...and unfortunately it's not a good one.
WARNING! Pity Party Ahead...
I'm tired.
My arms hurt. (Thank you gym)
I have a headache.
And.I.Want.A.Nap....STILL!
Have you ever been in one of those moods where you honestly could not care one little bit about anything or anyone. That would be me today...and yesterday and the day before that, etc...etc... For example, I was browsing around facebook a little while ago and after reading just about every post I thought to myself...yeah so what...who cares.
God I'm a bitch. What is wrong with me!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Oh Crap...I'm tired!
I thought that you were supposed to feel energized and ready to take on the world after a workout? I feel like crap! My legs hurt & all I want to do is take a nap. WTF!!!
Oh wait...I can't nap...
and it's not for the "good" mom reasons like...I'm playing a rousing game of hide & seek with The Little One or I'm cleaning the house. Nope...it's because all I hear is...BOMP! BOMP! BOMP! BOMP! of the drums.
Yep...you heard me. A friend of ours is cleaning house and he still had his old drum kit. And The Hubby & I thought (or didn't think) "Oh I bet The Boys would love those."
I was awoken at 8 am this morning with the slightest little tinkle of the hi-hats, and was accused of being the meanest mom ever when I told The Big One no he could not play the drums, it was too early.
I know I'm a bitch! Just what I need is the neighborhood association on my ass for noise.
Oh well...live and learn and never nap again!
Oh wait...I can't nap...
and it's not for the "good" mom reasons like...I'm playing a rousing game of hide & seek with The Little One or I'm cleaning the house. Nope...it's because all I hear is...BOMP! BOMP! BOMP! BOMP! of the drums.
Yep...you heard me. A friend of ours is cleaning house and he still had his old drum kit. And The Hubby & I thought (or didn't think) "Oh I bet The Boys would love those."
I was awoken at 8 am this morning with the slightest little tinkle of the hi-hats, and was accused of being the meanest mom ever when I told The Big One no he could not play the drums, it was too early.
I know I'm a bitch! Just what I need is the neighborhood association on my ass for noise.
Oh well...live and learn and never nap again!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Memoir Monday : Yikes!
I was just reading Travis' (over at I Like to Fish) Memoir Monday post about his run in with a snake (GO CHECK IT OUT...NOW!) and it reminded me of my very own snake story from my childhood, so I am going steal his idea and tell you mine...
When we were little, we would give each other rides in our little red wagon. Which basically consisted of one of us pulling, one riding, and another one pushing. The route wound around the back yard and into the shed.
Now keep in mind that our shed was one of those little metal box thingys that was pretty small and full of stuff. There was barely enough room in the center to pull in a wagon.
It was my turn to ride...yeah!
My brother was pulling and our friend B was pushing. Off we went, around the backyard and into the shed. Where we encountered a garter snake in the corner seemingly trapped behind all the stuff (although it was a snake, can they really get trapped?). It's head and part of it's body was sticking up weaving back and forth and it's was hissing up a storm.
Now being older (by 15 months) and "maybe" a little wiser, my brother and B broke land speed records getting out of the shed.
Me...not so much!
I sat there in the wagon and screamed bloody murder, until it occurred to move my ass. (Yes I know...it was a harmless garter snake. SUE ME! I was a kid and afraid of spiders, you think a snake's not gonna scare the crap out of me?)
The neighbor in the house behind us arrived with his shotgun and proceeded to put several holes in the back of the shed, until my mom, the amazing killer of all things that scare the crap out of her little girl (spiders included) came and sent that snake to his maker with a rake.
(Honestly I think this is true, but then again, we were kids, so maybe we embellished a little as we grew...D if you remember let me know)
And that is why, I hate all things creepy and crawly and gross.
When we were little, we would give each other rides in our little red wagon. Which basically consisted of one of us pulling, one riding, and another one pushing. The route wound around the back yard and into the shed.
Now keep in mind that our shed was one of those little metal box thingys that was pretty small and full of stuff. There was barely enough room in the center to pull in a wagon.
It was my turn to ride...yeah!
My brother was pulling and our friend B was pushing. Off we went, around the backyard and into the shed. Where we encountered a garter snake in the corner seemingly trapped behind all the stuff (although it was a snake, can they really get trapped?). It's head and part of it's body was sticking up weaving back and forth and it's was hissing up a storm.
Now being older (by 15 months) and "maybe" a little wiser, my brother and B broke land speed records getting out of the shed.
Me...not so much!
I sat there in the wagon and screamed bloody murder, until it occurred to move my ass. (Yes I know...it was a harmless garter snake. SUE ME! I was a kid and afraid of spiders, you think a snake's not gonna scare the crap out of me?)
The neighbor in the house behind us arrived with his shotgun and proceeded to put several holes in the back of the shed, until my mom, the amazing killer of all things that scare the crap out of her little girl (spiders included) came and sent that snake to his maker with a rake.
(Honestly I think this is true, but then again, we were kids, so maybe we embellished a little as we grew...D if you remember let me know)
And that is why, I hate all things creepy and crawly and gross.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Seven Years Ago...
I squeezed a 6 lb. 11oz. bundle of joy out my ... well we don't need to go into the specifics.
The Big One is seven...
OH EM GEE! THE.BIG.ONE.IS.SEVEN!
Now, let me bore you with the highlights of his birth.
I went into labor and the hospital made me walk around the halls for an hour, because I wasn't dilated enough for them to keep me...yeah right...eff you hospital...I wasn't going anywhere...it hurt...alot! The Hubby told me later that we wouldn't have gone anywhere...we would have waited in the car if necessary.
Anylabor...it worked. Shortly there after...I got me some drugs and then about 2 am my mom walked in the door (yes we were one of those families that had about 10 people in the waiting room) and yelled at me for not being in pain (I love you epidural). She was in pain with me so she felt it was unfair that I wasn't in pain also (thank you doctor who invented the epidural).
At 6:28 am, The Big One popped out and when the nurse handed him to me, the first thing out of my mouth was, "Now I have to take care of him!"
I can't believe he is seven. Happy Birthday Baby!
The Big One is seven...
OH EM GEE! THE.BIG.ONE.IS.SEVEN!
Now, let me bore you with the highlights of his birth.
I went into labor and the hospital made me walk around the halls for an hour, because I wasn't dilated enough for them to keep me...yeah right...eff you hospital...I wasn't going anywhere...it hurt...alot! The Hubby told me later that we wouldn't have gone anywhere...we would have waited in the car if necessary.
Anylabor...it worked. Shortly there after...I got me some drugs and then about 2 am my mom walked in the door (yes we were one of those families that had about 10 people in the waiting room) and yelled at me for not being in pain (I love you epidural). She was in pain with me so she felt it was unfair that I wasn't in pain also (thank you doctor who invented the epidural).
At 6:28 am, The Big One popped out and when the nurse handed him to me, the first thing out of my mouth was, "Now I have to take care of him!"
I can't believe he is seven. Happy Birthday Baby!
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Five Degress of my Mind
It cracks me up how my thought process works.
I'm a rambler, which I'm sure I've mentioned before. I tend to leave like 12 minutes voicemail messages...okay maybe not 12 minutes but pretty close. In fact, I don't think anyone who knows me actually listens to my messages anymore. Well at least not if they value their time. It was a running joke at work. My officemate would just sit there and laugh whenever I would have to leave anyone a voicemail. And I worked in a law firm...attorneys are the kings and queens of talking.
Anyramble, the other day I was in the shower and was thinking about my blog and by the time I was done I was remembering a story about Rosa Parks. Now I know you are wondering how does a chubby white chick go from thinking about her mommy blog to Rosa Parks?
Oh no need to worry...I'm gonna tell ya!
As I was contemplating my blog and possible topics, one being a story about a friend, I remembered a scene in the movie Motherhood, which I had recently seen. Uma's character is a blogger and shared some personal information about a friend in her blog. Which of course pissed her friend off to no end. Needless to say, I won't be telling any stories about my friends...well at least nothing embarrassing anyway. Uma's character was also trying to write an article for a writing contest about what motherhood means to her...blah blah blah.
That started me thinking about what I would write, which in turn, made me laugh cause it reminded me about how much I ramble and that I could never sum anything up in 500 words or less (this post, and my 12 minute voicemails, can attest to that). When I tell a story, I usually jump topics a million times and can never remember my original point. Which is when I shrug and say, "Oh well, it must have been a lie!" leaving the person I was talking to in stunned silence.
Anyisthisstoryoveryet, story telling reminded me of my father-in-law. Papa P is the ultimate story teller. He has more stories than the library. And we've heard most of them a 112 times. I think it took about 3 days after meeting him to hear a story for thehundredth 2nd time. Until a few years ago, The Hubby thought he had heard all of his dads stories. He was wrong...
Papa P went to college at either Eastern or Western Michigan...I can never remember which one. While he was there he attended a march at the University of Michigan in 1965 that was held around the same time as the march from Selma, Alabama. At one point, he was walking next to and having a conversation with a very nice older lady...
...it was Rosa Parks.
See...Mommy blogs to Rosa Park in 5 easy steps.
P.S. I just pasted this in Word and did a word count. I was wrong I can sum things up in 500 words or less. Holding steady at 485… Oh shit…this update just bumped me over the 500 mark…dammit!
I'm a rambler, which I'm sure I've mentioned before. I tend to leave like 12 minutes voicemail messages...okay maybe not 12 minutes but pretty close. In fact, I don't think anyone who knows me actually listens to my messages anymore. Well at least not if they value their time. It was a running joke at work. My officemate would just sit there and laugh whenever I would have to leave anyone a voicemail. And I worked in a law firm...attorneys are the kings and queens of talking.
Anyramble, the other day I was in the shower and was thinking about my blog and by the time I was done I was remembering a story about Rosa Parks. Now I know you are wondering how does a chubby white chick go from thinking about her mommy blog to Rosa Parks?
Oh no need to worry...I'm gonna tell ya!
As I was contemplating my blog and possible topics, one being a story about a friend, I remembered a scene in the movie Motherhood, which I had recently seen. Uma's character is a blogger and shared some personal information about a friend in her blog. Which of course pissed her friend off to no end. Needless to say, I won't be telling any stories about my friends...well at least nothing embarrassing anyway. Uma's character was also trying to write an article for a writing contest about what motherhood means to her...blah blah blah.
That started me thinking about what I would write, which in turn, made me laugh cause it reminded me about how much I ramble and that I could never sum anything up in 500 words or less (this post, and my 12 minute voicemails, can attest to that). When I tell a story, I usually jump topics a million times and can never remember my original point. Which is when I shrug and say, "Oh well, it must have been a lie!" leaving the person I was talking to in stunned silence.
Anyisthisstoryoveryet, story telling reminded me of my father-in-law. Papa P is the ultimate story teller. He has more stories than the library. And we've heard most of them a 112 times. I think it took about 3 days after meeting him to hear a story for the
Papa P went to college at either Eastern or Western Michigan...I can never remember which one. While he was there he attended a march at the University of Michigan in 1965 that was held around the same time as the march from Selma, Alabama. At one point, he was walking next to and having a conversation with a very nice older lady...
...it was Rosa Parks.
See...Mommy blogs to Rosa Park in 5 easy steps.
P.S. I just pasted this in Word and did a word count. I was wrong I can sum things up in 500 words or less. Holding steady at 485… Oh shit…this update just bumped me over the 500 mark…dammit!
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