Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Parenting Fail #1498

Experts say that women have natural mothering tendencies. I would agree with that, especially when one first gives birth and the doctor or nurse hands them their fresh new baby. You can't help but feel the most enormous amount of love fathomable when you sit there holding that warm sack of skin that you just introduced to the world. Pure love. The good stuff.

The thing is: those little cuddly infants get bigger. Then they start talking, and that includes talking back. And thus the real challenge to that "natural instinct*" begins.

*and I may or may not be referring to the natural instinct that some species have of eating their young.

I was in the grocery store the other day with a very docile Thing 2. He was in one of his particularly charming modes that was causing random strangers to come up to me and comment on "how lucky I was to have such a cute little guy". My personal favorite was an elderly white lady, probably in her 80's, that said "You are so fortunate to have a BOY! All of my grandchildren are girls. I want a boy so bad that I would even take a black one."

How the fuck do you respond to that?

I patted her wrinkled old hand and said, "Thank you. I am lucky. And I hope you get your black baby."

Later, in the same store, I was waiting in line at the deli counter. I was standing next to a mother/daughter combo. The young one was probably around 2 1/2 or 3 years old. She was talking and bobbing her cute little curly head. I smiled warmly. Then I heard her say, in that jabbing way that the speaking children possess, "I'M NOT HAVING ANY FUN WITH YOU, MOM."

My "mothering instinct" kicked in upon hearing that and I immediately knew that my response would have been, "Well I'm not having very much fun with YOU right now either. Maybe if you were nicer, we would ALL be having more fun."

Instead, the cultured mom, whose child won't be in therapy, said "Well, that's too bad because I'm having fun with YOU!"

Shit. Out-mothered again.

I probably need to read some books to enhance my "natural instincts".

Peace, Love and Black Babies,

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Sexy Beasts in the Water.

Speaking of swimsuits, Thing 1 had a field trip to the swimming pool yesterday. I was about as excited about a public pool as I was for my last trip to the crotch doctor, so naturally I sent Brock. He had already contracted a rash on his arms from the hot tub at the gym, so I figured he was the most prepared for the public pool with a bunch of 4 year old children, who I'm pretty confident peed in the pool directly upon arrival.

Something that might surprise you all is that my sweet, mild tempered Brock has a little issue with Authori-TAY. Specifically the 'punk-ass kids who try to tell me what to do' sort of authority. People like campus cops, nuns and lifeguards. I think this is shocking and horrible. (Cut to me basically giving a campus cop the finger for pulling me over because I wasn't wearing a seat belt as I drove ONE BLOCK back to my house after delivering some artwork to the Art Building. And no, he did not give me a ticket. He wrote me a warning and when he handed it to me I said, "No thanks, you can keep it".)

So Brock is relaxing in the hot tub with Thing 1, who is still wearing his arm floaties AND inner tube. This does not surprise me, as he also has been wearing them around the house for the past three days. A young lifeguard strolls over and instructs Brock to remove the inflatable devices as they are choking hazards when in contact with hot water. Brock tells him that they are no where near the child's neck and goes on with his hot tubbing. Later, a different lifeguard comes over and instructs Brock to remove the inflatable devices as they are taking up too much room in the hot tub. Brock tells lifeguard that there are only 2 adults in the hot tub and he thinks that there is plenty of room.

He says he was in the right and the lifeguards were power hungry fools. I say they were just doing their job as they were instructed to do, and he's a dream crusher. And yes, I'm aware that I am a hypocrite and I'm okay with that.

The inflatable devices remained on the child the entire trip and Thing 1 had some great father/son bonding time where he learned all about disrespecting authority swimming.

On that note, I have two you tube videos that I would like to share today. They both made me laugh in an unexpected way. Make sure and watch the second all the way to the end because it IS the awesomesauce.

Happy Saturday. We will be staying home, where the snot is flowing freely from both of the Thing's noses. I guess we will have to hold off on that Europe trip for another week or two.

Peace, Love and funny dudes splashing around in the water,

Thursday, January 26, 2012

My Life, but with more famous people.

I'm not going to lie to you. I'm in a slump. I don't know if it because it is winter, because I stopped drinking or because my muse, my girl Sarah, has been out of town for a few weeks. Seriously, it is probably a combination of all of the above, but I will tell you that I feel pretty boring without Sarah around. I feel that we truly compliment each other- sort of like Thelma and Louise...... or Beavis and Butthead. The reality of it is probably that her sparkling personality probably just shines so bright that makes me appear more interesting by default.

*....licks glass, cleans toilet and turns on Project Runway*

SO. To combat my mental fatigue and comedic laziness, I am now going to be totally uncreative and steal an idea from Noa and Jen. I will create a masterpiece film about my life and cast famous people in the roles of my friends and family!

Starring as me, the Corn Fed Girl:

Snarky, sassy, and self-deprecating Tina Fey. She is smart, but she also strikes me as the kind of woman who would wear her sneakers numerous times with a piece of dog food inside of them, each time thinking there was something wrong with her foot, until she finally discovered the dog food. I'm not saying that I have done that....* cough.* Of course she would need to be blond, have smaller boobs and green contacts eyes (and a green leisure suit), but other than that it is a dead ringer. She would also need to practice some Jim Carrey-esq facial contortions in the mirror, use phrases like "dicking around" and start wearing more cowboy boots.

Playing the role of Brock (also known as Bow-Chicka-Now-Now):

The puppy dog-eyed Edward Burns. He is almost a dead ringer for Brock, but with more game and less grout on his hands. He would have to play down the whole male whore thing though and learn to build a bunch of useful shit, how to bathe the Things and how take out the garbage- EVERY SINGLE EFFING DAY. He would also need to practice saying "Let me make dinner tonight?" and "You go watch Top Model. I'll clean the bathroom." and "Here, let me rub your back." Brock really doesn't say any of those things but it is my movie and I'll make the actors do as I please, thankyouverymuch.

And the role of Thing 1 will be played by:

I know that you were thinking that the Things would be played by The Things, but Dash from the Incredibles is a much better fit. Thing 1 is quick, sneaky, and triumphant, making Dash a perfect portrayal. Plus he thinks he is a superhero and he looks out for others- particularly his little brother- and he is pretty darn funny to boot.

And for Thing 2:

Jack Jack, also from The Incredibles. He's adorable, in an animated way, much like Thing 2, and I hear that it is best to keep the siblings together. Blah blah blah. Plus Thing 2 can be the most charming and happy little guy on the planet one moment, then turn to fire and lead the next.

Remember this?
This is pretty much a dead ringer for Thing 2 every day
after his nap.
Unfortunately, it is also when I am attempting to prepare dinner.
Good times...

Playing the role of my BFF that left me and moved to San Francisco:

This was BY FAR the easiest role to cast, as my BFF not only looks almost exactly like Neil Patrick Harris, he is equally as awesome. I almost peed my pants when I located this particular picture, as not only was my BFF the recipient of The Manicorn sign declaring "Homo Sweet Homo", he is also an accomplished horseman, which clearly translates directly to Unicorn Whispering. My BFF is the perfect blend of intelligence, confidence, rapid fire wit and comfort. I miss him, but I think NPH will do him proud. I would take either one of them shoe shopping with me.

Playing the part of my homegirl, Sarah:

This one was exceedingly difficult for me, until I remembered the brilliant Molly Shannon. Sarah is one of those unique people that can make me laugh so hard at the most mundane things that I often find myself crying and snorting. Molly Shannon is the perfect representation- goofy, happy, fabulous and downright fucking hilarious. She fills me with joy, which is exactly what Sarah does every time I get to spend time with her. Hurry back Sarah. I'm fucking bored without you.

Playing the role of my Dad:

John Wayne is the obvious choice here. RIP Mr. Wayne. My dad not only dresses like this, but he is (thankfully) a man of few words, a leader and a cowboy. Plus he said things like: "Life is tough. It's tougher if you're stupid." Perfect choice.

My Mom would be depicted by:

Karen Grassle, who played Caroline on Little House on the Prairie is the perfect person. Not only did my mom look almost exactly like this in my childhood- she also acts like her. No, we were not raised Amish, but with John Wayne for a dad and Caroline for a mom, my sister and I dressed like we were either of Amish tradition or cast members on Little House on the Prairie (probably the leading cause of my fashion addiction today).  But BY GOLLY- we knew how to ride a horse, make a fire, pee in the woods and to decifer between right and wrong.

Speaking of my sister:

The clear choice here is Lucy Lawless, also known as Xena the Warrior Princess. Anyone who has ever tried to buck hay or play sports with my sister knows that she is a warrior princess. Seriously, the girl intimidates pretty much everyone she encounters. She is a workout queen, a horsewoman and a fearless leader. She is also a great sis and auntie and she has been known to clean my house while I am napping. I would really like it if she just moved in with me.... (My sister, not Lucy- because I don't actually know her...)

Playing The Erins:

(You all didn't know that I have TWO Erin's, did you?)

Chelsea Handler (for the tall red-headed one) and Leah Remini (for my fist pumping Jersey Girl). Both have razor sharp wit, love the booze, can "handle" a man and are a fucking riot. They are also both reformed smokers and repressed comedians. I love my Erin's. Everyone should have at least two of their own.

And last but not least, Kate:

Kate will be played by the spaztastic Cameron Diaz. Because she is a spaz. And she is fantastic. And I love them both. And I want to work out with neither of them.

Don't feel bad if I left you out of this casting list. I love you all and everyone knows that I am super popular and have a shit ton of friends. Maybe if you work harder for my affection (i.e. Free babysitting, fine wine and baked goods), you too can have a role in this much anticipated film.

Coming soon only to those weird artsy theatres near you that play films like Trash Humpers.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi Fey

Monday, January 23, 2012

So this is what it has come to....

Almost a week ago (Saturday before last), Brock graciously gave me an entire half a day ALL TO MYSELF. Honestly, he gave me as much time as I needed, seeing as I was reduced to tears around 5pm that Fried-day (pun intended). I only needed half a day (with some retail therapy included) and I was right as rain again.

He took the Things and the pets out of my hair to the yard to "burn some stuff" and I looked around my empty home and pondered what to do with myself.

My options were unlimited, but it was clear to me what the first thing on the agenda was.

So I cleaned up the breakfast dishes.

Then I exercised for as long as I wanted to. After watching a DVRed episode of Glee while on the treadmill, I did about 20 minutes of yoga in my bedroom. Of course I couldn't find my 'zen space' because every time I did downward facing dog or a forward fold, all I could think about is how much dog hair and OMG WHAT IS THAT???? was on the rug, but I did the stretches none the less.

Next it was time for a shower.... alone. And all of us overworked, overtired, under stimulated stay at home parents know what 'alone shower time' is code for.

This is supposed to be a sexy shower picture.
Is it working for you?

That's right, I did something that I had been NEEDING to do for some time.

I was overdue.

Because, in the words of Anya Marina, "I like a little dirty with my clean".

So I tiptoed through the house and went to the den of information called the Internet, where I looked up.......... the recipe I had seen on Pinterest for homemade shower cleaner. Bow Chicka Now Now.

*One part heated vinegar to one part blue Dawn dish soap, mix, shake and spray.

And I scrubbed that S.O.B. until the smelly black crap on my tile was gone. And I skinned my thumb in the process which now seems to be infected. But that's okay because that stuff really worked on my shower.

And THAT is apparently how I roll now. Someone help me.

The Shower Goddess,
*For those of you unfamiliar with Anya Marina; presenting "Sociopath":

Friday, January 20, 2012

Music for you this fine Friday

I found this on youtube last night when I was taking a break from parenting researching some really important stuff.


Anyway, I think that this girl is precious, I love her phrasing and her voice is so so so angelic.

Plus, she's playing a cover of 'You're the One that I Want' from Grease without making it sound cheesy.

And the best part is that she is sharing the stage with her fellow musicians: Abe Lincoln, Grizzly Adams and Jesus~ after he went on a bender and ended up being tumbled through the high cotton cycle of a dryer.

Presenting: Angus and Julia Stone

Happy Friday!

Peace, Love and Unicorns,

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Freedom to be.... in a trance.

When I was a kid, I dreamt of what adulthood was going to be like. I viewed adults as mystical, wise creatures. People who always had the answers to life's quandaries. People who talked about boring adult things and seemed intelligent and truly interested. People who wore high heeled shoes and lipstick. People with boobs and no bed time and FREEDOM.

Then, sometime in my 20's? Adulthood sneaked in when I wasn't paying attention and stole my true freedom away: my childhood. Because who would want to have meals cooked and served, your laundry done, free education, your major decisions made and the freedom to play, read and ride your horse?

Um..... wait! You FOLD my laundry AND put it away? I want that again!

So I got older and I worked poopy jobs with poopy pay, and I picked some men to pass the time with that were douchebags  wrong for me. And I payed bills and scheduled oil changes and cooked food and birthed babies and picked up dog shit. But, I WAS AN ADULT!...? yaaay?

Sometime after the children were born, I realized something else, as much as I loved my life and my family, and I do, I was freaking exhausted. And as much as I love wearing lipstick and high heels, I'm still freaking exhausted. I think that somewhere along the lines, that wonderful and elusive childhood fantasy of adulthood became a reality and it  just may have broken my spirit.

*Or maybe it was the heinous, judgemental art professor who didn't like anyone that wasn't "special" and "unique" in a way that was just like him and/or all the people who made me feel like being creative was a waste of time. But that is for another day, or therapy.

Seriously though, moments like this make the fact that I have a crippled spirit worthwhile....

Sedation by television.
Serious cuteness happening....

Sedation by food and television.
I'm up for a parenting award....

Occasionally, my husband and I try to break to ho-hum cycle with something fun. Something that calls for no cooking and overpriced liquor; also known Date Night. It goes a little something like this:

Brock: Do you want to go out soon?

Me: Um... let me think.... FUCK YES.

Brock: Okay.... I'll call a sitter.

Thirty minutes later I tell him who I have arranged to watch the Things for the night.

Last Saturday Brock and I took a night off of our parental duties and had a date. We had decisions to make: where to eat, whether or not to watch the game over the wife's head and pretend like we are listening, what to do after dinner, where to park, whether or not to stand in line spent about half an hour in line to see the bluegrass band or to go sit at the jazz bar. Even a night off is fulling of planning and decision making. So when we were properly relaxed after enough alcohol time away from our house, we decided to venture home. I think it was 9 pm at this point, because we be crazy party goers like that. We walked over to the crosswalk and I was feeling sassy so I kicked the button and we waited for the light to tell us when to cross, because quite frankly, it was refreshing that something was going to tell us what to do and when to do it. Plus we both felt relaxed and we were seizing the moment, which is rare. What we failed to realize was that no one was coming..... yet we stood there like sheep...or zombies.... waiting... watching ffor instructions from the crossing light.

Suddenly a young girl drove by in her car (she was probably drunk) with her window rolled down and yelled at us in a mocking tone, "DON'T DO IT! DON'T CROSS! DON'T DO IT!" She shook us out of our comfortable daze and frankly, I thought that it was kind of funny. It was totally something I would have done at her age (or my age). Brock, on the other hand, felt a little wounded. He was frustrated that he wasn't on top of his game and this random drunk chick called him out on it. I soothed his ego and nodded knowingly, saying with confidence, "Oh, she'll get hers. Her fun-time clock is ticking. Just wait."

And we drove home, to pay the sitter and talk about whether or not the children went to bed without a fuss. And we put ourselves to bed at a reasonable hour so that we would be fresh for another new day, in the magical, mystical world of adulthood.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

The Mom Diet

There is something that a lot of you may not know about me. I love food. And unless said food is an $8 piece of cake or a french fry, I don't like sharing my food.  That being said, since I hatched a couple of Things, I rarely get to eat all of my own food, which makes me twitchy. The upside of that is that I currently weigh what I did in high school. Don't hate me. My boobs never came in. I'm clearly not supposed to be bigger than your average skinny bitch.

Listen folks, I've been larger than I am now and I hated all skinny people. I get it. But now I am rocking my title of Ms. Wag the Dad 2012 and a sweet green leisure suit and life is grand.

*Neither of those things have anything to do with my weight, I just like to work them into the conversation whenever I can.....

Just me, working on my laptop.....
Don't hate me because I won the shirt and inherited the suit.
By the way, I didn't think that the 'pathologically violent green'
could ever be reproduced, but the LeapFrog toys seem to have
borrowed the color...

*Okay, maybe the reason for my weight is the fact that I developed a shit ton of food intolerance and now I no longer drink pizza and eat beer with the culinary enthusiasm of a frat boy high on the marijuana. Whatever.

So, seeing that this is a New Year and most of the humans that I know want to either 'get healthier' or 'lose weight', I thought that I would offer up my super duper helpful tips. Plus, I'm clearly a professional, so all of this advice can be safely followed and no harm will come to you or your family.* You're welcome.

*Unless you don't understand satire and you take me seriously, then you are an idiot and I never intended for you to read this.

Let's call it : THE MOM DIET

You could also call it: HIDE AND GO EAT

Since the spawn started eating solid food, they seem to desire everything that I am eating. Even if they have their own food (which is exactly the same as mine) in front of them. They reach their adorable chubby hand towards you (or your plate) and say things like "I want that!" and "Me?" and "Mine?" and "I'm hungry!" and "Can I have some?" and "DAH!" (if they are Thing 2). Between two apparently starving all the time kids, two sad eyed,begging dogs and a ravonous 14 pound cat that thinks that anything that requires a can opener is tuna, I rarely get to eat in peace. Sometimes I feel like I am being swarmed by bees, and no amount of running, screaming or swatting will shake them.

Since I don't have a photo of my children demanding that I give them anything that I am attempting to consume, I will offer this picture of my sister surrounded by a wagonload of hounds. The general point is the same.

Mine? Mine? Mine? Dogs, kids.... whatever. Same business.

Are you ready for the actual rules? Good, let's go.

1. Eat less.

What happens with the "mom diet" is you actually are consuming less calories throughout the day, most of the time this is happening without your consent. Whether it be because your offspring are consuming them for you, or that you have less time to eat because you are busy cleaning up the aftermath of your children's food consumption; you simply eat less. Also, groceries are ridiculously expensive and the less you eat, the less you have to buy. Win Win....wine.... what?

2. Eat healthy food.

Only buy food that you would want your children to eat. Then when you don't, hide the good stuff and put child locks on the pantry, thus making it hard for grown-ups to open any door in the kitchen. Installing a 'chastity belt' on the refrigerator is not a bad idea either. Basically, the only thing that my children can help themselves to is in the fruit bowl on the counter, hence they eat Cuties, Apples and Bananas with wild abandon. I however, rarely get to eat fruit because they want whatever I have... naturally.

Good for fighting off Scurvy too.

3. Exercise.

I attempt to get a workout in seven days a week, for at least 20 minutes. I am secretly happy with four days, so that when I inevitably fail three times a week I am still within my acceptable guidelines and feel like a winner. I also count cleaning the house (complete with floor mopping) or sex as a workout. Perspiration + elevated heart rate= WORK OUT. Sometimes going to the grocery store with your children will achieve both of those things as well. Use your own good judgement.

Now here is where it gets tricky because we parents need our proper calorie intake and nutrition for the day.

4. Hide and go eat.

Occupy the children with toys, books or a DVD and tell them that you need to "do chores" or "use the restroom". Prepare your food on the sly and carry it (in a box with a lid if necessary- yes, I have done this) to an area where you can eat privately. Let me offer some examples, complete with pictures for your aid.

A) The laundry closet.....

"Nothing is in my hand, honey! I just need to do laundry!
Now, go and look at that book with your brother!"


B) Behind the pantry doors....

I call this "I'm looking for paper towels".
C) The coat closet.....

"I'm looking for my green jacket! I'll be right there!"
D) In the bathroom....

"Mommy needs some privacy! I'll be right out!"

This is bound to gross you out, which in turn will be helpful with the whole
'eating less' business.

5.) Smell a tube of food flavored lotion (anything starting with the word 'warm' and sold at Bath and Body Works will do) while watching a clip of your favorite 'love to hate them' celebrity. Whether it be Rachel Ray, Rosie O'Donnell. Andrew Dice Clay or Joy Berhar, find someone whose voice, words and general appearance you find grating and unsavory, and soon you will associate said annoying person to the smell of sugar cookies, thus having a Pavlovian reaction to baked goods...or to Bath and Body Works. I'm not really sure about this one but it makes sense. It's all about the brain chemistry shiz.

Maybe this is why Bath and Body Works turns my stomach.....

I hope that you all find my intense reasearch and insightful tutorials incredibly helpful. I hope that you have a skinny jeans kind of year.

Peace, Love and Oh God, I'm Losing My Shit,

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Tunes for You on this Fine Sunday

One of my buddies posted a video on facebook. I literally could sit and watch it over and over, but I made myself get up and do laundry.
Then I listened to/watched the original and I decided that I am completely in love with both of them so I'm generously sharing them both.

The brilliant original first....

And the awesome cover....

I hope you are all enjoying your weekend.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,

Friday, January 13, 2012

Some people shouldn't serve the public and I shouldn't be allowed into public.

Thankfully, my friend called me last night and asked if I wanted her to pick me up. I was so confused at first because I knew that she was referring to book club and I KNEW that we had book club on Thursdays, and OBVIOUSLY, yesterday was Wednesday.


So, once I figured out what day it was I said 'yes' to her proposal and ran into my room to get ready to greet people other than my children.

I was as excited as I could be for someone who has fully entered her 'winter coma phase'. I fucking hate winter. I'm all foggy headed and slow. It's stupid.

So I stumbled to my closet and attempted to pretty myself up. My friend arrived and we drove into Old Town for Thursday night (yes, yesterday was Thursday) book club! When we entered the selected establishment, we walked into an almost empty restaurant to see some of our friends already seated.

There was something off in the place. Something I can only describe as a 'strange vibe'. Then I figured out it was the waitress. I secretly think that she was plotting our death. I'm about 70% sure that she may have been a zombie.

Well, this is welcoming.... who's hungry?

She stalked around like a stiff old cat, barely moving her head, never smiling and looking at the patrons from the corners of her eyes.

She actually made me feel as if I had intruded on her private residence, expecting her to do outlandish things for me. Ridiculous things, like bring me a glass of wine. It took her 15 minutes to even ask me and my friend what we wanted (even though she was at our table five times prior to that, never once making eye contact with us), and when we both ordered only wine, she said in a judgy mother-in-law kind of way "What? You don't want any food?" She also scolded about half of the table on the location of their purse, demanded in a super uncomfortable school-marm way that we hand her EVERY menu on the table, even though some people wanted dessert and weren't finished looking at the menu, and she had the general air of a nun who was asked to leave the convent because she had too much of a God Complex. Then she did the worst thing any waiter can do.... someone asked about some soup and she replied with "I don't know, I'm a vegetarian."

Whatever- I know she eats brains....

NOOOOOOO! I don't give a crap if you are a vegan who only eats organic greens, braids baskets out of hemp and grinds your own flour, if you are a waiter/waitress and someone asks you about an item, you say it is delicious (unless you know people hate it, then you recommend something else). Period. We don't need to know how you plan to boycott taxidermy or if you think cows should only be on earth to look pretty in the meadow.

But hey, maybe I'm just reading into it a little too much.
It is winter, which is the stupidest season EVER. Did I mention that already?

Anyway, trying to laugh and be fun on my one night out of the house under the watchful eye of this judgmental, PETA loving biddy kind of ruined my evening. Plus none of the other people in the restaurant were attractive (except my friends of course) and I found that to be extremely.... well.... boring.

So I propose three things:

1.) Anyone with serious control issues that feels the need to comment on what people are ordering and the way you place your purse should probably not be in food service. In fact, don't do any job that requires you to be around the public. Maybe you should just stick to knitting sweaters for cats and selling them on E-bay (the cat sweaters, not the cats. They would be too hard to ship.)

2.) I need a do-over, because that wasn't what my one night out for the month of January was supposed to be like. If I wanted to be around someone judging what I eat or don't eat (or drink) and where I set my personal property, I would have stayed home and listened to myself talk to my small children about those things: "Eat ALL your food. Stop blowing into that straw. Pick up those toys."

3.) If you live in my city and you are going out in Old Town, please make yourself look fabulous so that I won't be disappointed in the scenery.

Thank you.
Peace, Love and Uniporn,

My homette Sarah sent me this picture and called
it "Uniporn".
I wanted to share it with all of you who
voted me as an ALL-STAR in the League
of Funny Bitches.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

20 Things to do with your Christmas Tree

I really titled it this just to annoy people who really WANT to read about 20 things to do with your old used up Christmas Tree.

I'm sweet, don't you think?

While we are talking about it, I'll go ahead a make a list.

1. Take the decorations off and have husband take it outside.

2. Ask him 15 times to remove it from the front porch in a period of two days.

3. Remind him to also take off the tree stand.

4. Drag it to your neighbors front porch and leave it there. Hide in the bushes until they get home and watch their annoyed reaction.

5. Sneak over in the middle of the night and bring it back to your yard. Pray that their dog is tied up securely.

6. Put it by the other pile of branches and crap that never seems to leave your back yard.

7. Leave it there for three days.

8. Decide to cut the branches off for creative reuse. Spend 20 minutes bundling children for an outdoor adventure.

9. Go outside and look in barn for branch trimming tool. Discover that they are missing, along with all the other yard tools.

10. Call husband and yell at him for not putting your stuff back. Ask him where he left your branch loppers.

11. Walk around the yard and find a variety of rakes, shovels and other sharp, expensive yard tools left leaning on trees/fences and jammed in branches.

12. Mutter a curse on husband under your breathe and consider painting all the handles Pepto Bismol Pink so that he knows that they are YOURS.

13. Yell at dogs for chasing cars.

14. Take sharp garden tool out of the children's tiny hands and notice how they have spread every toy they own all over the lawn.

15. Attempt to cut branches and realize that because your branch loppers were left out in a tree that they are now about as sharp as a spoon.

16. Listen to children whine that they are cold and hungry. Say "forget this!" and go inside.

17. Feed children, click to Project Runway and watch as your spawn destroy the inside of your house in five minutes flat.

18. Call and sweetly ask husband to cut branches when he gets home.

19. Mock husband when the loppers aren't sharp enough and he gets out a power tool.

20. Use your leftover tree branches to decorate your bare window boxes.

Voila! Recycled Tree! Pretty winter window boxes!
 I'm a decorating, recycling and time management GENIUS. And I think I really have a knack for this helpful, crafty information. I'll bet this attracts a whole new group of readers.


Peace, Love and Unicorns,

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Where The Tights of Hell Foiled My Plan For Joy.

I had every intention of writing a post about how much I enjoyed the school break *ducks as mothers everywhere aim for my head with Legos and misplaced shoes*. But I really did. Thing 2 had cut FOUR teeth just before Christmas, so his mood was decidedly happier than it had been as of late and Thing 1 was just being downright sweet. We were all embracing the new rule of You Must Stay in Your PJ's Until 10 am! I enjoyed the lack of schedules and rushing and public germs. My favorite part was that Thing 1 was suddenly playing nicely with his baby brother. *exhale*

We all showered very little, rarely left the yard and loved every minute of it. I also recently cleaned my house which always makes me feel like I'm winning at life!

So this is what I was going to gush at all of you, surely annoying you and losing followers (kind of like the time I posted the YouTube video of me singing). But because I had spent the majority of this Christmas vacation in pajama pants, I prepared myself for the re-entry into society this morning by attempting to pull together a cute outfit that would be highlighted by these grey tights and my slammin' brown boots. The only thing that I pulled was my hamstring, which merely highlighted the fact that I am insanely bitchy when things bind my crotch.

Let me take this opportunity to tell you that just because something LOOKS GOOD, does not mean that it is GOOD FOR YOU.

Case in Point.

 So on went the tights and on came all of the rage and irritation of my 'normal' charming self.

You see, I was thinking this:
Tights=Cute and Trendy

When the reality of tights is this:
Tights=Satan Laughing.

Just so you are not confused, this is not me.
Although I do spend a lot of time posing like
this in heels and a turtleneck.

They went on the first leg fine.
Sort of, if you like the feeling of all your toes being bound like the foot of a Geisha Girl with size nine hooves.
Then I attempted to put the second leg in and everything went to hell in a hand basket. They started twisting/cutting of circulation somewhere around my knee/lower thigh area, then by the time I was at mid thigh it was like someone had applied a tourniquet. I don't even want to tell you what happened when I pulled them all the way up, all I will say is that I never knew that my skin could make those shapes. Each leg looked something a fat woman riding a rusty bicycle who got trapped in a fishing net.

I wore them around the house for about ten minutes, mistakenly thinking that they would steretch, and the fiery rage was building. It didn't help that my diet had recenly consisted of half a pan of brownies and my husband had slopped the kids some oatmeal then left the house, so the children naturally had decorated themselves in that glue-like oatmeal paste and were running through my home "painting" everything they touched. Black Dog was busy licking the table while Smelly Cat was sitting on the kitchen counter howling at me for food and I heard a car horn blast and peeked out the window to see Red Dog running from the street wearing a very guilty expression. Then I received a political call (JOY!). To top it off, Thing 1 was in the bathroom doing his "necessary" body flopping that he performs while brushing his teeth (or washing his hands or eating or reading.....), he fell of his stool and landing squarely on my tight-clad bare toes. He was wearing cowboy boots. Thing 2 stood by screeching in his best high pitch squeal and attempting to brush the cat with his toothbrush. By the time that the 10 minutes was up I was ready to send both children away to boarding school and move into a van down by the river.

Instead, I took a deep breath, made a voodoo doll of the bitch who knitted the tights and slammed 48 pins into her thighs and stomped to my room were I removed the tights more quickly than a boy crazy Catholic School Girl in the presence of Zach Effron. I found a little piece of heaven in my favorite roomy Target jeggings and my Emu boots. Fuck fashion anyway. I like hoodies and slippers. And Coffee.

That's more like it.

So let me helpfully offer a parenting tip to you parents of little girls (who you dress in cute dresses and tights): If they are acting like monsters, blame it on the tights, because tights are knitted in hell by female hating,candy cane legged, fleshless people. Throw those tights away and buy them yoga pants. Tree pose. Problem solved. Namaste motherfuckers.

Friday, January 6, 2012

The King of Blog Fodder

As I was attempting to fall asleep last night, I heard a crazy wild wind kick up outside. It was whistling and howling and it sounded like the door was rattling. It was making such a racket that I couldn't sleep because all I kept thinking about the Christmas garlands and lights that I had ripped down from the railings. Their storage boxes were in the attic still so I piled all the decorations on the front porch and I just knew that when I awoke, they were going to be scattered through the yard like dandelions, or my children's toys.

Then I realized that it was just Brock, doing his special sleep breathing and I rolled over and shut off my brain.

I know that I poke fun of my husband a lot. I do. And some of you may think I do it to much so I have something to say to you, which is: "If you knew him in person, you would do the same thing, just like all of my friends do. Plus he once told me that I had big ankles while we were in a shoe store and I am still making him pay for that, and will continue to until The End of Time."

My ankles are perfectly normal, thank you for wondering. (After that comment I fucking willed them to be delicate and ladylike. Fuck yeah, I did.)

Brock also strutted around for the first four years of our relationship proclaiming that he was going to write a book about common sense! Yet, just the other day I asked him to throw some potatoes in the oven to bake (I was buying groceries and one of those wonderful rotisserie chickens for dinner). When I returned home after an hour, he was frustrated because his potatoes still felt hard and uncooked. So we baked them longer and waited. Later, when I was preparing the plates for dinner, I noticed that he had indeed wrapped them in foil (as I instructed) and he had also pierced them, as I told him to. I knew this before I took off the foil, because he pierced the potatoes through the foil.

Common Sense? Hello?

I spent the next 20 minutes digging tiny pieces of metal out of our food so that our intestines won't set off the metal detector at the airport.

A book on common sense- huh? Maybe before he pens one, he could read one.*

*But don't ask me to write it, I'm an idiot.

Fortunately, what Brock lacks in natural instinct in the kitchen and commenting on the body parts of women , he makes up for in child and pony whispering (and hoof trimming and building stuff and more stuff).
As proof, I offer this photo from yesterday.

Dr. Brock Wagner, Child and Pony Whisperer
Watch for his show coming soon to TLC.

Not really, but how awesome would that be?

There is nothing else here to see.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

I joined Pinterest and Polyvore today. I'm officially useless. And obsessed.

I've done nothing other than play on the magical world of the Internet today.
Okay, so that is only partially true. It was in the 60's and GORGEOUS here today and we were outside, getting the freshness. I hosted a play date at my house with two girlfriends and seven children. As the chillens played, we cleaned up dog poo, took down the Christmas decorations that were outside, picked up my new glasses (because our men arrived to 'watch' the munchkins), prepared an impromptu (and delicious, if I do say so myself) dinner for five adults and five children, and bathed almost half of that group; but other than that I spent an inordinate amount of time dicking around on my new found loves: Pinterest and Polyvore. Someone stop me. I was so obsessed this morning that when my friend showed up for a preplanned play date around 10:30, I was in my bathrobe, sweating and staring with glassy, white lashed eyes at my laptop. I may have been drooling. I was all "Get over here and look at this!!" She was all, "I have to pee so bad that my children are still strapped in their carseats!"
 I assure you, nothing says "Welcome to my home!" like the sight of me without makeup and holding my coffee cup while in my pj's. And, as if you hadn't figured it out, I hadn't showered either.
Behold! The glorious sunrise.... er... sunset? on a bountiful field of wheat..... er... barley? Forget it, just look at the CLOTHES.
Drive through the country

Drive through the country by johi-kokjohn-wagner featuring orange scarves

Don't you want to wear this and take a drive through the country though? Preferably in the spring or fall?

Wait! Don't go! I made more outfits that are out of my price range! Staaaayyyyy.... my pretty.
Book Club and Wine with the Gals
This, of course, is for Book Club with my gals.

Night Out without Children
This one requires Brock, martinis, an art opening and a babysitter.
That is my favorite perfume by the way,
in case anyone was ever low on a gift idea for me.

So, as you can see, I have been extremely busy today looking at pretty things with selfless altruistic efforts.... I wish I could tell you how to follow me on those two sights, but alas, I am sort of a moron and have not a friggin' clue. Maybe you smart people could look me up? Hook me up? I'm confused....

Anyhoo, on to more important things... like giving in to the harassing demands of Phoenix Rising and posting a picture of myself in my new glasses (and I had my hair cut too, but that was yesterday and I slept on it and didn't wash it because my friend was waiting for me out in my yard and watching five kids alone and I felt guilty. So today it was kind of like leftover french fries).

wait for it......

wait for it.....

Do I look smart?
It doesn't matter- I only wear them for night driving, the movies
and on days when I'm too exhausted to focus clearly.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

What Women REALLY Do When They Go Out

I know that many men find the entire female race to be complicated and mysterious. I'm certain that they are intrigued by the inner workings of our Girl's Nights Out and Shopping and Shoes, just as the fairer sex is uber fascinated with Poker Night and the Pole Dancer by the name of 'Bambi' and Cigars.

On second thought, I don't think any of us care to know what the other sex does when they get out of the house and together with their homies, just as long as they don't drive drunk or eat the last brownie when they get home.

But I'm going to tell you a tiny bit about women anyway, because I'm a oversharer like that.

One of my girls and I went to check out new eyeglass frames. It was completely necessary since my precious little one busted mine, and everyone knows that one cannot pick out glasses ALONE. No. One NEEDS a second opinion or may end up looking like Phillip Seymour Hoffman playing Capote, thinking that they look artsy and interesting, when in fact they look like that creepy guy that works in Spencer's at the mall......

Not funky... just scary.
Oh, and the glasses are bad too.
So we found some frames that seemed to suit me and we made a few stops on the way home, ending with a little piece of heaven on Earth, also known as SuperTarget.

We entered the building and proceeded to turn into 13 year old girls. We laughed and snorted as we browsed the mostly empty store (because everyone else that normally shops there was at home putting their children to bed) and found all kinds of treasures.... hats, scarves, cute shoes and tops, adorable baby girl clothes (we both birthed boys), and home decor. We had an opinion about everything.... ranging from "ooooo! CUTE!" to "those are ridiculous" to "it looks like you peed on the floor right there" to "I'm glad that you are in therapy". We tried on the merchandise and made inappropriate remarks to one another:
So very coy, milady.....

I think that this will be my new look.
Now all I need is a convertible car, some designer
shoes and the Paparazzi following me....
or maybe just a straight jacket.

My favorite part of the expedition was probably when my single friend looked at the endcap featuring Valentine's Day items, waved her arm in the general direction and said "That just makes me angry." So, being sensitive to her needs, I mocked her and forced her to walk over to the love encrusted display and admire it up close and personal. We stood together in front of pink and red hearts and birds and simply breathed in the love..... then I saw a vein pulsing in her forehead so we stepped away.

Then we went back to my house and Brock installed a new headlamp in her car.

I know. Exciting. Sorry to ruin the fantasy for all you dudes who think we dress up in the PINK section from Victoria's Secret while sucking frosting off each other's fingers and having a pillow fight. It's more about dick jokes, shoes and complimentary color palettes.

Madlibs fun: I want to see if you all are as sick and twisted as my girlfriend up there in the bonnet.
Finish this sentence:

Clerk: Do you need a bag for that?
Me: No, I'll just put it in my___________. (noun)

Thanks for playing.
! Answer revealed upside down at the bottom of this page!*

*No, it isn't, and if you turned your computer over and looked then you are officially as blonde as I was today when I tried pushing the WASH 'button' on a poster at the car wash. If there was a video camera present, I'll have to change my name and go into a relocation program.

Monday, January 2, 2012

We're super fun. You should invite us to your next party.

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....... a pair of broken eyeglasses and a washing machine full of clothing decorated with dry erase marker! And all before 8:30 a.m.!♩ ♪ ♫ ♬

Okay, Brock didn't give me those blessings. Instead, Thing 2 was scampering through the house like a Gremlin, putting his signature mark on everything in his path (the path of destruction) while I was bogged down, two steps behind him, cleaning up the messes.

Mornings are so not my time to shine.

So let's talk about the seventh day of Christmas, also known to some as 'New Year's Eve' because it too was magical and ethereal.

I will preface this story by saying that Brock and I normally stay IN on New Year's Eve because we are parents of two small children and bedtime is something of a religious ceremony in this house. But even before the spawn, I have never been a big fan of going out on holiday's that are notorious for booze, thus manufacturing a shit ton of drunk people on the roads. It is the same reason that we normally stay in on The Fourth of July.... plus we are boring and tired and we like to go to bed early where we watch reruns of Pysch.

That being said, the stars aligned (an actual party invite and a helpful babysitting neighbor) for us to go out and be with other adult humans to celebrate this New Year's Eve.

We showed up late, starving and shamefully wig-less to a "let's WIG out" themed party hosted by our friends a few towns over in Greeley. I'm surprised no one supplied me with a name tag reading "Hi, I'm LAME" upon my arrival. I volunteered to be DD that night, so I cozied up to the food table with my red Solo cup of ice water while Brock started to get his drink on with a variety of booze and tonic water, on an empty stomach. (I believe this is called foreshadowing)

Then I got cold, like I do when it's winter, and I made myself some hot tea. Meanwhile, Brock was partying like a rockstar and had borrowed some dude's special curly fuchsia wig. I smelled it to see if it smelled like strawberries. It did not, but it did smell like a Strawberry Shortcake doll that had been in storage from the early 80's. So Brock was officially themed and fun, while I, on the other hand, might as well have grabbed a rocking chair, a lap blanket and some knitting to go with my tea and altogether boringness.Too bad I didn't bring my ceramic cat collection and my Murder, She Wrote DVD's. Did I mention that I had been awake since 4:30 a.m. and the electricity had gone out for an hour and the kids didn't nap and I was running late all day?

I think the pink suits him.... and I'm so faking perky here.

So as the evening went on, Brock and I both participated in the festivities. We competitively built towers out of red solo cups (we both lost), Brock built a mansion on his own, we were civilized and chatted with people that we just met and then I broke treated their eardrums to my AWESOME rendition of Eye of the Tiger. It was fun, although I was still tired, I persisted on with the enticement of the blissfully perfect 'New Year's Kiss'. I've watched enough movies to know that the moment your lips meet is like a fucking dream. That thought of kissing my honey on the stroke of midnight was like a beacon of light... or a cattle prod.... helping me get to my destination of staying awake until midnight. Ahhh! The romance of it!
Even though I look judgemental, I'm not.
Okay..... yes I am.
Brock sucks at RockBand. That is all.

Meet Brock. He does construction stuff....

There was only one teensy little problem~ Brock was getting progressively shit housed as the night went on.

So when there were five minutes to spare, we all gathered in the living room in front of .... a Skype video of some other drunk people in another state that neither Brock or I knew..... and prepared for the last moments of 2011, and the KISS!

Only Brock accepted a nasty ass beer Keystone Light from a friendly dude that looked like he lived in his mother's basement and proceeded to SHOTGUN the beer with that guy and a 20-something year old chick.

And as the clock struck midnight, I stood alone in the center of the room, surrounded by couples smooching, watching my husband saturate his face, chest and new shirt (that I bought him for Christmas) with cheap beer. It was the most magical moment of my life.

Neat way to start the new year.

Two minutes later, when I gently reminded him that he was supposed to kiss me at midnight, he leaned in with his face wet with beer and smelling like the sink drain at the local bar and tried to plant a sloppy one on me. I ducked and shot him a dirty look. He started making a billion excuses ranging from "I didn't know what time it was!" (WTF?) to"They made me do it!" And naturally, I totally believed every word that fell out of his mouth.

Sure I did.
I wouldn't say that I was smiling here.....but more like baring my teeth.
Nice shirt Brock. Keeping it Klassy.

Then people started leaving and I was thinking "thank GOD, I'm exhausted" and started collecting my husband, who was completely happy and utterly shellacked. We went upstairs and gathered our jackets. I started out the door and he stepped into the bathroom. As I was warming up the truck..... and waiting..... and waiting.... and waiting..... I realized that "Houston, we have a problem".

I walked back inside, only to find my husband, who had gone (over the course of the evening) from 'handsome hero' to 'pain in my motherloving ass', standing at the counter doing shots with the other gents at the party. Super special. I asked him to please come out to the truck and he held his first finger up at me in that "hush woman" fashion and then turned and followed the dudes, like a dopey puppy dog, out to the back deck.

So like the docile, loving wife that I am, I delicately walked out the door, got in my 3/4 ton truck and tore drove away, right when he was walking out the door. I generously stopped 200 feet up the road and allowed him to walk to me and get in. Once he did, I sternly told him about my grave disappointment.

I'm sure he heard: Blah blah blah DISAPPOINTED ME blah blah blah DISGUSTING blah blah blah.... SELFISH... blah.

He got uncharacteristically angry (in that special, super intoxicated way) and dramatically threw himself out of the truck. Then he proceed to 'walk home'. Only he was going the wrong direction and we lived 20 some miles away. I left anyway. I was done and the last thing I want to do on a 'night out' is babysit an adult. I figured he would go back to the party and sleep it off there, then he could figure out his own stinkin' ride in the morning while I was making breakfast and drinking hot cocoa with our precious children. <----- can you hear the disdain dripping off that sentence? I can.

So I drove a few miles up the road, pulled over and called my friend who had hosted the party. She said that he hadn't shown up yet. I asked her to text me when he did. I almost pulled back onto the blacktop and headed home but a thought crossed my mind. What if he didn't go to their house? What if he walked into traffic or passed out in the ditch? Shit. Then a worse thought entered my head. What if he called a cab to take him home and he spent like $90 on the cab ride? That business would really piss me off. So I reluctantly turned around and started searching the ditches. At first it was casual looking, then I started feeling frantic. Finally, after looping around a few times, I caught sight of him walking in the tall grass on the side of the road. He was miraculously going in the direction of our house. I pulled over, picked him up and he slurred "you made me walk, like, a mile and I am freezing cold!" Little did he know that I initially had every intention of leaving him entirely to his own devices. Then I turned to go towards Ft. Collins and he yelled "you're going the wrong way!" to which I replied "you need to just sit there quietly, thankyouverymuch".

The next morning, as we woke up lovingly in separate rooms, we didn't really address the prior evening. In fact, we just chalked it up to 'the last night of 2011' and started fresh. We ate some great food and had fun with the kids. We took the Things on pony rides. We vowed to both quit drinking for a month. And later that same day, he cleaned those ugly leaves and sticks that were piled in the front of the house; the exact area/debris that I had been asking him to clean up since October.

Well well well. Miracles do happen.

I guess 2012 is off with a bang.

How did you spend your New Years?

P.S. It may seem like I am throwing my husband under the bus, because I am sweet like that, but he read and approved every word and most of the pictures. He even laughed. I'm glad that he was amused. The end.