Where Do I Put It?

When you're really angry at yourself, how do you work it out?

When you are the only one that you can lash out against what do you do?

How do you get it out of your system?

I can appear completely fine on the outside, but on the inside? Oh you should see the swirling.

I'm looking for some positive solutions here interwebs.

But completely inappropriate ones will be appreciated too.

It's All in the Packaging

We are getting the sense that Mr. 3 feels better sleeping if he's well-protected.

Last night:

Shakey [to Mr. 3]: Tell mommy what you're wearing.

Mr. 3: I have a diaper, a pull-up, underwear and my foot jamas on.

So it's that or he thought we'd be playing strip poker later.

He Won't Be Fooled Again

Unexpectedly attacked last week by the sneaky burp, Mr. 5 was not going to be surprised again.

This morning.

Mr. 5: I'm going to fart in a few seconds.

In the Shower, Part Deux

My earlier post today was not complete. There were additional moments of brilliance I didn't share with you my sad saps who have nothing better to do than read my inane spewingfine readers.

If this conversation was thought A, allow me to continue with...

wait... wait...

are you ready for it?

Thought B!

We in the parent blogging world allude to sex from time to time on our blogs (some begging for it more than others). And while we all must have done the waterbed waltz at one time or another to become parent bloggers, I don't read many posts that touch on the topic in a serious way. Sure there's Lotta who's always got our back thinking about ways to improve things, but I'm always amazed that something that so many people do (or want to do) is still so taboo. Anyway, my great thought--which doesn't seem so great anymore--was that we should start a blog called, "Yeah, Your Parents ARE Having Sex" to discuss such matters. And we'll all make sure not to tell our co-workers, neighbors or parents about it.

Are you still with me?

Okay, so for Thought C--and I swear my shower wasn't that long.

I really hope that if Shakey decides to have an affair he never brings the other woman to our house. I'd be so embarrassed by the state of my house.

Yes, as I was rinsing off, I looked around my shower, and--now I KNOW this will come as a major shock to my mother--I noticed that it along with the rest of my house bathroom needed to be cleaned ASAP.

I got to stop worrying about what other people think.

In the Shower

Monday morning quickly trying to rid my body of a busy weekend's grime and an aggressive knock is heard at the door.

Shakey: What are you doing on the side?

Me: [thinking to myself] What? I only use the vibrator when you're not available.

Me: huh?

Shakey: I just went to get money from your wallet and there's a ton of cash in there.

Me: Yeah, I was dancing. [eye roll] The Smith family paid me in cash for the fanwear (for little league, not MY fans).

Me: [again to myself] Sheesh! He of anyone should know my blow jobs cost WAY more than that.

It's Funny How That Happens

Mr. Five getting dressed this morning.

{loud burp erupts}

{to himself} "Hmmm. I didn't see that coming."

A Must Read

This post made me cry harder than I ever have reading others' blogs. It may be one of the saddest, yet most beautiful pieces of writing, because it is so clearly straight from this mother's gut.

The sheer number of comments reminds me how wonderful the citizens of the blogosphere can be.

I am sure Liam is now a brilliant star.

Beginnings of a Fetish?

My youngest son is asleep in HIS bed.

Sound asleep.

In a Batman costume.

Note to Email Marketers

Don't start your email with, "Hello Mommy Blogger!"

Sorry, but I'm going to respond to you in the same way I did the bow-heads in highschool who asked me in excited, high-pitched voices if I was going to try out for cheerleading too.

{laughing AT them as she walked away}

I may have the right clothes, I may drive the right car but I have much more fun in the parking lot than at the game.

I am a mommy. I blog. It doesn't mean I'm going to hock your baby goods site for free.

{excited and high-pitched} Good luck with the try-outs though. {waving with her middle finger}

Popcorn

I'm a big fan, but I hate those little kernal skins that get stuck in your gums.

Is it my imagination or is the microwave variety worse in this area?

I Really Shouldn't Waste the Energy...

...but this pisses me off.

Paris Hilton has been released from prison and is serving the rest of her sentence under house arrest.

OMFG!!!

Sources are citing "medical" conditions for this development.

What?! What could it possibly be that demanded house arrest?

I was thinking maybe constipation or having to pee in front of others.

Wait!

Those are the same things that happened to me after birth. Oh yeah! And, I didn't leave the house for a while either.

Sorry for the interruption. Move along. OF COURSE that's the appropriate manner to deal with those "conditions" (and my shit comes out in baggies).

House arrest should help her get better. I mean I didn't have the maids, butlers, goose feather pillows or cooks, but I like to rough it like that.

Damn That Last Water!

I've been low on post ideas, hence my infrequent visits to your reader, however the mighty Blog Goddess saw fit to bless me with an event last night that just demanded to be blogged.

We're wrapping up the Little League regular season here in VA. Now Mamma Loves baseball, but it does mean that I visit the ball fields 4-5 times a week with our two players.

The thing about the ball fields you see is that when nature calls a woman has few options.

I did give that bottle of water a second thought before I took it out of the refrigerator at work to drink on the way to the game. I did weigh the possibility of having to use the dreaded Don's John. But I was thirsty.

Some time in the bottom of the second inning I couldn't wait. It was time to brave the Bacteria Bin.

The lights were on at the field and when I got inside and closed the door I realized it was really dark inside that potty. I was wearing my work clothes and I was a bit concerned about my pants touching the floor, so I hitched them before pulling them down from my waist.

You know I totally squatted cause there ain't no way any part of me is touching any of this latrine. Everything was going well. Pants hiked up. Perfect squatting position achieved and bladder emptying.

Then I tried to maneuver for some toilet paper--while I maintained my position.

What happened next was all such a blur. I guess I lost my balance. Next thing I know pee is ricocheting off the toilet and spraying the backs of my legs and running down my ankles. I couldn't make it stop. I couldn't readjust. I couldn't keep the pants up, the squat maintained and find the target. I was frantic. And I was covered in pee!

And it was only the second inning. And it was humid.

I managed to blot out most of the dripping parts (mostly the hem of my pants) and luckily the pants were black and so the wetness was not noticeable. I hurried to my car just to collect my thoughts. I could go home and change, but it was a tournament game and how was I supposed to explain my running off to change. Besides, us baseball parents? We're weird and superstitious. The team always wins when I'm in my work clothes. I couldn't change.

The pants weren't as bad as I first thought, so I made my way back to the game. I am happy to report that Mr. 10's team won and will continue on in the tournament. I'm also pretty sure I'm the only one who noticed that I smelled like a Port-O-Potty (remember the humidity?). It's that or the other parents on the team just have really nice manners.