Holy shit.



Tonight we had soccer. The game was early so hubby and I decided to brave the great unknown and go out for dinner afterwards. This was the first time for us with 3 kids and no help (aka, friends, family) just the montly crue. Dinner went surprisingly well considering we are outnumbered. Maybe that was because we had a cook making us food (that the kids ordered) and a waitress bringing us drinks (that had booze in them). Either way, we all had a nice time and I would do it again.

We came home, put the kids to bed (not as easy as dinner) and settled in for the night. Settled in tonight meant that hubby and baby fell asleep on the couch and I started my normal night routine of dishes, lunches and bottles.

After I finished emptying the dishwasher, I started on packing the kids lunches for tomorrow. I made PB&J for both the 8-year-old and 3-year-old, packed their lunch-bags with fruit and yogurt and went to the garage to place the lunches in the fridge that is closest to the car.

That’s when I noticed that the garage door was open.

That’s when I quietly cursed my hubby (or one of the kids) for not closing the garage…

and that’s when I opened the door to the garage fridge….

and that is when a FUCKING SNAKE FELL ON ME!!!!



It fell on my head and then slithered off my back onto the floor…

Breathe…. breathe… SCREAM…… {that was my brain}

And I chased that crazy snake right out my open garage….

He seemed a bit more upset then I was (If that was even possible) as I was yelling and panting and crying and grossed out.

I wanted to wake up hubby to help or commiserate but what would be the point? He and the baby are fast asleep on the couch.

And the snake, is thankfully gone.

I am a Hermione Granger loving, snake wrangling, Mo Fo….

I can beat a snake!!! (And by beat, I mean I can scream like a psycho until he exits the premises.)

That’s kinda like speaking parseltongue… Right?


Still shaking… the dishes can wait.


My oldest is about to be 9….

While I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I’m going to have a 9-year-old, I’m also trying to plan his birthday party.  As everyone knows, one of the most important parts about being a kid, is desert, and so birthday cake is a big part of the whole birthday party spectacle.

This scares me.

Frightens me to my very core.

I have Bad Birthday Cake Karma.

It all started back when my oldest turned 1.  Although I do like to bake, I wouldn’t have even attempted to make a cake for the 1st birthday of my 1st child. Way too much pressure. So I instead did what every overwhelmed parent of a 1-year-old does… I went to the supermarket and ordered the coolest and prettiest cake I could find. It was this three-tiered job that looked like The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party had mated with Joseph’s Technicolor Dreamcoat. We ordered it in advance and when the day of the party came around, hubby and I were way too busy finishing up the house for all our guests. So we sent a relative to pick it up. When they arrived back at the house I attempted to pay the relative for the cake…

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Of course I do, it’s for the cake.

“I didn’t pay for the cake.”

You what? You didn’t pay for it?

“I thought you had already paid, so I just picked it up and left.”

I looked at the beautiful, AND STOLEN, cake. The one that I picked out to celebrate the birth of my wonderful son. “Shit, I’ll go back and pay for it tomorrow”.

Months later my hubby and I joked about the cake…. and I couldn’t recall if I ever did pay for it. I still can’t recall.

This was the beginning of my Bad Birthday Cake Karma.

Fast forward to this past December. My middle child was turning 3 and I, once again, ordered a cake from the same store. By now we’ve gotten a bit older, and wiser, and lazier, and decided to have the party at an indoor play-place. I went to set up the venue and sent hubby to pick up the cake.

An hour later he walks into the party empty-handed.

As I looked at him with complete disdain….

Really dude? You had one job???

“There was an accident.”

Are you okay? The car?

“The cake.”

Oy Vey, Bad Cake Karma strikes again…

It seems the bakery only had VERY LARGE boxes. So large, in fact that the box couldn’t fit in the shopping cart and had to be rested on the top. As my hubby walked to the checkout another shopper accidentally rammed him with her cart. The cake fell to the floor in a mangled, sugary heap… leaving hubby and the other shopper to stand over it in wonder.  As he scooped up the now, totally unrecognizable cake and brought it back to the bakery department to be fixed, he was told the cake decorator was on lunch break and they “might” have a new cake ready in an hour. Of course, the party was starting in 12 1/2 minutes. Isn’t that always how it goes? So hubby ran back to the party and once again we sent a family member to pick up the cake.

This time when I went to pay for the cake…

“No, the receipt said, no charge.”

What do you mean, “no charge”? This is getting ridiculous… We don’t take things without paying for them. We aren’t fucking thieves. 

And there it was in black and white, “No charge”.

This time I was going to investigate…

When I went back to the market on Monday, receipt in hand and story in mouth, the cashier looked it up for me in the computer… it seems the stranger involved in the cake-tastrophe had PAID FOR OUR CAKE. A simple accident and she took responsibility that wasn’t hers to take. It was a lovely gesture. But I still get a bad taste in my mouth when I think of cake. Actually, just the words “Birthday Cake” make my hairs stand on end and I break out in hives.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

Fingers crossed that my Bad Birthday Cake Karma comes to an end this year. Cause I can’t take this shit 3 times a year for the next 20 years.

Cake Karma Update…


My son turned 9 this year… Not 7.
And the Bad Birthday Cake Karma continues.

Dumpster Diving Preschooler

“This isn’t garbage. This is totally awesome stuff that I need right now or I might die.”

Now that the new baby finally seems to have an actual “schedule” I’ve been trying to get this house back into a semi-clean state. I say semi-clean because lets freaking face it… I didn’t have a clean house BEFORE I had kids, so I’m not trying to shoot beyond reality here.

The biggest part of cleaning around here is decluttering. When you have a kid, you have just accumulated a fucktillion pounds of stuff. Some of which you need, most of which will never be with you when you need it and all of which costs a lot of money. As kids get older, they still produce more stuff. And now I have three kids. Fucktillion, cubed.

“Mommy I made you a picture.”

“Mommy I made you a painting”

“Mommy I made you a craft”

“No, Mommy I want to keep that, it’s my paper collection”



And don’t get me started on the goody bag toys, the stocking stuffers, the Easter basket trinkets, the sports medals and trophies, each of which has distinct sentimental value to a child. I get it, kid, I really do…. but something has to go, and since you are mine, it’s gonna have to be all this extra crap.

Which brings us to today. I just cleaned out the playroom and found some plastic, useless crap that needed to go…. Goodbye plastic crap, hope to never see you, or your brothers again. And I was rid of it. *happy sigh* until the 3-year-old came home from school.

Of course, I was on the phone. If you want your child’s attention, pretend to be on the phone… because it seems that is the only time they ever want to talk to you. After eating his banana and throwing away the peel, I guess he saw some of his junk in the trash…

“Mom, but this not garbage….”

{He’s walking toward me wearing 500 silly bands of assorted colors, a plastic Fireman’s Hat, a macaroni necklace made by his 8-year-old brother (7 FREAKING YEARS AGO), while holding a hot pink plastic egg in one hand and a handful of green plastic grass (with a tampon wrapper in it) in the other}

Ummmm, yeah it is…

“But this my stuff, I not done with it yet”

He is currently at the coffee table playing with the pile of “his” stuff.

Nap-time starts in 15 minutes.

I’ve learned my lesson.

No more kitchen trash for decluttering, because I have given birth to a dumpster diving preschooler.

Garage garbage can from now on.

If he scales that bitch I’m in serious trouble.


I asked the 3 year old about his day at school on the drive home today… His response,

“Joe didn’t wanna play Superheros with me.”

Really? Why?

“I wanted to be Superman.”

Why couldn’t you both be Superman?

“Mom, {very serious} there is only one Superman. ”

{Tell that to Christopher Reeve and Henry Cavill}

Oh, sorry my bad. So who did Joe play with?

“No one, he played alone.”

And who did you play with?

“I played alone too.”

I see, what did you play?


How ’bout that. And Joe?

“He played Superheros too.”

It’s obviously worth playing alone if you get to be Superman.




I’m such a freaking baby when I’m sick.

Right now I have a cold. But in my mind I’m Scarlett O’Hara taking care of a pregnant, near death, Melanie as we flee the burning south. “Oh, Fiddle Dee Dee!” All I want is the red soil of Tara between my toes, and this cough, runny nose, headache and post nasal drip to leave my Plantation. For good.

And of course, when you’re sick, everything seems unmanageable and overwhelming. But I did get a great deal accomplished today even though I feel like shit, Thank you DayQuil. But all of a sudden, my to-do list seemed to have a certain urgency… Like, I HAD to write some thank you notes for the baby gifts today… HAD TO! I have no clue why? And I HAD TO, couldn’t live another day in this house, without finally folding and putting away the laundry.

Why is that? Why when we feel our physical worst do we push ourselves to accomplish things that really can wait until tomorrow? The sky wasn’t gonna fall if I spent a day in bed with the baby, only to get up to pick up and drop off the other kids.

Maybe it’s because when I’m sick, I feel weak. And the idea of myself being weak goes in the opposite direction of the Badass Bionic Supermom I want to be. It’s not that I don’t have those days… we all have those days… but giving in to the germs, admitting defeat, that some bug has beaten me and stolen even one freaking day from me…. pisses me off.

I have friends with, and hear stories about people who are fighting real sickness. Cancer, AIDS, MS, Immune System Diseases, MRSA (the list is endless) …. REAL, life changing, life ending illness… and I can’t believe I’m this angry that I have a cold.

Sometimes my inner big baby needs a nice, steaming, hot bowl of reality check.

A close-up of Astronaut John Grunsfeld shows the reflection of Astronaut Andrew Feustel, perched on the robotic arm and taking the photo. The pair teamed together on three of the five spacewalks during Servicing Mission 4 in May 2009. The Hubble Space Telescope is a project of international cooperation between NASA and the European Space Agency. NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center manages the telescope. The Space Telescope Science Institute conducts Hubble science operations. Goddard is responsible for HST project management, including mission and science operations, servicing missions, and all associated development activities.

Jeez, I looks like the reflection of Alien in your mask. I’m worried. Hold me.

Overall, my kids don’t usually swear. And considering that I’m about one call sign short of being a Trucker, that’s a pretty big feat.

As a general rule, in my home, language is based on situation. I rarely use foul language “at” someone… You won’t hear me call someone a “F**k”, but if I drop a bookcase on my foot I’m pretty sure I’ll yell, “Fuck!” or something of that nature. My kids hear these words. It happens. Some days, it happens more then others. And, there has never been an instance that I have heard my children curse… until today, and it was hilarious.

I had a lovely Mother’s Day. Well, as lovely as it could be with this horrible cold but Hubby and the kids really tried their hardest to make it special. They cooked me an awesome breakfast, and then left me alone for a couple of hours while they cleaned and washed my car. THAT, is a huge gift.

We went to my In-laws for dinner and I brought my (self proclaimed) World Famous, Bacon Wrapped Shrimp. My Father-In-Law was thrilled to see my blue casserole dish being held in my arms as I walked through the door. And I can’t blame him. Bacon is good. Bacon wrapped around shrimp is even better.
As we wrapped up the evening Father-In-Law handed me back the clean dish…. (Wow, it really must be Mother’s Day) and we packed up the kiddos and headed home.

We pull into the driveway and Hubby goes..


{Now I’m worried} What?

“We needed to stop for garbage bags”

OH SHIT, I thought something was actually wrong, I’ll use a lawn bag and get kitchen ones tomorrow.

I open my door and CRASH…..
The blue casserole dish (which I’d placed right next to the car door and floorboard…. I have no clue why) has fallen out of the car, onto the driveway and shattered into a million damn pieces.

At that exact moment, in perfect comedic timing, my 8 year old says,

“Oh Shit”.

I’ve never laughed so hard at a broken dish in my entire life.

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