Tag Archive | sarcasm

Don’t be a douchey parent (or adult), Part deux

frugalistablog don't be a douche parent

Anyone that knows me in real life, knows I’m a pretty level-headed person. I’m rational, calm and quite friendly. I don’t react impulsively and I’m usually pretty good at de-escalating conflict. Okay, McSweetie would say differently. He thinks I troll for arguments with him like it’s a sport. That’s another topic entirely.

So when I feel like going all honey badger on someone’s ass, it isn’t often. And I get the pleasure of doing it virtually via my blog. Voila. Wanna vent? Get a blog, it’s cheaper than therapy. I’ve griped before – read here.

There are two categories to this rant- parents of children in sports and adults who are in charge of children, i.e. coaches or teachers.

1) Parents of Children in Sports:

Let me address you bluntly. Your kid is not the next David Beckham or the next Buster Posey. And if they are, well, they are just going to have to learn to play with the ‘little’ players. Hearing from you that you feel the team’s downfall is due to the fact that there’s new kids on the team and it’s better to have the ‘core’ team get to focus on playing time, is absolute utter bull shit and pretty much a false reality.

Do you believe in unicorns too?

So when a new kid comes into your kid’s classroom, do you ask the principal for that new kid to be moved to a different class? Wouldn’t want that ‘core’ group to be disrupted huh? All that important synergy could go down the tubes.

Or when your hot shot kid player does go pro, will he never be traded? Never be cut from a roster and forced to play on a – heavens no- NEW team?? Oh gads, the shock! Teaching our children to adapt and learn to play with others is so… uhm…. hard. Yeah.

If you haven’t figured out already- I’m being totally sarcastic here and you need to get your head out of your ass. The real world goes like this- people come and go in groups, whether it be teams, classrooms, neighborhoods… get used to it. And there’s no “I” in TEAM or GROUP. There’s ‘I’ in DICKHEAD though. And ISLAND. Perhaps you should go to one and leave the rest of us to play nicely with each other.

2) Adults who teach and coach little kids:

Let’s see, how can I put this mildly? Don’t be an asshole. Oh wait, that wasn’t so mild was it?

Don’t yell at my kid and their teammates and tell them they lost because they are a group of losers that don’t deserve to win. They are little kids. This isn’t the Marines. I’m not paying the club $100 for my child to be degraded by a parent who thinks he’s all that because he can tell a bunch of children what to do, or he’s frustrated because they aren’t executing what you’ve been coaching to them. I know- so frustrating, kind of like, uhm, PARENTING IN GENERAL. They are kids. They are still learning. They probably won’t get it the 10th time or the 100th time. But count to ten and start again. I know- sometimes PBS can be helpful.

Not sure where you got your Coaching 101 skills but even though you aren’t getting a paycheck for this gig, you need to keep your cool. If we hold our teachers to a standard in a classroom, we should hold our coaches to a standard on the field.

Is it hard volunteering and corraling herds of cats, er little shits? Yes. Trust me- I’ve organized and run 5 talent shows at my daughter’s school. Five. Wrangling 50 plus kids who are singing the latest Miley Cyrus song or banging out chopsticks on the piano for the millionth time is damn nerve wracking. But I didn’t lose my shit. I saved that for home. If I lose my shit, it will be in front of my own kids. Not the kids I’m put to be in charge of. And most of the time I just made a gin and tonic and got in the bathtub afterwards. It does wonders. You should try it.

We teach our children to use their words. To be kind. To treat others as they want to be treated. Well parents,  it’s time to go back to preschool. You haven’t been using your words kindly or treating others how you would want to be treated.

Everyone gets a chance to play, and everyone deserves a chance to be respected. So there- off to the time out chair, parents AND coaches- you’ve been naughty.

Wife Confession: I enjoy the hubs away on business trips. Short ones, of course.

I think the further into marriage and kids you delve, the more you realize how much you like to be alone. Or is that just me?

I love my kids, I love my husband. Blah blah blah. You know this to be true. But come on. I love being alone. I’m the Greta Garbo of my peers. Leave me alone to bask in the glow of the reality TV show from my flat screen. Let me nap with the dog on the couch. Let me go poop by myself and change my maxi pad without interruption.

So when McSweetie had a business trip this week, I felt more sense of me time than just when he’s at work. Why? Maybe because after the kids go to bed, I rule the family room and the remote. Okay, I rule the remote most nights anyway. BUT. I got to sit around, pass gas, drink wine and watch all the Lifetime movies a girl could want. And they were holiday Lifetime movies. Even better.

So hubs comes home in the evening from the airport, kids are happy to see him, yada yada, and I’m moaning on the couch  before it’s time to tuck in the boy. I’ve heated up the hot pad twice and stuffed it in my pajama pants. This my friends, is a clear signal that Aunt Flo has come to town and she’s brought her suitcase. Did McSweetie notice this? Not so much. He asks what’s wrong. I mouth ‘cramps’ and give that all knowing look like, ‘poor me, I has armageddon uterus.’ What does he do? He gives me the exasperated look like, ‘didn’t you just have your period’, and says to me “that’s not what I was expecting.”

I stayed quiet, popped some Aleve and reheated my heat pad. I waited for him to fall asleep on the couch while I concocted this entire speech in my head.

Here goes:

“THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU WERE EXPECTING? REALLY? Yeah, well, newsflash bucko, it’s been 25 days since the last one. I’m sorry I wasn’t greeting you at the door wearing nothing but a trench coat and had the kiddos already tucked in bed sleeping soundly so we could have wild monkey sex on the dining room table. Which if you hadn’t noticed already was cleared off of its crap from the last several months.

Yeah, and another thing. You probably thought, ‘oh bummer, looks like the wifey isn’t up for some lovin’ tonight. Whoa is me, I won’t get some.’ But did you ever think- ‘Awww, poor thing. Look at her. She’s done all the chores and even scrubbed the base boards (I did actually, can you believe it?!) and she has an achy uterus and feels poorly.’

But did you think that? Hmm, did you?? NO. Of course you didn’t.

You don’t care that the pain I feel in my baby box slightly resembles that of the first few hours of labor. Where my endometrial lining is screaming at me and I have pain spasms all the way down my butt. Yeah. So there.

Don’t mind me. I just dropped off your dry cleaning, kept the children alive, washed the sheets, scrubbed the base boards (Did I mention I scrubbed the baseboards?) and cleaned up some crap from forever ago, and am sitting here being miserable in my female-ness that I have NO CONTROL over!

So yeah. Go fall asleep on the couch. No nookie for you.


Mom on Strike

Dear Family,

This is not the NFL. No replacement refs here. No SCABS.

When you wake up in the morning, get your own damn waffle. You can reach the toaster.

Pack your lunch.

When you can’t find your socks, look in the drawer. Or the dryer, or the hamper. Have you ran the washing machine? It’s not magic, it doesn’t run on its own. Oh and don’t just load the blasted thing, put that shit in the dryer, then FOLD. IT. Yep. Guess what? Folding and putting the laundry away is THE BORING part. Uh huh. You may think ‘you’re all that’, putting them dirty clothes in the machine. But that don’t make you a hero.
The battle is in the taking those socks, making them into sock balls. Taking t-shirts that are inside out and putting them right side in.  Or out. Whatever. Oh dear GOD how does every motha fuckin’ shirt get inside out in the wash??? I don’t take off my shirts and put them over my head like that. Is that necessary?

Okay, moving on.

Garbage on the floor. Throw away your own furkin’ wrappers, kleenexes, band-aids, used ones especially, popsicle sticks, gogurt tubes…. oh my gads, is this a frat house??? Throw away all toe nail clippings. I shouldn’t have to ask you twice.

After dinner, if I’m at a PTA meeting, you know one of the many things I do for free, don’t just pile up the dishes on the counter over the dishwasher. Put them IN it. Put the pans in the sink. Put away any leftover food in the refrigerator. Oh, and this is big, WIPE. OFF. THE. COUNTERS. I know it’s hard. It can be yucky. What, all those crumbs and spills. Yeah, disgusting.

If I make the danged dinner, least you can do is clean up after it.

All your clothes and random belongings need to go up to your room. That means all of you. I’m tired of looking at your thermals, hoodies and soccer shoes. Why are there always socks in the family room? Hair accessories are the same. Do they multiply like bunnies? Why are there always bobby pins and hair elastics in every room of the house?

If you have a dish in a room of the house, other than the kitchen, put it away. I don’t want to find your milk glass in your bedroom two weeks later.

Toilet paper needs to be replaced on the roll. How many times do I have to say this? If you are using the last roll, go get several more from the bathroom cupboard.

If you use the last milk, go into the garage fridge, and get the next carton.

All tools need to be returned to their proper place. That means a roll of tape goes back in the office. A hammer goes back in the garage.

Please don’t leave Nerf weapons randomly on the stairs. Someone will trip over them. Okay, I will trip over them.

Now that we have that established, I think I’ll go to the spa, and then eat bonbons watching an entire season of Boardwalk Empire on DVD from the library.

Someone call for pizza.

I’d like a side of herpes to go with that lipstick please.

EWW GROSS!  I jest. But lately, I think that’s what people are doing. Spreading their oral herpes liberally via makeup at the store.  This has to stop people.

This week has been riddled with bringing things home from the store only to find that they have been…. dun dun dun…… USED!!!

People!  What is wrong with you? Don’t you know that you don’t use the lipsticks on the shelf if they aren’t testers? I don’t want your Abreva medicine on MY lipstick tube.

Case 1- Went to Walgreens because I found on Pinterest a gal that posts low end brands identical to high end brands. Being the makeup whore that I am, I wanted to check out a few. So I’m perusing the shelves of Cover Girl, Revlon and L’Oreal. Not that I would call this stuff ‘low end’ any more. They’re charging $10 for a lipstick now! Geeze, I remember when I bought a Clinique lipstick for $10.

Well, I just went through looking for the colors on my list, dropped them in my basket and checked out.

I get in my car, like any junkie does, and begin to open up my purchase to check out the loot. Apparently, I didn’t have much to check out, first tube I open, I notice the seal has been broken. Dammit. Total brain fart maneuver for me not to have checked this in the store first. I proceed with caution. I know the herpes isn’t going to jump from the tube to my lips, but I’ve now begun conducting my own CSI investigation. Gloves on, black light out…. I notice…. the surface of the lipstick has been touched by human flesh. Double dammit.

Moving on to the next tube. Yep, same thing there.

Three items that I bought were contaminated. I went inside to check the shelf and the remaining products were also tampered with. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?? I pointed out to the Walgreens lady and she said that she’s tired of telling people to stop using the stuff because they get mad at her. Sounds like a fun job. Working at Walgreens AND getting stink eye looks from people tampering with merchandise.

Whatever happened to, ‘you mess it you buy it’? Although, I have knocked over 3 bottles of olive oil in the middle of Cost Plus World Market, and the mess that ensued was disastrous. How I’m even allowed in those stores at all is amazing.  I was relieved they didn’t hold me to the rule, “you break it, you buy it” during that incident.

Back to my infected product rant- later in the week, Emma and I are at Sephora killing time before we head in to a movie. I see two women over at the mirror with a Givenchy mascara tester, yes tester, thank goodness. BUT… and I mean a big BUT, they were putting it on directly from the TUBE using the WAND that comes with it. Anyone knows you use those little mini wands they have at the end caps and you only dip ONCE. No DOUBLE DIPPING. Now that tester has their conjunctivitis all over it.

I used to work at Clinique with Nordstrom. If you are at all familiar with Nordstrom’s liberal return policies, they take back ANYTHING. Well, they did in the 90s anyway. So people would return make up all the time. No biggy. That’s cool. And you can use it and decide you don’t like it and still return it. My favorite though were the customers that would nicely hand me the package, receipt, everything. Then I would ask if  there something wrong with it. You know, to utilize my skillful customer service skillz, because I was supposed to try and sell them something else. Hey, I worked on commission.

So they would say, no thanks, and then they would explain rather sheepishly, “I only used the lipstick once.” or “I only used the eye pencil once.”

And I would politely carry on with my uber friendly customer service. But in my head, the dialogue goes like this, “Oh, you only used it once? Well then I will put that in the USED ONLY ONCE DRAWER. We have a special discount for once used products. Like a roulette wheel of sorts. Great bargains!”

But I didn’t. I just smiled. I don’t care if you’ve used it ONCE or 43 times, that shit is going back to the manufacturer. Should I wipe it off and sell it to the next poor sod? No.

So that brings me to the Walgreens lipsticks. When I saw them in my car that they had been used, I totally thought of some nice lady, “I only used it once.” And then I pictured a puss-filled broken sore on her upper lip, and that’s why I returned them.

Lesson 1- Don’t use products on the shelves that are packaged specifically for tampering. If it’s sealed, don’t unseal it dammit!

Lesson 2- When using a tester, use the little doohickeys they provide and don’t double dip.

Lesson 3- I will never use a mascara at Sephora again.

Please don’t use makeup at the store if you have one of these.

Disclaimer- Do not google images of herpes or conjunctivitis. It will ruin you. There are some things that can’t be unseen.

I also do not believe that every single person who has used a tester at Sephora is contaminated or infected. This is just merely exaggeration for the sake of the blog people.

Douchey kids and parents without a sense of humor.

I am pretty nice. I am. Ask folks. But I do bottle up my frustrations. So I’m smiling on the outside, and inside, I’m shaking my head going , ‘what the fuck?’  WHAT in THEEE FUCK are you thinking people?

Okay, here goes. Deep breath.

Do you lie to your kids? YES! We all do people. Our mom shaming craze is taking over Facebook. Woo hoo. I love a funny joke. I am the queen of self deprecation. I will dance around in a leotard wearing a turban if it makes you laugh.

But if you don’t think when I confess things I do behind my children’s backs isn’t funny- that’s okay. I guess. But I guess we won’t be friends. And that’s okay too. I mean, how do you NOT laugh at such honesty from moms?

Poor Somewhat Sane Mom got in some trouble from some ass-holey trolls who said she was a mean mom, a liar, a bitch, she needed to go grocery shopping, they felt sorry for her kids. Whatever.

Wow. All over a granola bar. A fucking granola bar. You say there are no more in the box. Eat one behind their back. No biggy. A unicorn isn’t going to drop dead somewhere people. Tinkerbell isn’t going to die because you told a fib to your kids.

Here’s a fib I tell my kids. Put your tooth under your pillow so the Tooth Fairy can come and bring you a dollar.

Yeah. That is called a LIE folks. Do you tell your kids- “put your tooth under your pillow so I can trip over random objects in the dark while you sleep and try to shove a dollar under your sleeping little melon without waking you up.” Huh, do you?

Lighten up people.

When you see a splayed out opossum on the road with it’s entrails on the concrete out like sausage and meatballs, do you say, “Wow, sucks to be that fella. Must have hurt real bad when the front end of a large moving vehicle crushed his insides and caused massive injuries and bleeding.” Huh, do you?  Or do you say, “that little opossum is sleeping with someone’s ground hamburger next to them.”

Do you see my point here?

Okay, I would also like to address the assholey little crotch fruit of other people that like to go around kicking, smacking or just spewing their little demon antics on every one.

When your kid hauls off and hits another kid, do you stay standing 10 feet away and say, “hey, let’s not hit, okay?” Or do you run on over to your uterus spawn and take his arm and say, “knock it off! Apologize or we are leaving!” Huh, do  you?

Just asking. Because I see a lot of just parenting from the sidelines. When my kids would do shitty behavior, especially around the age of when shitty behavior is rampant- translation- preschool years through elementary on through middle school…. (ha ha, I’m kidding)… I would get up in their grill and make sure they knew that I was on to them.

Are parents afraid of hurting their kid’s feelings? Are they afraid that if they blow it off in front of other parents those parents will somehow not notice the douchey behavior of the other kid?

Don’t raise a Nellie.

I don’t know.

So there you have it people. My rant on people who parent without a sense of humor and assholey uterus spawn whose parents enable their assholey-ness.

I can only save the world so many folks at a time. If you need a funny intervention or a wake-up call regarding your kid, just message me and I’ll slap some sense into you.

Yee haw, let’s all go to the Fair, y’all!

I know I’m being kind of redundant with that title. “All go”, then typing, “y’all” is sort of similar. But I’m making a point. Kind of. Cuz this ain’t my first rodeo folks. See what I did there?

I took the kids to the State Fair (I’m going to capitalize Fair so you know how important it is) on Friday. We call it the Puyallup Fair. It’s in the city of Puyallup. It’s huge. Not the city, the Fair. Puyallup is kind of a rural/ suburban mix of a town about an hour southeast of Seattle. The Puyallup, as it’s called here, is a big deal. The motto is ‘Doin’ the Puyallup’. I’ve done this Fair for more than 30 years. It was my  first date with McSweetie 17 years ago. This is your typical Fair with corn dogs, 4-H barns, and camel rides. What? What’s that you say? Your Fair doesn’t have camel rides? For shame! Does your Fair have zebras? Well, I didn’t think so! Yep, we have an ‘animals of the world’ barn. Right next to the dairy barn with cows and sheep, and just yonder from the petting barn (no, not where horny teenagers make out).

Owen petting a sweet goat in the petting barn. Hand sanitizer anyone?

I will say, the whole experience was a mixture of good Karma meets Wal-mart night club. Let me explain. We got there just before 5pm. The kids each had their free student tickets. I’ve never actually remembered to bring them in year’s past. So actually saving the 10 bucks or whatever it is for them to get in, was a proud moment for me. On our way to the entrance, a woman asks if we’ve bought our tickets yet. I said, no, but I wasn’t going to go into the spiel about how I had free kids tickets and just needed one…. blah blah blah. So I just said no. Then she says, ‘here, have my ticket. I have an extra one.’ For reals? Yep. No problem. So cool! First hit of the Karma fairy.

First stop as soon as we got in, the Elephant Ears. Elephant Ears are big large tortilla like things they deep fry, put butter and sugar and cinnamon on. Or jam. I got one of each. I didn’t eat both of them, we shared them between the three of us. Okay, the kids shared one, and I had the whole of the other. Stop judging!  However, when we were in line buying them, a woman handed me her ride pass. She said she was done and they were leaving but we could have the remaining tickets on the card. OKAAAY then. Thank you very much kind stranger. Karma fairy AGAIN!

Here’s me eating an Elephant Ear. They are yummy. A hot cup of tea would have hit the spot since it made me thirsty, but oh well. I didn’t see any pots of Ceylon black tea at one of the corn on the cob roaster shacks. So I just sucked it up.

Do you think it’s big enough?

Next stop- roller coaster.

This was Owen’s first real roller coaster. Emma had been to Silverwood theme park in Idaho over the summer and rode one there. I hadn’t ridden a roller coaster in ages. These aren’t HUGE roller coasters like at the top of some big Vegas skyscraper. These are just rinky dink roller coasters. They load us up and I’m sure to have everything strapped down. The last thing I want is my sunglasses flying off my head, or my fillings falling out. So I braced for impact. Not that anything was going to hit us. But you know how it is riding a roller coaster. You hold on. None of that, hands above my head crap. No. I held on to that safety bar like I was Rose on the Titanic floating on that door whatever piece of wood in the cold Atlantic. “I won’t let you go” And let me tell you one other thing. Fear is funny. I was so scared that this little four-seater roller coaster car was going to just fling off the rails and fly us into the parking lot. Or onto the 4-H barn roof where the ‘animals of the world’ were, that I started laughing like a crazy person. I couldn’t stop laughing. Between the extreme butt-clenching, white knuckled holding on to the safety bar business, and the laughing hysterically, my whole body was spent and tired when we got off, like I just did cross-fit for 90 minutes. And my mascara was down my face. And I think I swallowed a bug.

Owen proceeded to exit the roller coaster car looking like he might cry. He bucked up though and just said, “I don’t think I liked that.”  This was a really puny roller coaster. Let me just be clear. No loopy-deloops. No upside down or crazy rocket propulsion. Just regular. But he didn’t care for it. Did that stop him from wanting to go on the ferris wheel next? No.

Let me explain why I hate the ferris wheel. I don’t like heights. I have a fear of high places. I can be in buildings, and look safely out the window. But put me on a tight rope, hot air balloon (hell to the no, if I ever go in one of those death baskets) or ferris wheel, I will crap my pants. Okay, not full on crap. Maybe just a slight tinkle of wee out of fear. I can’t stand when they are loading and unloading the ride and they stop you while you are hanging out in your ‘gondola’ way at the tippy top. Oh, and if you have some smart ass shit for brains who thinks it’s funny to rock that fucker back and forth, you have another thing coming. Did you notice how my profanity just hit a new level in that sentence? Yeah, that’s because this is serious. You don’t mess with me on a ferris wheel. So when we were at the tippy top and the kids thought, maybe, just maybe they would wiggle around in that thing. OH, I put the kabosh on that. I threatened with granola bars and water in the car and heading home early. NO FUNNEL CAKE FOR YOU!! But gladly, they didn’t even try, well okay, Emma teased a little, to rock that thing or merely even sway it slightly. Phew. I made it safely to the blessed ground below. And let me also explain that they don’t serve cocktails at this Fair either. I could’ve used a stiff gin and tonic right then and there.

The curly fries were yummy. The burger, according to Owen, not so good. We basically just carbo loaded.

Can I just say that all Fair employees look like they are out on a work release program or they are recovering meth addicts. I don’t think one ride operator had a full set of teeth. It was like walking into a family reunion of the Clampets. Is this Appalachia people?

So my reference to the Wal-mart night club is now going to be explained. At least, I’m going to assume this is the reason why I saw 19 year olds in 6 inch stilettos at the State Fair. Pitbull was the concert over at the mainstage. We did not get tickets. But we could hear him and we did see some of it on the jumbotron. I can only imagine that the pole dancing high-heeled wearing, tube skirt hiked up to our butt cheeks twentysomethings were there to see Pitbull. Because nothing says fun going through the agriculture display like patent leather pumps and a mini skirt.

No, I did not try the deep fried butter. Sadly, there was no hummus vendor or kale on a stick. I’M KIDDING! Who would WANT that at a Fair anyway??

The Karma fairy hit once again before we were ready to leave. A few folks came over and gave us THEIR ride pass since they were leaving and it had a few left on it. SERIOUSLY?? What is with all the generous strangers out there? Where are you at Christmas time in line at Costco, or Black Friday in line at Target? This pay it forward business needs to go on year ’round people!

So the kids gladly rode another spinny dizzy ride. Every ride spins or jerks. Or slings you high into the air. Every Dateline story of mishaps at Fairs was running through my head. I’m a little bit paranoid.

I also might have held both my kids’ hands at all times. It got dark and it was crowded.

I want a baby pygmy goat for Christmas. McSweetie told me no.

The Fair reminds us of humanity, terribly obese Americans eating fried food, how cute livestock is, and if you need to tether your child to something called a fuzzy backpack with a leash on the end- I’m not going to judge you.

Where else can you buy electric cigarettes, the most powerful blender on earth, fake ponytails and personalized butt pads?

It really is awesome. And thankfully, for my clenched buttocks, only comes once a year.

I can only imagine the conversation of these two. “hey, where did you get your perm?”

If we were nudists that would solve my laundry problem.

Of course that would require us to get more slip covers for the couches. Ew!! Yeah, gross.

Oh my gosh, can you just imagine Owen nude all the time? He would be so up in his butt and playing with this nuts like they were stress balls. Which they are. I mean, he’s fiddling with them, they’re balls… you get the idea.

Before I started blogging, I would complain on my Facebook page about the laundry. I don’t read single people complaining about their laundry. Married folks without kids might gripe a little. Wives complaining about folding socks and undershirts. Maybe a husband wondering what in THE hell is with the once a month underwear from the misses that looks like a crime scene. But it’s not until you have children that you feel the pain of laundry. The burden that comes with the constant loads of clothes, towels, sheets, stinky socks, underpants. My favorite is the hunt. When I go to Emma’s room and her hamper is empty, but the clothes are strewn about the floor and she complains she has nothing to wear that just fries my craw. So goes with McSweetie. He has an entire pile of dirties, but the hamper is empty.

Now I know I don’t have to take them to the river or anything and beat them on wash boards. The clothes. Not the family members. Although maybe that would make them better at helping me! It’s the same as dishes. There will always be dirty ones. There’s always laundry. Always. Until we start going naked, there will always be clothes to clean. If we stop eating, we can stop loading the dishwasher. I prefer eating. I also prefer garments that cover my privates. So I suppose I will continue to do laundry.

We haven’t planned on moving to any remote island or getting shipwrecked a la Blue Lagoon style. So laundry it is.

And like most normal people who stare at a laundry basket piled high with clean things, I get out my video camera and decide how to vlog about it. I mean, right? You do that too don’t you?

So here’s my ballad to the laundry. I look really sad. I think I’m just overwhelmed.

What an asshole. Look at him just sitting on those clean towels like that. Little turd.

The most random post ever- but also back to school stuff.

Right now my brain is like Steven Tyler’s testicles. I can’t imagine there is anything going on in there that makes sense or hasn’t been deadened by drugs. Oh wait- I don’t do drugs… so there proves my randomness. My brain is healthy, not some 70 year old’s scrotum sac.

The kids go back to school tomorrow. It’s a gorgeous day outside. I’m feeling a writer’s block. Or maybe I’m just constipated. I can’t tell which.

There’s the angel on my shoulder saying, “Those sweet children are off in the world again. Getting on that school bus to an instution of their peers and authorities that will shape their minds and mold them towards their future.”

Then there’s the devil on my other shoulder saying, “Sweet cheese and rice,  those urchins are outta here! Let’s watch Vampire Diaries and throw away all their shit!”

Well, it’s going to be a combination of the two.

I’m going to watch some Vampire Diaries. A guilty pleasure of mine, okay, not so guilty, that I will not let Emma watch. Yes, she gets away with a lot of things on Youtube and movies (I’ve let her watch Bridesmaids with me and she cracked up, don’t judge) but, the sex and crazed adolescence of Vampire Diaries is something I’d  like to preserve her innocence of for a little while longer.

I am going to clean under their beds and in their closets. The 12 year old still has bins of Polly Pockets and Littlest Pet Shop in her closet. Not to mention the oodles and oodles of Bitty Baby clothing and American Girl accessories. Those will all go in sacred storage. When she moves out, I will have a  room in the house dedicated to dolls and cats so I will bring it out of storage for display. McSweetie doesn’t know this yet- but it’s going to happen. Therefore I’m keeping all things American Girl. Okay, I’m not really going to have a room dedicated to dolls. I’m keeping them for my future grandchildren. I will be having more cats though. This is certain.

Where was I…. oh yes, Steven Tyler’s balls… no wait… not that. Oh yeah, kids back to school.

SO this is how it’s going to go. The kids will go back to school. I will get some light house work done. I will watch whatever the fuck I want to on TV and not have to tolerate Spongebob, Adventure Time or Gravity Falls. I will get a Frappuccino at Starbucks and lick the whipped cream off by myself and not have to share it. I will go to the store, Target, Sephora, Whole Foods… whatever… and take my own sweet damn time. No whining, no begging. None of that. Only I can whine or beg. With myself.

So here’s some pics of my sweet chillins’  off to school years ago:

This is my list of things to do this week:

Namaste bitches.

RTLF #12

There are many things to be thankful for. Like, clean water, coffee and feminine hygiene products that I don’t have to take to the river to wash for the next month. I know, I know.

But today’s RTLF (Reason to Live Friday) list is going to be sense of humor and forgiveness. It goes like this folks.

Forgiveness in a family is key. Not like, oh, “I’m sorry to my mother in law for stealing her lefse recipe” (my mother in law doesn’t really make lefse.) Okay, OR- I’m sorry I forgot my nephew’s birthday and didn’t send a gift. Those types of things are all forgivable. Yes. Especially if EVENTUALLY you send your newphew a birthday gift. OR double up on his Christmas gift. Either one is good.

BUT- what I’m talking about is family’s forgiveness because their mom (that would be me) is losing her shit and you need to talk her off the ledge. Or, say, maybe the daughter doesn’t have clean underwear and the husband doesn’t have clean socks. When it’s YOUR job to you know, take care of the house keeping and shit, it’s kinda lame when you don’t actually get to the house keeping part.

This is because my super human skills as a volunteer have been activated. I am PTA on two boards. Yes, count them. Two. Boards.

My family thinks I’m crazy. I think I’m crazy. Don’t hate me with your PTA stereotypes. I’ve got this. I’m the cool chick who brings a flask to meetings and shows up in pajama pants. JUST KIDDING! First, I’m too much of a square to actually bring the flask I have. (It has a honey badger on it and it reads, “Honey Badger don’t give a shit”. Thanks Molly!) I would die if someone got the wrong idea and thought I was some lush of a mom and called CPS. Second, I don’t leave the house in pajama pants. Yoga pants. Of course. But I did go without make up these last three days to our registration/orientation. I figure that I will lower their expectations. If I show up all fancy dancy, sporting false eyelashes and contoured features, they aren’t going to know what hit them when I have a bad morning and show up all naked faced to drop off flyers some random day of the school year. You follow?

Next PTA event, I’ll just throw on some concealer and gloss. By the end of the year, I’ll be full faced in make up and it won’t be such a big deal.  I’ll look like a Before and After makeover photo from Ladies’ Home Journal. Whatever, I’m rambling.

The point is, I left the house early three mornings in a row this week. I came back mid afternoon and I was exhausted. My mind was numb from all the chatting, smiling and making-nice. I didn’t have anything left for the basic house stuff. How do you working mom’s do it? (future post <=== right there)

Okay- Sense of Humor– Remember two weeks ago when we were in the plush accommodations of the Grand Wailea resort in Maui? When we did all kinds of wonderful umbrella drinks, dinners, luaus…. ah yeah. This week, we are practically dirt poor. Not to make fun of poor people. Emma says, ‘mom- we are not poor. The man that wears that same coat all year and goes up and down the street talking to himself, he’s poor’. She has a point.

What I mean is, we pretty much spent any extra dollars on vacation, and then little ol’ me- the mastermind of this house (Remember, I’m the ‘house KEEPER’?) paid too many bills this pay period. Yeah. You heard me. Paid too much. Last year, about this time- I paid our mortgage twice in one month. How? Hmm, not sure. Was I drinking while on bill payer? Sure, maybe my 3rd cup of tea. But maybe it’s just the end of summer mush brain. Like the kids are needing flash cards and reading assignments to exercise their brain- maybe I need routine, like getting up early to make lunches, drive to the bus stop, wash soccer gear and PE uniforms to sharpen my mom brain. It seems late August brings out the ditz in me. Paying the mortgage TWICE is dumb people. It doesn’t leave a whole lot of extra money for the other bills. Kinda like what I did again this month.

So the reason my family needs a sense of humor, is because we kinda, sorta have no money for the next 8 days. No biggy. We’ll be fine. There’s bread and peanut butter in the pantry. The kids have their school supplies. I think we have enough toilet paper and pet food. See? Ha ha!! Isn’t that funny everyone? Hey family- don’t you just LOVE mama’s sense of humor? Too bad I’m not Snooki, and can’t just book a red carpet appearance for $50,000 when I’m short on cash.

Glass half full people. Glass half full.

Okay- well, I’m off to do laundry and collect cans on the side of the road if you need me.

Ohana means family

I learned that from Lilo and Stitch. Pretty much anything I knew about Hawaii before going, I learned from Disney. That, and Mele Kalikimaka means Merry Christmas.

I couldn’t wait to see fire dancers and flower leis. Oh and eat pineapple. Here’s what vacation taught me:

Humuhumunukunukuapua’a is the state fish. It’s not as hard to say if you break it down.

Humu humu nuku nuku apua’a. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?

The Grande Wailea is a gorgeous resort. Every time I ordered a $15 pina colada, I kept thinking of how many meals that money could buy a child in a 3rd world country.

They have this commemorative cup you can buy of either a plastic pineapple or a tiki. It’s $22. Every time you want it refilled, it’s only the cost of the drink you want. Come again? That’s like on Portlandia, ‘It’s complimentary after you pay for it’.

I don’t drink that much, so I guess, I wouldn’t get my money’s worth. I’m guessing the ounces it holds is more than the dinky plastic cup they bring you from the pool bar. So if your gonna get sloshed on $15 pina coladas all day at the pool, you might as well drink it out of a pineapple and get twice as much. That’s what they say anyway.

People told us we would be so pampered at this place. That it’s luxurious and heavenly. Well, it is. But pampering comes with  a price. If you are just an average Joe (no affront to real people named Joe out there), but just plain ol’ folks who fly coach and bring their own nuts and dried fruit on a plane, you will get fine accommodations. The beds are comfy, the bathrooms are gorgeous in the rooms. All granite and huge. The pool and gardens are beautiful. The restaurants have beautiful food.

These garden paths smelled amazing from all the tropical flowers.

But if you want to be ‘pampered’, that costs money. Cabanas are $400 a day. You get chilled towels and Otter Pops brought to you. I, however, sat on my regular chaise that I positioned under the palm trees to get optimum shade and ate my almonds and bottled water I brought from my room. The ones I brought  from home, by the way. And dried apricots. We splurged and got pool side snacks and drinks at lunchtime. It’s okay, it only costs $70 for lunch. (sarcasm font there people.)

At least you get your money’s worth when it comes to the hot dogs:

Anyone hungry?

Luaus are so much fun. Even a vegetarian can enjoy themselves. You don’t have to eat the Kalua pig they pull out of the ground they’ve been roasting all day. Poor piggy. There’s seafood and veggies too. We had a lot of fun that night.

The pros are the pretty ladies in coconuts and the fellas in loin cloths. There was something for the eyes to feast on for both McSweetie and I.  Apparently, our preteen daughter thought so too.  After the men’s fire dance, the one dancer guy that looked like Jacob Black without a shirt, got a huge applause from our table. It wasn’t just me. There were whistles coming from Emma.

I wasted no time getting my picture with him afterwards. Hey, you gotta get near half naked sweaty bronze guys when you get the chance, okay? No judging!

Gee, could I smile any bigger?

We were happy to finally be home. Our pets were really happy to see us too. Sadly, Owen came back with an ear infection from the ocean water.

I’ve been awake since 2 am Maui time today. Am I seriously supposed to do laundry, and feed these people like any other day home? Gah.

I will be exfoliating and applying lotions and product to myself today. I’m still itchy and burned, and now peeling, in places.

There will be more normalcy and routine these next few days. Please, please God okay?

McSweetie bought me this Tshirt. (sarcasm font again people)