep my panic attacks at bay, that if he came home, he could collect unemployment, and I could go back to work, thereby giving myself the vacation I so richly deserve.

There are only a few flaws with this plan. After thinking about it pretty seriously, I have no desire to return to a professional job. I am a classic overachiever in my work life, I've never put in a 40 hour week unless I was seriously ill. 80-90 hours a week is about the average of where that bar was set. I don't miss my job. I miss interacting with people, I miss the way it challenged me. The job itself sucked. No, if it came right down to it, I might be willing to look for a bartending gig, two or three days a week...but, not a real job...unless it were an absolute last resort.

Even if I take my feelings for the workforce out of the equation, there is the fact that my husband is not homemaker material. He doesn't do laundry, only does dishes under duress and badly at that, he has a tendency to forget about our children, and has never...in the 15 years we've been together...used a mop or a vacuum cleaner. Leaving him in charge would be an invitation for disaster, perhaps death by salmonella poisoning, or even suffocation via dust. Not a good idea at all.

I had someone approach me, that I used to work for, testing my waters about going back to work. After some soul searching, the answer is unequivocally, emphatically...NO!

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And, after even further thought, the greatest part of my job right now (apart from my kids, of course) is being able to waste valuable time deciding which actor should play which character in a movie from a book that isn't even being made, and being accountable only to myself for taking time out for frivolous fun.

What is observational humor anyway?

Observational humor? Crikey, that sounds like I want to duck out of my unofficial commitment to unofficially play along with Homemaker Man in Knucklehead's Bloggy Idol. I won't duck out though, because I can't fall any flatter than I did with my parody, that apparently nobody could come up with something nice to say about. So...here goes.

Is it just me, or does it always happen that when you venture out in public when you're slumming, you are bound to run into people that you haven't seen in years? If I leave the house in my 'cleaning clothes' I can almost guarantee that I will run into the guy I dated in high school, the one that has heard that I have six kids, but, is now sure of it...because damn don't I look like it right about now?

Just yesterday, I ran to the grocery in my toilet cleaning garb. I stood in line thinking, "that sure looks like my best friend's little sister," in front of me in line. *My bonus blast photo, the one of me in the red dress and, yes WME, choker was the last time I remember seeing her* So, I wondered if I should ask. Then I remembered that not only could my hairspray not be located that morning, but, I was wearing a ratty, holey tee shirt. So, I convinced myself that couldn't have been her. Last night, I was on FaceBook, and she posted to my wall, asking if I had been at Whole Foods. Yes, I admitted that I had been there, but, hadn't been sure if it was her, so I didn't say anything. When I asked her why she didn't give me a shout out, her reply was, "I wasn't really looking my best, so I thought it would be cool if you didn't recognize me." Heh. My kinda girl, huh?

When I do take my time, apply make up, and wear something that could be construed as mildly attractive...who do I ever run into that knows me? Worse than nobody, I'll run into my grandmother or another member of the family wondering why in the hell my old ass, with six kids, needs to be parading around the drug store like a hooker.

So, why do I pull clothes out of my 'bar tending' collection? Because, the last damn time I was there, I saw HIM, or HER (my high school arch rival) and I would like to show off the good things I got out of gaining 40 pounds and having six kids...my tits. I would like them to take back the pity f#*k comment, or the palpable relief that they don't have kids, and never will...now. But, the next time I see them? I'll be wearing sweat pants and a Disney tee shirt...so they won't have to. Curse all the bad luck. What the hell is up with this, you all know what I'm talking about, right? Please tell me that you have been there too.

The Disillusionment Post

I'm bummed, blue, down in the dumps, sad, out of sorts...whatever you want to call it. I have spent the last couple of days trying to get back on the horse, so to speak. I've tried reading my Janet Evanovich books, the one where Stephanie sleeps with Ranger, twice. I've watched 8 Mile and ogled Art Alexakis courtesy of YouTube. I stayed in my PJs, drinking Mountain Dew (so forbidden here at my house) while watching The Nanny all day. Nothing. Nothing has helped.

Then, in a conversation, it came up that Robert DeNiro is short. WTF? No!!! I couldn't accept that, I mean, in my fantasies, I can wear heels when I'm with him. It was so unfair. I wanted to cry.

Then I got to thinking. How many other objects of my lustful affection aren't as tall in life as they are in my mind? Well, I'll tell you, because if I'm going to be disillusioned, so the hell will all of you. Eminem? He is 5'8" so is it any wonder that 8 Mile sucked at making me happy? Art Alexakis is 5'10" which is better. Robert DeNiro is five feet, nine and a half inches...I guess I could wear low heels, but, not being able to bring out the FMPs will be a serious downer in my dreams. Finally though, I came across Charles Shaugnessy...who is just a half inch shy of that six foot marker. Guess who just replaced Robert DeNiro as my number one?

So, why am I tripping over the fact that these famous men that I'll never meet aren't tall? Surely it must be because I hear all the time how much I look like Mariah...NOT. I guess the reason is, because I'm not dead...yet. I may still be the first person to die from sleep deprivation though, the night is still young, and so are my children.

I leave you now to succumb to the lilting sound of the Brit's voice calling from the television upstairs.

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Updated:

If you are wondering what is up (no pun intended) with my height issues...it is pretty simple. Just about everyone I'm related to is short. This is in and of itself not much of a big deal. Unless you spend years as the headless Amazon in photos. After a few decades of being surrounded by people that make you feel like Hagrid amongst the students of Hogwarts, you start to really appreciate being around taller people, because they make you feel little and dainty...and that is a welcome change indeed.

I love short people, don't get me wrong...but, in my fantasies, I am *not* headless.

I got this as an email today...it was something I needed to see

I don't care if you lick windows,

take the special bus or occasionally pee on yourself.

You hang in there, sunshine - you're friggin' special.

Every sixty seconds you spend angry, upset or mad,

is a full minute of happiness you'll never get back.

Today's Message of the Day is:

Life is short, Break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, Love truly,

Laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile.

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we're here, we should dance.

The big baby sitting dilemma

Recently, I've been doing some poking around to try and find out about the babysitting rules and regulations in our area, because I think my son is ready. My son is far more trustworthy than most of the adult sitters we've tried. He won't allow dietary infractions for Hercules. He and my youngest two are bonded thicker than thieves. He knows where everything is. He can handle just about any situation like a pro...or at least, just like I would. He has his red cross certification. He is dependable and responsible. I, uh, won'tleavemyhusbandhomealonewiththekidsunlessmy oldestsonisheretoo...there, I said it.

So what are the rules? There are none. Our state doesn't specify an age. I'm chewing this one over, making my little pro/con list. So far, the only thing in the 'con' column is that he sure seems kinda young. Looking back, I worked as a mother's helper the summer I turned 10. The following year I started babysitting in earnest.

If I ask myself (WWMDD) what Mama Duggar would do, I can totally justify this. The jury is still out on my decision though.

Stellar moments in parenting...example one

Warning: While this post will not be explicit, it will be partly sexual in nature. Click away accordingly.

When my oldest son was around five or six, he had a favorite remote control tank. He loved that toy, but, he lost one of the treads, and without the tread the tank wouldn't operate. I arrived home one evening from work, and I found him, and his three best friends playing with the tank.

"Mom! Look Mom, I fixed my toy!" The favorite toy was presented to me for inspection. I scarcely glanced at the tank, but, congratulated my son for finding the lost part, then hurried inside to change out of my work clothes.

After I changed, I went back outside to supervise the boys playing in the yard. It wasn't long before the other mothers joined me on the front porch. We were talking when BB brought the tank to me, and pleaded with me to put the tread back on, as it had fallen off again. It wasn't until I took the tank and tread from him, that I realized that something was amiss. My precious boy and his little friends had spent the afternoon playing with that tank and the c*#k ring they had been using as an impromptu tread. Humiliation warred with relief, as I had been very aware that it had gone missing, several weeks, possibly a couple of months, prior to this incident.

I am nearly certain that none of the other mothers were wise to what had gone down, and I forced myself to put the 'tread' back on the tank and send him on his way. That night we did baths before dinner.

And Jen? Were you really worried about the Astroglide?

Bonus Blast

A bonus 'Blast From the Past' photo that I came across today, on FaceBook. I am the devil with the red dress on, ahem, so to speak. I still have that dress, it is made of only the finest rayon/poly blend. Now that I have the picture, perhaps I can part with the dress.

I'm no Jackson Browne

Over at Knuclehead's there is a blog off going on. Over at Homemaker Man Manor, there are unofficial entries being written to amuse us, his readers. Here at the Proud House, I couldn't help myself and I decided to chime in with a parody of my own. Here it is folks.


Ready or Not, lyrics by me

Someone's gonna have to explain it to me
I'm not sure how it happened
My baby's leaving in the morning
And he's having trouble packing up his jeans
His time away keeps getting longer
Although he always comes back home
I guess we'll reach some understanding,
When we see what the future will bring

I met him in a little restaurant,
One of those typical Italian scenes
I gave him my very best come on
And he had no trouble getting into my jeans
Then we were constant companions,
I marveled at his dignity,
Soon he told me that he loved me
And he made a home with me

My baby's leaving in the morning
He says he's got a lot on his mind
They sure didn't give me any warning
That he was gonna be gone all the time

He says he doesn't care if he never spends a
Another night on his own
He wants to be a father
Take a look in my eyes and tell me brother
does it look like I'm ready

I told him I had never lived alone
And probably never would
All I wanted was a companion
And he told me that he understood
But he wanted a new career
A dream come true of his own
Next thing I remember he was packing up
And leaving to be out on his own

My baby's leaving in the morning
He says he's got a lot on his mind
They sure didn't give me any warning
That he was gonna be gone all the time

Bless my soul he's got a new job and he's living somewhere else all alone
Bless my soul he's got a new job and he's living somewhere else all alone


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Jackson Browne's original Ready or Not

Someone's going to have to explain it to me
I'm not sure what it means
My baby's feeling funny in the morning
She's having trouble getting into her jeans
Her waist-line seems to be expanding
Although she never feels like eating a thing
I guess we'll reach some understanding
When we see what the future will bring

I met her in a crowded barroom
One of those typical Hollywood scenes
I was doing my very best Bogart
But I was having trouble getting into her jeans
I punched an unemployed actor
Defending her dignity
He stood up and knocked me through that barroom door
And that girl came home with me

Now baby's feeling funny in the morning
She says she's got a lot on her mind
Nature didn't give her any warning
Now she's going to have to leave her wild ways behind
She says she doesn't care if she never spends
Another night running loose on the town
She's gonna be a mother
Take a look in my eyes and tell me brother
If I look like I'm ready

I told her I had always lived alone
And I probably always would
And all I wanted was my freedom
And she told me that she understood
But I let her do some of my laundry
And she slipped a few meals in between
And the next thing I remember, she was all moved in
And I was buying her a washing machine

My baby's feeling funny in the morning
She says she's got a lot on her mind
Nature didn't give her any warning
But she's feeling better about it all the time
She says she's ready for some meaning
After all of her running around
Well bless my soul, she's got a rock-and-roll bandman
Thinking 'bout settling down

Blasts from the past

Over at Mommy Wants Vodka, she is doing something quite fun. She posted what she believes to be some embarrassing pictures of her growing up. She challenged her readers to do the same. So, I went through some of my old photo albums to see if I embarrass me and, sure enough I do.

Let the fun begin...

Black leggings and red push socks...now, I know you are saying to yourselves, "but, Viv, it was Halloween, you're off the hook." Alas, the only components of that costume were the cape, horns, and pitchfork. For those of you with eagle eyes, you might have noticed the 'pocket rocker' on the end table...dates me just as much as those darn socks.

Halloween a few years later. Now, in my mind I was a sexy, young, French maid...in reality, I looked more like Cousin It with those bangs.

Those are me with my American cousins. I am the oldest. Can you not see that lovely swim suit on an 80 year old woman? What was wrong with me?

Further proof that I should never wear a swimsuit. That was me, swimming instead of playing tennis for my lousy half credit of gym that I pulled in my HS career. Huge neon flowers over my abdomen, really young Viv, really? I think that the button fly Calvin Klein jeans complete the ensemble well, no?

Finally, I bring you this. Me, dressed for that same half credit of tennis...WITH MY SHIRT TUCKED INTO MY ELASTIC WAIST SHORTS...and two boys I don't remember...at all.

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So, how many of you guys out there are game to do the same? Leave me the link so I can come visit and admire the skeletons in your closets!

Because I care

Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave me a comment, or to send me an email. The last time I pleaded for people to say hello, few answered, but, this time you delighted me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Also, more than one person pointed out that they aren't given an option to comment one my blog, if a girl is hankering for some feed back, that could sure bring her down! Have any of my other bloggy pals had issues with this, or has fate only smitten my blog?

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My children have a new resolution too, they just don't know it yet. This year they are going to have more respect for our home, their belongings, and for me. For far too long, I have allowed them slack when they would cry for their Daddy, letting it serve as an excuse for me to let things go. They are taking advantage of that. They have come to expect that it is appropriate to take advantage of me. No more.

I am tired of everything they have getting trashed. With a Tasmanian devil of a three year old, and an eighteen month old explorer, anything that is stored at any less than four feet of height, is fair game. My older children though, should recognize their obligation to care for their things. They should exhibit enough pride in their belongings to care for them appropriately, by putting and keeping them somewhere safe. No longer will I replace things that have been eaten by dogs or broken by babies.

Clothing. The laundry situation at my house is out of control, and here are a few reasons why. First and foremost, my washer has been recently 'fixed' but that 'fix' only brought about limited relief. I can only wash on the first two settings. I can no longer use the coin laundry as my crutch because my Hubby is rarely here to watch the children so that I might. My children are allergic to putting their dirty clothes in baskets, I have to unearth them from under beds, in the far back corners of closets, and in cabinets. It's ridiculous, and I'm not doing it any longer. I'll wash what makes it in the basket only.

Chores, have ceased to exist in my children's minds. They are being reinstated as of today. No chores...no play time. They will be allowed to wallow in self pity in their pigsty upstairs if they won't cooperate. Perhaps that will give them incentive to clean up. I have let them camp in my room for the last time while I pull all nighter in order to clean their stuff. I warned them last month when I did it, it appears they didn't listen. I am not going to cave.

I am tired of back talk. I have listened to the last, "what did I say that was wrong?" My children are an exceptionally bright bunch. They are not however, smarter than their mother...yet. Therefore, I am going to stop playing the fool. There is acceptable and unacceptable. They are going to recognize that I'm done with their mouthing off. Period. I have cut these children much slack because of the adjusted home situation, with Hubby being gone, but, they've had plenty of time to readjust, too much, in fact. A new leaf just turned over, and it is high time I get my children to recognize that.

My husband and I sacrifice a lot for our children. Perhaps too much. The reason that we live 350 miles apart is because the school situation would be, we feel, detrimental to them. I don't expect our children to recognize what we do and be grateful for it. I do expect that I, as their mother, shouldn't allow for them to make a difficult situation harder. Their carelessness, and irresponsibility is my job to turn around, or else, it will haunt them for the rest of their lives. What may be hard for me to do now, is a gift that they will cash in on, ten fold, in their futures. Times are changing at the Proud House. They are changing for the better.

What is this I hear?

Say what? National Delurking Day? Sweet! I will let you in on a little secret, last year on Delurking Day, I commented on like two of the ten blogs I was reading at the time because I am a very shy person. Those of you who are snickering, that is the truth. I am an actress (in my mind) and there are 'stages' in my life, this blog is one of them. There are a few places where I feel comfortable, unembarrassed, and totally at home. This blog is one of those places. When on stage, I can be the person that I am normally too introverted to be. I can let the same personality that my family associates with me loose, and take command of my stage. I love it.

Do me a favor though, if you are out there reading and I don't know it. Tell me. Leave me a comment today, or email me (the link is on my profile) and say hello. I would appreciate it. I'm one of those people that has to work up the nerve to say hello to a stranger, and when they don't respond to my, "good morning," or whatever, it makes me feel terrible, please, make my day today!

Finally...I know what I want to do in 2010

There are a few things that I am 'resolving' to do in 2010. Looking at the coming year, I knew that I would throw that old stand-by, 'lose weight' on my list of resolutions, but, I wanted to find some things that had more meaning to myself and to my family. I want to seriously reduce the number of convenience foods we eat. Though I do buy mostly organic foods, I've been buying mostly organic junk foods, and I want to change that. I also want to do away with snack sized packaging. Am I really so lazy as to pay triple the cost for something that I could portion out into containers? Apparently, I have been. Can't I take just a few more minutes and make my own chicken nuggets instead of paying $12 a pound for those little suckers? Yes, I can, and in 2010, that is exactly what I'm planning to do.

I'm hoping that 2010 will kick 2009's butt. That won't happen by my idly sitting around and wishing. The only way to make 2010 that great year that I've been yearning for, is to get off my rear and make it happen. I am going to put my all into being a better SAHM. With that needs to come some serious organization, and some real work on my domestic skills (think about how inept I am at cleaning and cooking) and I think that I am finally ready to rise to the challenge.

So far today, I've made two carrot cakes, one for the kids to devour after school, and another for dessert. That helped me with another dilemma that I've stressed plenty about, but, done nothing to correct...food waste. I utilized the rest of the ginormous bag of Costco carrots that I know I would have otherwise thrown away. Tonight we are having homemade chicken nuggets, carrots, and baked beans for dinner.

So here is to 2010, and me being proactive, which I don't come by easily. Good thing I've never been afraid of work.

My boys have that 'Super Bowl' mojo this year

Yesterday, Dallas took on the Eagles again for an amazing win. I will admit that I thought beating Philly was extra sweet. Philly has fallen out of my favor, it happened right about the time I saw 'Vick' on the back of one of their jerseys. Michael Vick, is in my opinion bad juju, which has rubbed off on his team it appears. It made Dallas' first playoff win in...13 years, I think, all the sweeter.

This weekend hasn't really even felt like the weekend. My seven year old has been home from school most of this week with a misery inducing head cold, which he in turn gave to his older brother, who really didn't need to miss any more school, but, what can you do? Now, the babies have it. Ugh! I hate germs. My daughter has escaped from most of the fun by spending the weekend at her best friend's house. She is supposed to be home in five minutes, but, I'm taking her expected arrival with a grain of salt.

It is still below freezing here in the sunshine state, and while I love, LOVE, love it....my children do not. They are whining and crying, and pushing the thermostat up to 78 every time I go upstairs. My dogs hate it even more. To avoid having to go outside, they will pee on your foot as you stand at the door with their leash, like, "Oops, did I do that? Guess you don't have to walk me now!" It is starting to annoy me. When I do drag them out, the cats steal their beds while they're gone. "How do you like us now? Our litter box is heated, yo! Yours isn't....heeeheeeheee, and now we've got your beds, what are you going to do about it?" The answer to that, is to cry at the the foot of them, until Mommy comes and throws the mean cats out on the cold tile. They are just like children, except they can be left alone for days at a time, don't talk, and don't need their butts wiped. Is it any small wonder that they are often the winners of the popularity contest around here?

I guess I need to start the washer, my children have a limited number of sweaters, roughly three each, and, it might be awhile before anyone sees them in anything else, at least they'll be wearing the same, clean clothes as yesterday though.

For me? You shouldn't have...

I am the proud recipient of an award, with thanks to Homemaker Man at Musings from the Big Pink. If you haven't read his blog, you really should. I have a feeling about this guy, I think that he could be one of the big bloggers. I think that there will come a day when I'll have to wait in line, to get him to sign my copy of his book, actually, it might just be their book. His wife, TumbleWeed, is an English teacher, and another really gifted writer. They make one heck of a team. I am not just flattered that he gave this award to me, but, also incredibly grateful, because I have been so stuck for things to write about, and, this makes today's post easy.

Ten things that I am grateful for:

1. The internet. It takes much of the loneliness out of being a SAHM. Through the internet, I have found and made several good friends that I can no longer imagine life without. Thanks you guys, there are times when my life is an open book on my blog, and others when things are happening that I don't share, either way, you my friends, help to pull me through.
2. My husband. He loves me despite all the flaws in my character, and he makes me want to be a better person.
3. My children, who give my life a wealth of purpose and meaning.
4. My dogs, but, especially Molly, she is the most devoted companion that I have ever had. Most people don't spoon with their dogs, but, it is awfully cold here as of late, and I appreciate the warmth of her body next to me.
5. My cats, especially my Toby. He is the first true love of my life. For those of you who rolled your eyes, you can suck it, the only reason my blood pressure hasn't given me a stroke, is because Tobe has a sensor, and when I'm really upset, he assumes his position on the back of my shoulders, combing my hair with his claws and purring. Kitty love is some of the best love anyone can get.
6. Coffee, without caffeine I would die.
7. Photographs, sometimes life is a lot of work. Think of Christmas. I love to be able to go back and really stop and look at my children's faces, see their happiness, and know without a doubt that it is worth it.
8. Stimulating conversation. I had a revelation yesterday. I do not on a regular basis do enough to stimulate my brain. Though I am constantly overstimulated, it isn't enough, I need to be able to workout my mind too.
9. Differences. I worry a lot about them. The people who read my blog are from different walks of life, different faiths, different political affiliation, different countries. I spend more time than I should worrying about offending people. I need to chill. Differences are what keeps life interesting. I appreciate them in others, so...duh!...others probably appreciate them in me.
10. This one is trivial and all about me, I love FaceBook. Seriously. I love the games, I love being able to reconnect with people that I would otherwise never have found again. I love being able to see pictures of my friends and their families, because otherwise, I would *never* get a current picture of my niece and nephew. It rocks.

Okay, now to pass on a little bit of bloggy love. H.M. named four bloggers, and I think that is a perfectly reasonable number, so, here goes...

1. Jen at Diagnosis: Urine. Jen is the reason I stopped lurking and opened a Google acct. She is also the reason I started blogging. She rocks and I will be forever grateful to her.
2. Monica at And I'll Raise You 5. Monica has five children, she is a talented writer, and an amazing Mommy. I love her.
3. Sari at Smurfet and Company. I found her through my StatCounter. I was on her sidebar, and I didn't even know it!!! I'm glad I found her.
4. Hillori at A Healthy Diet of Greens. She has five children, and her five have some of the biggest hearts around.

So, that's all folks. Those of you who received an award, even if you don't want to pass on the love, do share with us ten things you are grateful for. It is always nice to be reminded of why we're lucky!

My nose doesn't know much

This morning when I went downstairs, I was greeted by an obscene scent. I was sure that one of my children had emptied a can of Lysol. "Sheez, take it easy guys. You sprayed way too much Lysol, it stinks down here."

My oldest son glared at me, "Mom, we've been out of Lysol for a month (I don't usually buy stuff like that, but when my daughter had the flu, I had gotten a pack at Costco) and you never bought more."

He stormed up the stairs, giving me the evil eye the whole way. "What was wrong with him?" I asked my daughter.

My daughter, trying, quite unsuccessfully to stop giggling, answered, "you hurt his feelings Mom. You were smelling his cologne."

Whoops!

*******************

Updated:

My 7 year old punches my arm and calls out, "punch buggy white, no punch back!"

"No," I replied. "First, that is silver, not white. Second, THAT is a Porsche."

"Okay, punch buggy silver Porsche, no punch back!"

Perhaps I should have told the kid what a Porsche was, huh?

When being wrong is PC

I was looking over my son's final work on his science fair project, when I noticed an error. "Son, the singular form of potato does not have an e, the e is only used in potatoes."

"What," he demanded, "I have to start all over?"

Mentally calculating the work involved in getting him to do the project the first time, I decided, "no, it was once almost politically correct to spell potato, potatoe, you'll be fine, your teacher will just knock off a few points for spelling."

My son looked at me, completely confused, "huh?"

"The former Vice President of the United States of America spelled potato, potatoe, while at a school spelling bee, I informed him. "It used to be vogue. The most conservative Conservatives at the time I thought were going to lobby Webster's to formally change the spelling."

My son looked at me skeptically, "what VP was that, Al Gore?"

I shook my head, "nope, it was Dan Quayle."

My son wanted to know, "who was that?"

"Oh, he was George Bush, the father's running mate," I replied.

"Wow! You are old," my son exclaimed, impressed.

Till death do us part

While Hubby was here, I was doing some blog reading (huge surprise, I know) and I came across a wedding ring give-away contest. My husband was pleading with me to get off of the computer, but, I countered with, "not now, I'm trying to win a wedding ring."

This statement drew gales of slightly hysterical laughter from my spouse. "Now I know you're wasting your time! Even if you win, you'll just lose it."

"Not so," said I. "These are tungsten, they're virtually indestructible, so obviously they can be worn while scrubbing toilets."

My husband was still laughing when he asked this question, "how long have we been married, have you lost more rings than years we have of togetherness yet?"

So, I started to count, not rings, even if I had lost more wedding rings than years of marriage, he would be the last to know (I'd take that confession to my grave) but, how many years we've been married. It hit me just at that moment that we had both forgotten our anniversary this year. With my sister's visit, BB's tic, the babies being sick, Christmas, etc., our day just fell off the calender, so to speak. "Happy Anniversary, by the way," I told him.

He looked at me, completely shaken. Blushing, he stammered, "I'll bet you think I forgot, but, I didn't," he shook his head emphatically, "I wanted it to be a surprise, but, since you asked, I'm planning on making you a wonderful anniversary dinner tonight, and I don't want you to do a single thing today. Even though it is our special day, I want it to be special for you, Sweet. Just so you know how much I love you."

Now, at this point, a good wife would have explained that, no, they had both forgotten their anniversary about three weeks ago...but, this wife? She said, "do you know how hurt I would have been if you had forgotten?"

I watched my husband blanch, smiled contentedly, and rode that ride for all it was worth, for the rest of the day. Now I'm beginning to wonder how many anniversaries a couple can celebrate in a year, and just how long it would take him to catch on?

Boo-yah! NFC East Champs!

Ladies and Gents, regular football season is over! Dallas won the NFC East! We shut Washington out last week, and this week it was Philly's turn. Next week we'll see Philly again, this time in Dallas. I do believe that the Cowboys will soon be back on top. It's been a long time coming, but, I think this is going to be our season!

My husband is on his way back South. I have put the children to bed, and now I'm drinking beer, and playing on my laptop...on MY bed. *contented sigh* I do believe that I shall sleep well tonight.

Do NOT bullshit a bullshiter

Whenever I have any automotive work done for my husband, I am certain that they say, "look at that bitch, she dares to walk through our doors like she isn't going to get hosed, well lady, you are wrong!" I am flipping doomed. The last time I took his truck to get the tires changed, they swore three times over that the key we gave them to the spare wasn't the correct key. He swore up and down and forwards and sideways that it must be a gold key, never a silver key. Imagine the surprise when I had to drive up there and demonstrate how to properly use a key.

Today, I requested that they switch out the brand new full size spare tire with one on the vehicle that is losing air. My husband has two full size spares. First they called telling me that they needed a key for a special lug nut on the tire to ensure that the rims aren't stolen. Bullshit! I suggested that perhaps they were trying to change out the wrong rim.

Bingo! Score one for the bitch. Then they called to tell me that they don't have the equipment to lower my husband's spare tire. Huh???!!! A tire place doesn't have the equipment to lower a spare. Do you mean to tell me that every tire they change, they unearth the 'flat kit' from the vehicle? My bullshit meter is going off again.

I hate the way that automotive places screw with my head. For example, "your power steering fluid needs to be flushed," on a BRAND SPANKING NEW PUMP! I had literally gone from the mechanic shop that replaced the pump to the oil change place. Really Dudes, really? Spare me the bullshit, please folks?

I am a firm believer in making...hell, even maxing one's quota. Please though, do it with integrity. And, don't single out women because we must be too stupid to know you're doing it. I am exactly one phone call away from picking up the truck and taking it somewhere that they won't bullshit me. Then I will spend my first day of leisure *snort* with the kids back in school, on the phone with your corporate office. Changing my oil for free, the next few months, should give us time to get to know one another and drop the crap, huh?

What does optimism feel like again?

Why do stores close early on New Year's Day? Would it not make more sense for them, if they are going to open at all, to open late, and close at their regular time? I continue to wonder about this one today.

My husband has been as docile as a little lamb all day. I suspect that it might have something to do with a hangover. He admits nothing, but, can be observed grabbing his head and closing his eyes when he shakes his head, ostensibly to stop the spinning. A good wife would stop trying to provoke him by sudden deafness, waiting for him to give in to the urge to nod his head yes or no. I am NOT a good wife.

My children are acting like caged animals, because our plans for New Year's brunch at the zoo were spoiled by rain. We are essentially stuck inside and they have resorted to driving one another crazy for sport.

I found a new jam today. How does a peanut butter and jelly sandwich sound to you, with chocolate peanut butter and banana, pineapple, rum jam? I think that it was quite tasty. I sure wish that I had noticed that this stuff was $11 a jar before I paid for it though.

Well, 2010 doesn't feel any different, with the exception of a tiny, burgeoning, feeling of optimism that THIS will finally be the year that we can look back and say, "now 2010, that was a very good year."