I cannot sew.

This is a fact that has cost me years of grief and ridicule by friends and family alike. No, I never took HomeEc in high school. But even though I enjoy doing needlepoint as a hobby, I cannot do a simple stitch.

I can pull together the edges of tear under the arms of a pair of longjohns in the winter. But it will only hold until Hubs can get around to doing it himself. I, on the other hand, solve it by buying new longjohns. I can quickly tack a hem into a pair of pants, but the stitches only hold until the  first washing. I now take pants into the cleaners and ask the woman in there to hem pants for me. The woman now laughs as I enter the store. “Why you no hem youself? It so easy even child do it!”, she says in her Asian accent. Thank God I like her so much. Otherwise I’d be annoyed by her teasing!

I have a sweater that I really like to wear. Unfortunately, the buttons pull free from the buttonholes. So I took them off in order to put on new ones that were only slightly bigger. I searched my sewing box (Yeah, I have one that is full of unfulfilled wishes) I came up with seven perfect buttons that matched and sat down to replace them on the sweater.

Button #1: Knotted the thread so badly, that I had to rip it out and begin again with new thread. (This was accompanied by a few “darns” “drats” and “phooeys”.)

Button #3: Don’t ask me how, but not only did I tangle the thread again, but I also ended up with a “noose” that held the button against my finger. I looked like an ass as I began again. (This was accompanied by a few “shits” “fucks” and maybe a “cocksucker”)

Button #5: I think I’ve gotten the hang of this. It’s not as hard as maybe I’ve made it out to be. I have already done two buttons perfectly! I’m so proud of myself!

I sit back and hold up the sweater to admire my newly acquired handiwork. It was beautiful!! It was a work of art!!

It was on the wrong side of the sweater. (This was  accompanied by “Motherfucker, cocksucker, penis breath, asshole sweater!!!!”)

I heard laughter. Babygirl and her boyfriend were laughing. Apparently HE knows how to sew buttons.

There’s got to be a way to get him to do this for me……

Being busy with the babies is really throwing off my groove. I have them on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and that is really cool because after a day of picking up the baby or just rolling around playing with them, I have a day to recuperate.

But it also has it’s drawbacks. My housework is falling by the wayside. I don’t care. My house is far from being a pigsty but I’m beginning to see dust. Oh well. I just don’t have it in me today to do anything about it.

My boys have gone to the Flyer’s game (Hockey for those in the dark) Babygirl is hating me for making her clean her room, and Hubs is just tired. (He just got home from work.) I myself have a raging headache and I am just praying to God, Allah, Buddha, and Satan (Hey, ya never know which is gonna come through for me!) that this doesn’t turn into a migraine. It’s overcast and drizzling outside. It’s miserable outside and it’s rubbing off on me.

I’ll get around to the blogs tomorrow. I may stop in to facebook here and there, but I think that mostly I’ll just watch a few movies, snuggle on the couch with my dog and my man and order pizza for dinner.

Saturdays are for going with the flow and that’s what I intend to do today.

Once upon a time, there was a happily married young couple. They had two boys, five and ten years old. The boys were rambunctious and well loved by their parents. Yes, it was a happy family…..

but something was missing.

The woman felt outnumbered. Raised toilet seats were commonplace as were the ‘puddles’. The shoes were smelly and the laundry very dirty. She longed for a daughter. She wanted pony tails and dollbabies. She wanted dresses and tea parties. ”Let’s have another baby.” she proposed to her husband.”Are you stupid?” He exclaimed. “ Both of the boys will be in school soon and you will have your life back! Besides, work is getting slow and I have to find a new job.”

“Our grandparents raised their families during the Depression. We’ll find a way.”

So the man breathed near the fertile woman and nine months later, they found themselves in the delivery room. The man was excited, for even though he had two boys, he had never seen his wife give birth! He was here! It would happen soon!  He was holding her hand!

He was supposed to be leaving for his first day of his  brand new job!!

The woman said “Go. You need the job. I will be okay. My mother is here with me. Just be sure to rush home to me. Hurry! You need to be at work by 6am!”

She was right. Sadly, he kissed his wife and went to the new job.

Before he had even reached the hospital parking lot, his wife’s labor began in earnest. The doctor gave her an epidural. It seemed as though the labor slowed. She felt no more contractions. So the woman and her mother began making plans to go to lunch.

The doctor returned and lifted the sheet. “Let’s have a looksy and see how you’re progressing…..”

“Hello! Did you know that you had an eavesdropper on your conversation? You have a baby’s head sticking out of your hooha!”

Yes, that was how she arrived. It was a Wednesday morning. 6:31 on October 24, 1991.

At 6:45, the husband returned. It seemed that the boss was furious that the man had left his wife. “Go Home!” He was ordered. “Come back tomorrow!!”

The baby, who was cleaned and swaddled, was handed to her father. He looked at her with tears in his eyes and said “Hey, you.” He had never told his wife, but he had wanted a daughter more than anything in the world. She smiled at him, closed her eyes and they both promptly fell asleep. (A pattern that would repeat itself frequently.)

In the seventeen years since that day, the mother has brushed hair and painted fingernails. She has been there through girlfights, breakups and proms. She will do so until the daughter asks her to stop. (and she will continue long after that too)

The woman may fight with the daughter. She may ground her when necessary. She will tell her to change her clothes or clean her room. They will occasionally hate each other.

But the mother will  always love the girl - with the intensity of a million white hot suns.

Happy Birthday, Babygirl. I love you now and forever. 

I have mentioned before that I love horror movies - all different kinds, from the ones with monsters, to aliens, to slashers, and beyond. But I have never told you where this love came from.

 It began with a night of drinking.  Not me, my parents.

My mom and dad would go out occasionally with Dad’s friend Ray and his wife. The night out usually consisted of dinner somewhere in town (most likely Chinatown) and ended when they returned because of the babysitter. Not wanting the night to end, they would stop at Ray’s and pick up his movie projector.

Dad would whisk the babysitter home, mom would run around looking for a solid white sheet that Ray would hang on the living room wall, and Ray’s wife would order pizza and beer to be delivered.

They would be loud with their plans, and their laughter. Mom would loudly shush them, but they would invariably wake me up.

I was young. Mom says I was only five or six when the movie nights started. I was not allowed up. Once we were sent to bed, there we were supposed to stay and back then, you did what you were told. But I was never told not to sneak!

I would lay on my stomach at the top of the stairs and slowly lower myself down one, two and maybe three steps. Just far enough to see the sheet. Dad would return and then I’d hear the low clatter of the reel-to-reel projector begin.

The sheet would be filled with wonderful images in black and white. Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi! The Creature From the Black Lagoon. The Mummy. Frankenstein. Dracula. I was so scared. I would quickly rush back to my room if I heard anyone head to the bathroom. Pretending to sleep, I lay in the dark, impatient  to return to the horror  waiting below.

When I talked to my parents later on about this, they told me that Dad knew every time. He knew and never said a word to Mom. As soon as the movie would end, he would jump from his seat and loudly announce that he was heading to the bathroom. This was to give me a chance to get into bed. It was also a chance for him to find me first in case I had fallen asleep!

This was only the beginning of what was to be one of the best gifts from my Dad. On Saturday afternoons, we would watch Dr. Shock’s Monster Theatre. A different movie every week and I was in heaven as I watched raptly, sitting next to my dad. Abbott and Costello Meet the Wolfman, The Haunting, and countless others. We enjoyed this ritual until ”Shocky-Doc” retired. I was in my teens by that time.

Do I love horror movies? Oh yeah….but I love the memories that go along with them even more.

**Just curious…Did anyone out there have a similar character to Dr. Shock on their TV networks?

I couldn’t escape smells today. I’m not talking about the freshness of clean laundry or freshly mown grass.

I’m talking about stink.

Last night I went into the basement and I was hit in the face with a smell of concentrated cat urine. We don’t own a cat!! I can smell lots of things (and as a mom I have-trust me!) Some things are gross but I don’t gag easily. Cat urine makes me cry. I hate it and once smelled, it takes forever to leave my nostrils. Since Son1 was the only person to enter the basement all day long, I called hm up and asked him what it was. He blamed his softball equipment. I smelled the bag but nope, that wasn’t it. I went to bed thnking that it would have to wait until he came home to take care of it.

Today, I passed the basement door and guess what was coming under the door? You got it. Rather than cry, I tried to ignore it.

I went outside with the dog and stepped in poop. Unknowingly, I tracked it into the house and into the kitchen. Lovely. I had to clean it. Not just from the floor but from the bottom of my shoe and from the step outside the door. Ugh!

Two year old wanted some juice. I opened the fridge and was assaulted with the smell of something rotten. I searched and searched. The other day, I noticed that some meat I had thawing had leaked some blood onto the fridge shelf. I cleaned that up but failed to notice that some had dripped down the back and puddled under the vegetable drawer. Well, today it made itself known. I cleaned that too.

While was occupied with the kitchen, 8 month old made a stinky in his diaper. Let me tell ya, big smells come out of small butts! I cleaned him too.

I needed to wash the rags I used for all the cleaning, so I held my breath and quickly threw in a load of laundry which included a pair of sport socks belonging to guess who? Son1. It seems that the hideous stench that was permeating my basement belonged to the socks. Not the bag. Not the cleats. When he came home, he seemed to think it was funny.

He showered, ate his dinner and left for the evening.

He left his gear unattended.

I am tempted to throw his shit away for the laughter. I wonder if I have the balls to do it?

This is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. This means Get your boobage checked!!

Nooo…not like this!

It may look like fun, but not like this either!

While he may look more professional, this is not how to do it either!

This is the correct way to have someone help you to check your boobies.

And if you are alone, then do this…

All kidding aside, this is important so don’t fuck around. Get a mammogram. Take a friend. Take your sister, your mom, your aunt. Cancer doesn’t discriminate.

I screwed up.

I screwed up, not in a horrible way, but it was enough for Hubs to be embarassed. This led me to wonder,

 Babygirl went to a checkup for her braces. A bill had come at the beginning of the month but I was under the impression that we could pay that at the time we came into the office.(For some reason, I thought we had discussed that with the orthodontist) Well, we parked the car and Hubs asked me if I had a bill in my hand. I answered yes. Then he asked “When was the payment due?” I told him my impression and he got flustered.

His fear was that the receptionist would make a scene and he would be embarassed. I told him to stay the hell in the car.

I went in, I explained my assness, and paid the bill. No harm-no foul.

So what was the big deal??

I understand not wanting to be embarassed, but it seemed such a trivial thing to me. It led me think about what embarasses me. I came to realize that not much does. But I can say that  SBD’s will cause me to run and hide. (What is an SBD? A “Silent But Deadly” gaseous explosion from between the butt cheeks — or a fart, in other words.) Everyone farts, but still…..it can be cringe-worthy.

I know that if I sing out loud in a store, my boys will disown me. I know that if I talk to Babygirl’s friends as if I am a teenager, I will be shunned. Both of these things are small potatoes when it comes to the big picture of life, but I am curious to know if there is something that others may ignore that seems like the end of the world to you?

I am a bitch. Not only am I a bitch but I love to bitch.

Sometimes when I’m  feeling nasty (or maybe PMS-y) I just revel in it. I will turn on The View just so I can bitch about what a twit Elizabeth Hasselbeck is. Or I will turn on Maury Povich so that I can see what kind of inbred morons are fighting over “Who’s your Daddy?”

After a day of bitching indulgence, my family comes home. This is when I (regrettably) take it out on EVERYBODY. Everything that comes out of my husband’s mouth is suddenly patronizing. Everything my kids say is taken as an insult. None of them can do a damn thing right in my eyes.

Once upon a time I stated to my doctor that I can “hear the shrill come into my voice” and I know that it is time for anti-depressants. They keep me on an even keel (so to speak) I really haven’t been ‘over-the-top’ in a long time.

This week? PMS. I know it is. I can feel the difference. My nerves feel especially raw.

I’m just looking for a fight. I had to turn off all political news shows. I can’t stand it. Everyone on TV is a fucking  idiot today. The world is full of idiots today.

Except for you guys……

And me.

* Today is the first day of fall.  Ugh.  The leaves will begin dropping soon.

**Today I began my new babysitting assignment. Christian is 8 months old and OMG! I have never had such a good baby! His sister Alexa is 3. She is a very curious little girl who just wants to see what is in every cabinet, drawer, closed bedroom, and refrigerator. There is no reason other than , “I duss wookin”. After two weeks to myself, the quiet and sleeping in late, I will admit that they kicked my ass today. We walked, we played, and walked and played some more. I am dead tired. 7:30am comes awfully fast when you are confronted by kids that aren’t your own!

***Just when he caught up with his bill paying and was due to pick up his health benefits, Son2 got laid off. There are so many things that have happened to this kid. Not all of them were good by a long shot. Out of respect for his privacy I have never gone into what they were, but let me just say that he had finally cleared up a string of bad luck that seemed like it would never end. He was becoming a responsible adult and tax paying member of society. I wish he could just catch a break for once.

****This is all that is happening here. I read no blogs today. I don’t think I can concentrate long enough to try reading some tonight. Since the kids won’t be back until Wednesday, I’ll catch up with everyone tomorrow. After I catch some much needed beauty rest. I am feeling like a sweaty old hag right now!

Toodles!

Who’s on first? What’s on second? I don’t know is on third?

Am I the only one old enough to know that that is a famous Abbott and Costello routine?

ANYWAY!…..

We are going through some business with my son and since he is 22, no one wants to talk to mom. He is an adult now. Now everything is being handled like a relay. It is a royal pain in the ass!

Man on the phone to Son2:”Do you have information about___?”

Son2:”Mom, do we have the information about __?”

Me:”Yes, here it is.”

Son2 to Man on the phone:”Yes, I have it. Here it is.”

Are you following me? This is serious business involving his tribal registration and the IRS and a trust fund. Since it involves the government, you can just imagine the bullshit, red tape and headache we are going through.

Does Mom know anything? Nooo…! Should this have been handled 5 years ago BEFORE he turned 18? Yes….! Did anyone listen to me? NO!!!

 Mom is an uneducated moron.

Mom is sitting here saying “I told you so!”

Mom is ready to throw her hands in the air (and wave them like she just don’t care!)

She really doesn’t care at this point!!