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I have no doubt that summertime is officially here. Every year it seems that our house has the same infestation occur during these hot months of summer, signaling the season is upon us. An out-of-control outbreak that hits far and wide, so be prepared!
Be on the look out! The breed that has taken over our house is approximately 12-inches long. I have seen them in a wide variety of colors, red, blue, yellow, pink, green, orange, purple…The colors are actually kind of pretty, almost shimmering. It is what happens next that is so scary! (Please be warned; what I am about to describe is graphic.)
There are these even bigger creatures that come along. I believe that they are attracted to the multi-colors. They rip off the tops-with their razor sharp teeth-spitting the ends out onto the ground. Then they proceed to suck the very life out of the once colorful bodies-leaving behind a shell. If you look closely you can see a trace of the color that once was.
The big creatures then disappear, leaving behind a trail of empty remains to infest our home and yard! Everywhere I turn I see these vacant remnants; a constant reminder of what has occurred. GHASTLY!
Be warned, Mamas! This could occur in your household, at any time. Sadly, maybe it already has…HUGS.
If you have children and Popsicles then the chances are highly likely that this infestation has already arrived at your home! May the force be with us all…
Your bathing suits blow, and we as women know it. And now, we want you to do something about it. Don’t blow this off as ‘Oh she must need to loose wieght’ or ‘maybe she’s older then our target audience’ or the crappy line of ‘Oh she just has bad body image/ self esteem’. I can assure you, that that is not the case. The problem, my dear friends is your crappy, badly designed swim apparel. I cannot stress to you how little the percentage of women there are that actually look like models. So, we are here to ask you (the purveyor of our swimwear needs) to make something a little more flattering for the rest of us. And I promise you if you make it, we will buy it. Because (brace yourself, you might fall over for this one) we WANT to look GOOD.
Fortunately for you we have already done a little test sampling for REAL live breathing women who would LOVE to buy your swimwear, and what they would like to see in a bathing-suit, for them. The results were eerily similar all around which I think should be a huge wake up call, to you.
1)…
Well unfortunately it’s official; we received orders to report to Fort Hood Texas….. And as you could have guessed, I am not happy about it. NO ONE wants to live in Killeen. From what others have told me, Killeen is dirty and busy. I grew up in the city, I’m used to dirty and busy so I don’t think that would be too much of a problem for me…. But people keep telling us to stay away from that area. Have you been to Fort Hood? How bad is it really? I don’t like the heat, and yes I’ve heard that it’s hot there.
I would have much rather be going to Campbell, Brag, Drum anywhere but Texas… but apparently that was not on my husband’s wish list. He had Fort Carson, Fort Hood and Fort Lewis. Now when he and I had talked about places to put on the wish list, Fort Hood was quickly shot down by me. I DO NOT DO THE SOUTH WELL. He had told me at one point that he put Fort Brag, Fort Carson and Fort Lewis on the wish list. Which I was okay with, I’ve always wanted to go live in Seattle (Fort Lewis) since Real World Seattle back in 1998, Fort Carson is near Colorado Springs and Fort Brag is on the East coast close to family…. Then the other day when warning orders came out he seemed to have a complete lapse of memory. Then later returned home informing me of what was actually on the wish list.
WHY ask me where I WANT to go, where we should go then just do what you were going to do anyway? Anyone else been through this??? I’m slightly aggravated right now. Again I don’t want to go to Texas.
Fort Hood is a rapid deploying unit-meaning they leave all the time. Which also translates into six months after we ALL get there, Brad will be deployed and I will be stuck there all alone.
So yes, I am aggravated about this. So what the hunting is good, and you can drive 6 hours to Oklahoma to go Elk hunting, ya know what I don’t care. I wanted Fort Brag, only 11 hours from home! I wanted Fort Campbell only 17 hours from home… Nowhere on my list was fort hood, a whopping 27 hours from home! Do you know how long that will take me to drive with 4 kids in the car? UHGGGG
So fellow army wives I need your help and opinions. What is fort hood like? Did you end up liking it? Hating it? How was housing on and off post? How were the schools? How were the people! Tell me all that you can please!
Thanks for reading my rant, I needed to vent.
~Vanessa
Why Parents Drink
A father passing by his son’s bedroom was astonished to see that his bed was nicely made and everything was picked up. Then he saw an Envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow that was addressed to ‘Dad.’ With the worst premonition he opened the envelope with trembling hands and read [...]
Brad and I will be celebrating our 5 year anniversary in two weeks. We met a couple this week that inspired us. We met them while we were out on our date night. They are in there early 90s and have been together the last 60 years. When we spoke with them we each guessed their age to be around 67, when they told us 90 we were kind of in shock. During dinner they invited us to sit with them, so we did. They held hands just about the whole time. They told us they still go out to the movies once a week, to dinner another night and travel to another state/country for two weeks every 4 months! They still look at each other with love in their eyes. When we asked them what their secret is to staying so happy and active they laughed and said this. Date night. For the last 60 years they have gone out once a week, just the two of them. They told us even when they had brand new babies they made time for their date night and for each other. They told us that it’s what kept them together when all of their friends were getting divorced after 25 years of marriage once the kids left the house. They said their friends no longer knew their spouse, because they spent all their energy on their children and had forgot about what brought them together in the first place, so that once they kids left they were in the empty house just staring at each other. And this got me thinking, I have always been an avid supporter in social networks about making your husband your top priority, usually getting shunned by people who believe that children always come first… While, yes I agree that your children’s needs should come before your spouse’s wants, but your spouse’s wants should come before your children’s. Listening to this happy couple of 60 years with 5 grown children, 15 grandchildren and 22 great-grandchildren, really proved to me the importance of this. You can’t lose your connection with your spouse. Marriage needs effort, by both. You need to make time for each other, and listen to each other and keep those date nights! The couple told us on nights when they were to broke go out anywhere that they just went parking! Something my husband is all too eager to do now LOL.
So whether you have been married for a year or thirty years nothing beats a date night with the one you love!
And 60 years from now Brad and I will still be going out on the town!
Want to make my blood boil, and send me into a fit of rage?
Want to endanger my life, as well as my two beautiful children strapped into their car seats in the backseat?
Want to do something to endanger your own life, as well as your beautiful children in your own backseat?
Text while driving.
If you are lucky to live through an accident, could you live with the guilt?
Could you forgive yourself for having such little patience that you couldn’t wait until your car was parked to send a message?
Could you forgive yourself for endangering the lives of your own family, as well as other families on the roads. Families with kids like yours. Families with babies, or toddlers, tweens, or teens. Mommy’s or daddy’s. Aunts, and uncles. Brothers and sisters. Grandma’s and grandpa’s. Could you forgive yourself?
Could you forgive yourself if you caused an accident that resulted in a Mommy having to have her 2 year old taken from her in a life flight helicopter?
Is your text that you are about to type while driving so vitally important that you must take your concentration off the road, and off driving safely to type it?
Is your text so important that it’s worth a trip to the ER for yourself, and the passengers in your car?
Is it so important that you are willing to send another family to the ER?
Is your text so important that you are willing to mentally traumatize a young child with being in a bad accident. A child who just wants to know why that person didn’t follow “the rules”.
Is your text so important that you are willing to allow those words that you are typing in your 3000 pound vehicle driving 60 mph to be your last words? Are you willing to turn your car into a 3000 pound death machine? You are if you text while driving. Think about it. One split second is all that it takes. Just one.
I know there are states that have laws banning texting while driving. I also know people break laws. I know that there are several states that have no laws against texting while driving, so people will use that freedom.
The next time that you are in your car, and think that you have to reply to that text right that second. The next time your driving in your car and think of something you “have to tell that person before you forget”. Just wait.
For your kids. For mine. Just wait.
If it is that vitally important to send a message right then, pull off and park. Don’t allow yourself to change your focus from driving safe, and protecting your precious cargo, to typing a message that can likely wait. All it takes is losing your concentration for a second, and your whole life can change, and you can change the lives of your children, spouse, significant other, friends, mother, father, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, or other people’s.
One tiny little unimportant text message could change the lives of so many people, and have so much more of an impact than you could ever imagine.
Just wait until you park that car. For my children’s sake, your sake and the lives of the innocent people who are with you.
A young boy went up to his father and asked him, ‘Dad, what is the difference between ‘potentially’ and ‘realistically’? His father asked him, ‘Did you find out the difference between ‘potentially’ and ‘realistically’ ?’
The father thought for a moment, then answered, ‘Go ask your mother if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars.
Then ask your sister if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars, and then ask your brother if he’d sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars. Come back and tell me what you learn from that.
So the boy went to his mother and asked, ‘Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?’
The mother replied, ‘Of course I would! We could really use that money to fix up the house and send you kids to a great University!’
The boy then went to his sister and asked, ‘Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?’
The girl replied, ‘Oh my Gawd! I LOVE Brad Pitt I would sleep with him in a heartbeat, are you nuts?’
The boy then went to his brother and asked, ‘Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?’
‘Of course,’ the brother replied. ‘Do you know what a million bucks would buy?’
The boy pondered the answers for a few days and then went back to his dad.. His dad asked him if had learned the difference, The boy replied, ‘Yes, ‘Potentially’, you and I are sitting on three million dollars. But ‘realistically’, we’re living with two hookers and a homo.
My husband is a great cook. He can slice and dice things to perfection and in half the time it takes me to do it. He makes a killer breakfast, hey even my parents can attest to this, as he got my mom to eat even eat grits once! He used to cook all the time when I first moved in 5 years ago. I tell you this so that you can perhaps see my confusion and frustration about how dinner went down.
Me- Feeding Eleanor: “Can you make dinner while I feed Ella, I’m starving”
Him-Sitting on butt watching TV: “Uh, what? Um sure.”
He walks into the kitchen and I hear pots being banged back and forth.
Me: “Everything you need is out. The pan and pot are on the stove, meat is in the sink and sauce and pasta are on the bar.”
Him: WHAT? WHERE I DON’T SEE THEM.
I hand Ella over to Jessie and walk into the kitchen.
He has a completely different pan on the stove and has put the two I took out into the dishwasher, claiming he thought they were from last night. Yea right ‘cause pots and pans stay on the stove dirty all day long…
I take out the big pot again, and pan. I show him where everything is, as I run back into the living room to save my oldest daughter from her little hair pulling sister.
Ella and I make our way into the kitchen. He was the water simmering and meat browned. I think to myself good dinner will be ready in just few. I walk back to the living room and sit down to finish feeding Ella.
As I get all situated once again, he comes in with car keys…. Yes car keys. And informs me that he and Jessie are running across the street to pick up Italian bread. Apparently I was not clear enough on when the timer beeps you need to take the bread out of the oven… Although even in my recap I may have left that part out. But wouldn’t you have asked “what was the timer for?” I mean seriously, he had to actually turn it Off… He tells me that the noodles are in the pot, but he does not know how much longer they need as he has not set the timer…
So now I have to play the guessing game with boiling hot noodles so that we don’t have mushy pasta….
He comes back 20 minutes later! Yes 20! The store is ACROSS the street! Puts the bread in the oven and we have warm garlic cheese bread, with cold pasta, and meat-sauce, which after sitting in the sauce for an extra 30 minutes turned out to be more meat with pasta then meat-sauce…
So my question is this, how did my husband who used to cook dinner just about EVERY night, completely forget what to do in the kitchen??? On nights he has planned to cook he does very well, but I guess that’s because its steak and potatoes mostly on those nights, or ribs. He still makes killer ass ribs!
This morning started routinely enough, Brad waking me up informing me that it was now 7 o clock, that coffee was made and that he wanted me to make him a cup. Yes my husband makes coffee but has yet to figure out how to pour it into a mug and add the appropriate amount of sugar and French vanilla creamer… So I get up, stumble into the kitchen and begin making our cups of coffee.
Many mornings Brad and I have about 30 minutes baby free time to sit together and watch Good Morning America and drink our coffee. Today was not the case. Eleanor woke up as I stumbled into the kitchen. Brad being a good Daddy changed her diaper as I prepared the bottle. Once we got all comfy in the living room, Henry awakened and it wasn’t his happy I’m awake call to us, it was his crying I’m pissed off scream to us… How dare we take more than 10 seconds to get him out of his cage, I mean crib. I made him his chocolate milk bottle, only to be told “mommy no baba, big cup” big cup means coffee mug. So I proceeded to pour half of the babba into his coffee mug. He took it from my hands with a slight grin, a grin which should have been the warning sign that he was up to no good at all. As I turned the corner to the living room I hear a slight bang, a laugh, a giggle and a “bunneey like choco millllkkk.” Yup you guessed it, Henry took his big boy coffee mug that he usually drinks so well out of and poured it onto our 4 week old pure white bunnies.
After my husband stopped laughing with Henry, Henry turned to us and said “I like choco bunny, choco bunny is yummy in my tummy.” We have completely ruined our poor child. This whole Easter thing where you eat chocolate bunnies has confused our boy so very much….. Do not worry, the bunnies were not injured, in fact I think they rather liked the chocolate milk. J so now as Henry takes his morning nap I get to give the bunnies a bath! Yea for me LOL.
I sit here still shell-shocked–babbling to myself–rocking in a chair–staring at a banana peel–remnants of a battle lost–again. The enemy, I mean my children, have finally left the premises. I pray they made it to the bus stop on time. I cringe at every sound; afraid that the door will open with I MISSED THE BUS echoing through this ravaged war zone, also known as our home…what was that noise?–was that the door!
Not this time, just the dog…is she grinning at me?
I take a look around at all the collateral damage. The trash can was knocked over in the kitchen with garbage scattered across the floor as someone made a mad dash out the door trying to outrun there little brother. When will they learn that time does not stop? In fact, I highly suspect that is actually goes FASTER on these mornings getting ready for school.
I continue my walk. Surely a hand grenade must have gone off here. Papers have been dumped out of school bags and deserted where they fell–casualties everywhere–I shudder. I can still hear a loud, incessant noise echoing in my head, like the sound of rapid gun fire, MOMMMMMMM!
The shoe box in the hall has been emptied in an attempt to find two shoes that match. (did I mention I have 5 children and each child owns at least 10 pairs of shoes…you do the math.) I try to bring about a mental picture–were my children wearing shoes as they ran out the door? I’m not totally sure…. Henry however is wearing shows, my shows to be more exact… I hope his father does not see him in my red high heels….
Clothes and miscellaneous items are strewn about. I see a forgotten lunch left behind on the battle field…and is that a homework paper? Sigh. I really was hoping to avoid going to the school today… Maybe she won’t text me asking me to bring in her English paper, I guess only time will tell.
Tomorrow is another day; perhaps the war can still be won even though the battle has been lost today. We shall see…as for now, I need to go curl up in a fetal position and lick my wounds. Oh wait but I can’t….. The little two have now decided it’s time for the second breakfast already and it’s not even eight o’clock….
Unless of course you are willing to take that chance on catching one of us on a REALLY bad day…
1. “Aren’t you afraid that he’ll be killed?”
(This one ranks in at number one on the “duh” list. Of course we’re
afraid. We’re terrified. The thought always lingers at the backs of our
minds —but thanks [...]
My husband always comes home with the same question-are you in the mood? Wait a minute! That is the second question… His first question is always the same though. “What did you do today?” Those four words seem simple enough, but for some reason hearing those particular words, in that specific order, changes me into a stuttering idiot who looks like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Do? Uh, yes, I recall doing stuff all day, but my mind is totally blank at the moment.” My eyes quickly dart around the house, searching for something; anything, that would release me from this state of amnesia. I can’t seem to find any proof, however, that suggests me “doing” anything at all; the evidence, in fact, leads one to believe that the only thing that I did was stand helplessly by while someone or something trashed our house.
I have studied this peculiar situation, searched out a reason for my inability to vocalize the accounts of my day to my husband. I have come to the conclusion that after living an entire day in “my shoes” that I must be so overloaded that my internal memory must block out certain factors of my day; call it self-preservation if you will. There are certain things in life that are better left buried in the deepest realm of a mother’s mind.
While I still have some use of my faculties, I have decided to transpose a quick written account of my day thus far that I can later hand over to my spouse when he asks me that infamous question.
Dear Husband,
You have asked me “what did you do today?” and I am going to the best of my ability give you a brief glimpse into my Mommy world. Actually, my day began in the middle of your night. Two of your children were sick and needed attention. I let you sleep. I didn’t; at least not what you would consider a complete, restful sleep cycle. I heard your alarm bright and early. Yes, I also saw the “nudge, nudge, wink, wink” as well as heard your stomach rumble. I chose the lesser of the evils and made you breakfast while you showered. For your information, I never had the time for a hygiene moment today.
Okay, reliving this day is already making me lightheaded and my head to hurt…the rest of what I have to say is in no particular order. Please forgive me if I sound disoriented…
I fed and watered five kids (not to mention packed nutrients to send for their survival outside of our home), two dogs, and some withering looking things that once were green plants. I cannot recount all I did to get the kids off to school, too traumatic. Let’s just say; they survived, I barely did.
I cleaned up: spilled beverages, dropped plate of eggs, squashed banana on my carpet, something that was hopefully just chocolate that was all over the bathroom tiles and the toothpaste that somebody painted with. I am not going to list every item that I cleaned up, but perhaps just mention a few of the more “colorful” highlights.
I rewound an entire roll of toilet paper back onto the proper placement of aforementioned paper product. For future reference; the second time I just piled it, neatly as possible, in the corner next to the toilet.
Do you remember the billion plus jewelry beads that we bought for the kids for hours of creativity and fun? I spent more hours of cleaning them up than the children have ever used them.
Somebody decided to decorate the house with Easter grass and candy wrappers galore. While I totally celebrate the true meaning behind this holy day, next year, be warned, I might have to do bodily harm to that dumb bunny that visits our house! Which reminds me, I searched the house for the lost Easter egg to no avail…how long before the smell gives the hiding place away?
I unplugged the toilet-not once-not twice-but THREE times-and the day is not over. I almost had to call Guinness Book of World Records…WOW! At least we know our children are eating-what?-I’m not so sure.
I did dishes and went to put them away…when I opened the cupboards I was pummeled by a tower of falling debris left by the last person who had this chore.
I vacuumed, cleaned the bunnies cage, wiped up the chocolate syrup trail that somebody was drinking in the middle of the afternoon (that somebody was not me, no matter what you think!), filled out paperwork, answered the phone 50 times for somebody named Penny (and, no, we don’t have anyone named Penny in our household), changed the sheets on the bed of our youngest, changed our bedding because same child peed on our bed, too, found the wet clothing that pee-boy tried to hide as evidence of his misdeeds, did laundry (btw, our washer may be dying…), goggled MapQuest to plan my escape route, I mean, I looked up driving directions from child #1’s music lesson to child #2’s karate class, sat with the bag of mismatched socks, rocking and mumbling, “I think I can, I think I can…”
Okay, my mind can’t handle much more…let’s fast forward.
Your school children came home, dropping book bags, shoes and coats. They demanded food. I consoled a child (for more than 2 hours of crying and whining!) over her boyfriend and best friend trauma drama. I broke up fights, directed chaos, cleaned up baby spit up, and helped with homework. I prepared a nutritious and delicious meal for your homecoming. Now, at this moment, your children are out of sight and out of mind…I cannot be held liable for the conditions you come home to later in this evening.
I know I have not revealed to you everything that I have experienced today. Some things just cannot be put into words; trust me. Anyhow, by the time you come home tonight and ask me “what have you done today?” I will be oblivious to my surroundings; possibly even in a catatonic state of mind. Hopefully you can at least pry this paper from my weary fingers and gain a little bit of understanding about my day…
My husband always comes home with the same question-are you in the mood? Wait a minute! That is the second question… His first question is always the same though. “What did you do today?” Those four words seem simple enough, but for some reason hearing those particular words, in that specific order, changes [...]
I wait and I wait for the day we leave this dreaded place, I am no southern girl, and do not belong down here. I was not raised to wait hand and foot on the people around me, nor was I raised to yes mam and yes sir people to death. Please do not take what I say offensively, I am just saying, tell the fucking moron on the couch to get his own damn glass of sweat tea for crying out loud!!
These women that I’ve met, look at me, and my family like we are from another planet. Yes I am married to a southern man, but I am by no means he’s maid!
All these women do is wait on their husbands, clean and cook. Then they come to my house and see my husband, helping, cooking, cleaning, playing with the kids, being a husband and a father and they have the audacity to ridicule me because he’s doing the work they believe I should be doing. Are you serious??? They make it out like I am doing my family wrong. I just don’t understand…
I am by definition a housewife…..
Not a term I like to use, but the fact of the matter is that is what I’ve become. And these women sit on their high horses telling me that I am bad at it! Because my husband helps, our children do choirs, and the house isn’t always ready for company. We have five children, including a new baby. I was thinking for the most part anyway that we as a family have been doing a damn good job at keeping the household together. But I guess that is the Yankee blood in me thinking, ’cause down here in south alafuckinbama that is only women’s work, and it makes not only a crappy housewife, but also a crappy woman for not doing it all. I can do it all, I know this. I choose not to do it all because I am married and don’t have to. I hate to think that this is how these women are raising their daughters, there is no way in hell, my daughters are going to think that there only role in life is to find a husband and live a life of servitude for him. And my sons will not be raised to think that it is only women’s work. They will not grow up to be the moron on the couch yelling at their wives ‘bring me some sweat tea’….
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