Wednesday, August 31, 2011

WTF Wednesday - The "D is for Drama" Edition

WTF is with my daughter? For the life of me, I can't get this child to practice writing her letters. Mind you, this is her 2nd time doing Pre-K.

All I wanted was for her to do one little home-made worksheet a day. She reluctantly finished A-C, but is hung up on D. Probably because it's her mother's bra size *no it's not.*

D is for "Drama" - there have been tears, screaming, pouting. "I can't do it." "It takes too long." "D is DUMB." She's at least figured out her letter sounds

So on Sunday afternoon, I got the brilliant idea of making her a little home office since she's been stealing my new office phone all week. I gave her the phone, and she did a little decorating of her own with a picture frame, hand sanitizer, a crumpled up baby wipe and some plastic eye shadow. Because we all know, no high-power executive sits in her office without fake makeup nearby in the event that there is some important corporate business to attend to that requires looking good. 

And finally, the item I thought would be the real deal maker: ice water in a real coffee mug. 

She was totally in to it. You can see from the photo that she had now clipped a pen and a highlighter onto the straps of her dress. 

Also, she had one row of D's completed. She's most definitely going to get a raise on her performance review.

And since I'm a stickler for authenticity, I told her that I was going to be her "assistant," Susan and she was going to be MY boss. Nope, according to her, my name was going to be "Mrs. Kareesh."

"Mrs. Kareesh, can I have some Cheetos? Mrs. Kareesh, can I take a break. Mrs. Kareesh, I need more ice in my water."  She was a damn slave driver.

Her unplugged phone rang off the hook. She had many important conversations including the following ones verbatim:

"Grounded, Mr. Peechu. You are SO groundeddddd."

"My son wants to dance on the stage so can you really, really help him?"

"Hey yo girlfriend. Yo yo. You don't talk to my girlfriend like that."

"Sweetheart, that so NEVER gonna happen." This one came with a hand flourish and an eye roll.

And then there was this very, VERY serious business call. At about :45 she starts to ream a subordinate.

But no work was getting done! That's it. As an employee of ABCs Incorporated, I couldn't stand by idly and watch the productivity of my company slide because of our lazy kitchen-table executive. That's when her boss called me and told me to tell her to complete her Ds. Really, he called me. I had a full conversation with him which also included threats of him canceling her birthday party if she didn't finish. 

This resulted in the Chief Drama Officer throwing a tantrum and laying on the floor under her desk with her blanket which must have miraculously appeared from inside her briefcase.

Because of the drama, discord, dissent and dawdling, the dreadful Ds definitely didn't get done which definitely disturbed me dammit.


And have you voted for us yet? I've begged and pleaded. I'm completely pathetic. Pretty please with sugar on top? Just click below. It takes 60 whole seconds. 

Monday, August 29, 2011

Three Nice Strangers and My Morning from Hell

I'll set the scene. It's 4:01 a.m. and I'm leaving for the Atlanta airport from my cousin's house in north Georgia with two kids in the back of a rented Toyota Corolla (as if that wasn't bad enough). I've given myself plenty of time to get there to rip Hertz a new one for overcharging me.

***Yes, this happened over two weeks ago and I'm still completely traumatized, that in and of itself is worth a read, right? You'd read the post of a troubled woman, wouldn't you? There is an actual POINT to me writing this***

I have to do the following things before my flight leaves at 7:00:
  • Refill rental car's gas tank or pay $9 a gallon - with two kids
  • Return car & Rip Hertz a new one - with two kids
  • Get on a train #1 to the terminal - with two kids
  • Get bag & two carseats checked - with two kids
  • Go through security - with two kids
  • Get on train #2 to gate - with two kids
  • Walk to gate - with two kids
After getting gas, I'm getting closer to the airport with time to spare, when I see flares on I75 and all traffic is being led off the interstate and into a "not-so-nice" part of town (translation: the 'hood). Please note: I'm not from Atlanta and I know only ONE way to get to the airport. I don't know back roads - nothin'. Don't panic Ali.

None of the dozen cop cars that were at the exit were in a place where they could actually HELP anyone, so everyone was just driving around like a swarm of bees. Very tired bees.

Add to the mix that I now had a sleeping beast of a 4-year-old in the back who would have turned into a screaming diva if awoken and I had to pee like never before in my entire 35 years of life.

I pulled into a Days Inn parking lot where I saw three people who I guessed were from the area...

Nice Stranger #1 - Pretty Lady in Days Inn Parking Lot - "I gotta get back on 75 to get to the airport NOW. What do I do???"  Pretty Lady instructed me to drive the opposite direction, go 7 lights, but it's "Gonna get pretty Ghetto." Great. To which I replied "I'm totally fine with Ghetto." The guy with her suggested that she give me her cell number in case I needed her. I took her directions, but the road forked so many times I got lost.

Luckily, I found....

Nice Stranger #2 - Officer Hottie McHotterson - After driving another mile I pulled into a gas station not realizing that there was already a cop there. Praise the Lord. I walked up to his car window and declared "I'm about to cry."

"Let me guess," he said. "You're lost because you can't get on 75." Yes, and the fact that I'm about to wet my pants. I'd cry if I peed my pants. So naturally, I told the hot cop that he had to watch my kids because I needed to pee. Because we all tell handsome men-in-uniform of our urinary urges, right? I also might have been doing a little hippity-hoppity dance to help validate the story.

I ran up to the gas station and had to bang on the door where Horrible Stranger #1 didn't want to let me in until I knocked 17 more times. I walked in and he told me through the thick glass that he was now standing behind (because I obviously look like I was going to rob the place) that the bathroom was broken. "WELL DOES IT FLUSH?" I asked. He shoved the key at me (through the under-the-glass-window-thing). I squatted over the toilet, wiped with a toilet seat liner and flushed - although this a-hole deserved a big nasty unflushed crap. He cursed at me as I walked out ranting something about "shit on the floor." Is he accusing me of shitting on his floor? That's a really good idea. If I wasn't already late, I should walk back in and try my hardest. I apologized several times and walked back out to Officer Hottie who agreed that the gas station guy is "crazy."

Now Officer Hottie tells me that I'm in a "rough part of town" (really???) and he'd escort me to where I needed to be to get to the airport. What a nice hot guy. He ended our conversation with "God Bless." No, God Bless you and all your hotness Officer Hottie. So little 'ole me, driving my Corolla got a police escort.

I got to the airport without any time to ream Hertz.

I have now asked Hertz ladies to watch my kids while I literally RAN to get one of those $4 luggage carts. I like to leave my kids with strangers.

Nice Stranger #3 - Hertz Grandma - The ladies waved me back because there was no way I was going to get the cart, load it up with the two carseats I was hauling and get on two different trains to catch our flight in time. So Hertz Grandma put me back in my rental car and drove us to ticketing herself. She shared nice stories of her family and grand kids and it settled my already upset stomach a bit. Then she shared the story of a nephew that was born without a femur...

Now up to the Spirit Airlines counter to check all of our stuff where the person working there wasn't an "agent" so we had to lug the seats to the gate ourselves. "Spirit Airlines sucks" - a statement I'm adding in just so Google might find it. I'm sure people search that all the time. 

OK enough of my nightmare.

But the point is this: I am completely aware that there is no way on God's green earth that we'd have made our flight if these people weren't there when I needed them. Yes, we all have bad days, but for some reason these people were placed where they could do their good deeds. I won't ever be able to thank them again (although I did send Pretty Lady a text since she had given me her number). SO use this as your prompt to go out of your way for someone today. You never know how much your good deed means to that person.

***P.S. If you haven't noticed, I NEVER post a blog without a photo. So why would I publish with this one of Natalie picking her toes on a plane? I hate people who take off their shoes on a plane. I hate people who pick their feet, period. She did both and by then I was too exhausted to put a stop to it. Disgusting.***

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

WTF Wednesday - The "Smurferiffic" Edition

Dear Neighbors,

I'm a working mom. I have very little time to create memorable and enriching experiences for my kids so I have to be creative and take opportunities whenever I can.

I'm sure you were just being lazy and not taking care of your lawns (especially you Mr. Foreclosure Guy), but I wanted to say thank you for the opportunity to take my Smurf-loving son on a little outing into your yards to find the best mushrooms in which to make a Smurferiffic Village.

WTF you ask??? Perhaps we can call our little outing "Fun With Fungi." And talk about economical! Heck Smurfin' yeah!

You see, my poor children's father must not love them very much because he mows his grass regularly and even sprays stuff. Therefore, the only mushrooms my children have seen have been in food. Thanks to you and your really Smuftabulous 'shrooms, I was able to have a bonding moment with my son and 7 of his best McDonalds Happy Meal toys.

I've attached some photos as a token of my appreciation. I even put on a few little polka-dots like a REAL Smurf village.

Have a Smurfy Day!
Love, Ali

P.S. I think Paniky Smurf (yes there is one named that, I don't remember him either) was a little "paniky" and nervous about you walking out and catching us having a photo shoot on your property. He might have left a little blue turd on your lawn due to nerves. Sorry. 

And did you vote yet? I'm not gonna stop asking... Click here or up there on the right.

Monday, August 22, 2011

2nd Grade Stinks, But My Kid Doesn't

I turned off the shower in time to hear a cabinet shutting on the other side of the door.

"Don't come out yet Mom," called my almost-2nd-grader Ryan from our sink area. As he left my room he yelled "OK, it's safe." FINALLY the kid is at the point where he is grossed out by seeing me naked.

I opened up the door to become temporarily bewildered by a waft of perfumy manliness that I don't typically smell at 1 in the afternoon. I looked at the counter and saw my husband's deodorant sitting out among the items that I lovingly leave strewn there each day.

We were now late to leave to meet his 2nd grade teacher at Open House. When he came back in I asked the question I already knew the answer to: "Did you put on deodorant Ryan?" Instead of a verbal answer, I got The Dork Look: a combination of a scrunched up nose and a smirk topped off with a beet red face. No, this kid wasn't going to ruin his opportunity to make a stellar first impression in the unlikely event that his teacher smelled his non-existent stench. I mean, what if she lifted up his arm to smell his pits? He was prepared.

2nd grade is gonna be a good year for my man.

I, on the other hand, hated 2nd grade. It was by far the worst of 17 utterly lack-luster years of the catastrophe that was my educational career. I perfected my half-assery in 2nd grade. It is because of 2nd grade that I'm completely convinced that I should have been diagnosed with ADD.

2nd grade stunk. And so did my teacher whose breath wreaked of cigarettes and coffee, a smell I can still remember nearly 30 years later. She was a witch. A wrinkled 40-something-year-old who hated me to the core. A hag of a woman who tried to FAIL me despite my high-achieving test scores (proven, by the way) because in all honesty, I was a lazy student with the attention span of a newborn whose mother smoked crack while pregnant. OK, maybe that's an exaggeration.

When my parents asked me why I wasn't paying attention in class I told them it was because looking out the window at the birds was more interesting than school - a valid point that I still stand by to this day. It was a huge picture window backing up to the woods. In my defense, there was a BIRD FEEDER for Heaven's sake! What kid wouldn't find that more interesting?

2nd grade was the year of the Wagon Wheel School Photo. I love how my necklace is pulled out and carefully arranged on the outside of my western shirt. I owned this shirt. And I lived in South Florida. And I owned a WESTERN SHIRT!?!? And the wisps of hair giving me the look of a young Medusa? Yes, I still have those. My hair is and always has been a mess.

And most importantly 2nd grade was my inspiration for the term "2nd Grade Hungry." You know when you're REALLY starved? So starved that you're in physical pain? So famished that you think you might die sitting there at your desk contemplating gnawing on your #2 pencil or at least sucking on the eraser, completely salivating thinking of the crappy non-Fruit Rollup items your mom put in your ugly Farmhouse lunchbox that you had to get because we always waited 'till the last day before school started to go to Kmart to buy lunch boxes and by then they were already picked through (yes, 2nd grade)? THAT, my friend, is what I call "2nd Grade Hungry." Feel free to use it.

And when 2nd grade ended I switched schools. Spoiler Alert: I went to 3rd grade and went on to hate school for another 10 years and then 4 more years of self-inflicted agony I fondly call "college."

I hope that the application of deodorant yesterday works as 2nd Grade Stinks Replant for Ryan. Perhaps the literal application of anti-stink will serve as the antidote he needs to come out smelling like a rose. Or at least Speed Stick.


Thursday, August 18, 2011

Down The Aisle

The Love of My Life (yeah, I said it and capitalized it) and I will be celebrating 11 years of wedded bliss in 2 weeks. So today, I'm taking the cue of another fabulous Natalie (other than ours of course) - the blogger behind Mommy of a Monster and Twins and showing off one of my favorite wedding photos.

This shot is of my handsome groom taking off my garter. He had just figured out what my "something blue" was. He was amused.

Also, if you look on the left, you can see my friend Melody crouching down to take a photo. You can see her underwear which is AWESOME. Mel reads my blog. HI MEL!

I actually greatly prefer our engagement photos.

And have you voted for us yet? Make it our anniversary present. Pretty please with sugar on top? Just click below. It takes 60 whole seconds. 

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

WTF Wednesday - The "Georgia" Edition

It's another WTF Wednesday I'm flattered that Zero of you protested that I didn't do a post last week while I was in Atlanta with the two big kids. Thanks for noticing. I really feel loved.

So this week's WTF moments are from our trip. This is from the Georgia Aquarium. Please tell me who poses all Bootylicisous like this in front of a big tank of fish? Really? Is this necessary? I wonder if she realized that while I was telling my daughter to say "cheese" that my camera was pointed at her. I can tell you that her boyfriend was not at all amused by the fact that she thought she was in a rap video. I wonder if the fish liked it.


Our next WTF comes from our cousin's house. I'm all for being OCD and labeling toy bins (no I'm not). But I'm pretty sure whatever this frightening toy is does not belong in the bin labeled "Nativity Set." Unless of course there's something I don't know about the Virgin Mary. I wasn't there in the manger to witness it first-hand, but there's nothing in the Bible even close to this, right?

And finally, what happens when Cousin Brian falls asleep on the couch after a looooonnnnggg day of football in the same room as two sassy 4-year-old girls who had just eaten their weight in birthday cake? Poor stupid Brian. He wasn't even drunk. That would have been acceptable.


Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Ryan's "Special" Talent

I'm linking up for VlogTalk again. The prompt was to show your child's special talent. He's "special" alright. 

And the best part: He was able to come up with all this genius at the dinner table last night. Please don't be jealous if your kids aren't this wonderful. These kinds of gifts only come to a rare few.

(and the real best part is that it's under a minute)


Monday, August 8, 2011

What The Rest of Us Did While YOU Were at BlogHer

If you're a blogger and a female, you know that this past weekend was BlogHer '11 where over 3,000 bloggers (not just chicks) descended upon San Diego for a big fancy drunkfest convention.

There was dancing, there was swag, but most importantly, there was 191,752 tweets with the hashtag #blogher11. Did anyone else notice?

But I wasn't there. Did anyone miss me? No. Not only was I not there, neither were some other fan-freakin'-tabulous bloggers who were previously committed to doing other things and couldn't attend.

SO, pray tel, what were we all doing? I've included a little photo montage to show you.

I went to a baby shower and also had a lack of funding to fly clear across the country. SO, while the rest of you were at BlogHer I was getting a jump start on my BlogHer12 fund. I can't take credit. This great idea was Ryan's. I even blogged about it. Lemonade is for sissies.

But I'm not the only one who stayed home because we had other things that were going on. Rach, from the blog Life With Baby Donut, had a little plumbing issue. Seems as if my white granny panties (that I blogged about sending to school last week) somehow showed up in the toilet of my twitter twin over a thousand miles away. Can't keep track of those things. Geez Rach! Don't look so disgusted. I never wore them, remember?

Others of us stayed home with kids and tend to household duties. But not to be outdone by those ladies partying it up in California, Elena from Mommy is in Timeout classed up her grass cutting. Because honestly, lawn mowers are for heathens.

Yes, that is a tiara and those ARE scissors (how refined).

And then there's Dana. Don't mess with her. The mastermind behind Really, What Were We Thinking got into a little "scuffle" at the play area in the mall. Some kid got a little too pushy with Klaw and she had to check a bitch. Not the pushy kid, but his Dad. And contrary to what you might think, this photo is not related to her occasional nose bleeds. Nope. She's one bad mammajamma.

And finally, there's Liz from A belle, a bean and a chicago dog. She took some time out from being a social media maven and co-hosting the Summer Blog Social to take her girls to the aquarium. Since the sharks weren't being particularly ferocious (must have had BlogHer on their little tiny brains), Liz, being the go-getter, take-charge kinda gal she is jumped in the shark tank to rough them up herself. This photo was taken right before she sucker punched this guy right in the kisser knocking out 458 of his pearly whites. Yes, the kids were impressed. Seriously, what mom wouldn't wrestle a shark for her kids entertainment?

So maybe next year we won't have many commitments and will be able to go to BlogHer '12. But until then we've still got dozens of BlogHer '11 wrap up posts to "read" as well as several million tweets about how everyone was so glad to meet everyone they didn't spend enough time together. No, I'm not bitter. See ya next year.

Friday, August 5, 2011

I'm Not Classy OR a Urologist


Please do not read this post if you think I could possibly be any of the following:
A) ladylike
B) classy
C) a good mother
D) a doting wife
E) a delicate little flower

Last night, my husband JakeRyan was acting like a complete ass-hat. The details of the douchebaggery are not essential to the story. And I will go on record as saying, he's typically not a jackball. I love him.

As usual, he slept on the couch. Nothing to do with his buttholedness, but he watches TV way later than I do and he snores. Therefore, the couch.

This morning, Ryan was eating his Cheerios at the table and my husband was still asleep. After several attempts, I had yet to be successful in getting him to move his lazy tuccus off the couch and help me get these three kids out the door.

So in a moment of absolutely articulate style and grace I declared: "I want to rip your balls off on so many levels."

I don't know. That brilliance just came to me. It's a gift and I really did want to rip his balls off.

And there was my sweet little child, sitting there getting his whole grains and calcium while his mom threatens his father's manhood.

So to acknowledge his presence I asked: "Did ya hear that Ryan? I'm gonna rip your dad's balls off."

Ryan kept his eyes on this cereal and mumbled something under his breath. Oh no, have I scarred him for life? Does he think I'm a terrible monster? Is he worried for his OWN testicular well-being? What did he say?


To which my child looks up and replies: "I SAAAIIIDDD, YOU'RE GONNA NEED HAND SANITIZER AFTER THAT!"

And this is why Ryan is my favorite kid.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

WTF Wednesday - The "Granny Panties" Edition

Justin only has two more weeks in Miss Cassie's classroom and I'm sad about it. Cassie and I get along very well. She's the perfect teacher to accept my laid-back ways of parenting and not be judgy (except today she did tell me I needed to send fresh fruit).

But perhaps I'll miss her most because of her great texts.

December 1, 2010. It was a Monday which means I had to send back the kid's clean nap stuff (a fitted sheet and blanket). That morning I was in a rush, so without thinking of any possible mortifying embarrassment, I just grabbed them out of the laundry basket, rolled them into a ball and left. A little while later as I sat in my office, I got this text:


Allow me to blow up that picture for you.

Yes, as they were unpacking Justin's fitted sheet, out fell a pair of brand new, never-worn, hideous granny panties. To put it another way: I sent MY underwear to school with a 2-year-old. And not just ANY underwear...really ugly unmentionables. Here's the next part of the text:

I know you're impressed with how I tried to divert their attention away from myself and claim that my husband wears women's underwear. And even though they thought the whole thing was funny, I still felt compelled to EXPLAIN why such a hot chick like myself had such a nasty pair of panties.

And they did go in the trash, just like the other three pairs that I bought along with them.

So aren't you wondering WHY a hot chick like me (yes, I do think that fact is important enough to repeat) had not one, but four pairs of these panties? A few days earlier I was down at the outlet mall and walked into the Maidenform store where I encountered a huge bin of plain white granny panties for $.50 each. Yes, math geniuses, that means I paid $2 for four pairs of panties. I figured for $2 I could dump them if they were bad. Not only were they ugly, they were see-through. Not a good look. AND my husband saw me in them and probably threw up in his mouth a little. The other three were long gone, but that 4th pair was lost...thanks to Miss Cassie for finding them.

Oh, and I didn't learn my lesson: