Saturday, January 9, 2016

Here we go again

My adult life, after giving many a birth of course, has consisted of two cycles. Good diet and exercise or fanatical dedication to snacks and naps. 

I'm currently wiping the crumbs from my face, peeling myself off the couch and aspiring to complete 8-12 weeks of some kind of total bullschnit guaranteed to get me back in my pants of yesteryear.
In fact, just yesterday I went for a run. In my pajamas. It's not as weird as it sounds. I sleep in ensembles perfectly acceptable to sweat in. As I ran around my neighborhood in full view of the public I realized my Capri style jammy pants didn't quite cover my mismatched socks and I was sort of maybe definitely covered in baby food, slobber, spit up, and possibly some coffee. My mascara had been rubbed off to nestle in my under eye bags and my head gear is far left of shabby. I stand by that decision though, my ears get cold. I'd rather resemble a crazy bag lady than have cold ears. I quit at cold ears. I'll quit everything at cold ears. It won't matter what it is, I quit. I call my entire ensemble shabby shit show couture. 

I don't care though, I really don't. I was thinking about this while giving myself my usual internal pep talk "you can do it!" "You're already halfway to halfway to halfway" "The power of Christ compels you" etc etc not once did I remind myself of my thigh gap aspirations...I did several times digress into fantasies of a Batman persuasion. 
Men and women are built differently so it makes sense that to some extent our fitness routines are different. I get that. What I don't get is the vast difference in rhetoric. Every fitness fad that is supposed to appeal to me claims "look your best" "get that sexy figure you've always wanted!" "Get Bikini ready!" Look better, look smaller, look younger, look different than you look and then look at you! Yeah! There's just one problem with the sales pitch. I don't want to look better more than I want these cookies. 

Men's advertisement preach a whole different kind of sermon. Gain this, gain that, achieve more, set new records, save the world. Now that's a train I'll board. Right? I want to be able to do things that I wouldn't think are possible. I want to flex muscles I didn't know I had. 
I want a different fitness pitch. I need a different fitness pitch. It's pretty awkward when you go back to wearing maternity pants. It's even more awkward when you buy another pair even though your baby is 8 months old. (But they are so roomy in all the right places!!)

What it all boils down to is there is a right way and a wrong way to trigger my go go gadget motivation.

Coach: slim sexy legs
Me: eh there's some new shows on Netflix I'm needed at. 
Coach: There is a distance named after the man it killed.
Me: YES! 
Coach: Are you not lifting weights because you're worried about bulking up and losing your feminine figure?
Me: I'm not lifting weights because I'm lazy
Coach: What if you could one arm that piano?
Me: Holy shizzle! The kids would fly in to a chore doing frenzy at the mere mention of my name! Let's start now! I want to lift something now! I've always thought I had a vast store of potential untapped warrior power. 
Instructor: Make it a morning habit and you will look and feel younger. I promise.
Me: that sounds like too much of a commitment. I want to cheat on yoga with Pilates just after this one conversation. Pilates has a machine that looks like a mid evil French torture device. 
Instructor: One armed hand stand
Me: Yoga for life bitch. One love.

Is that so horrible? Am I really asking too much? I want a 12 week program that will prepare me to fight a bear. Or climb Everest with a trusty Sherpa. Or roundhouse someone in the face repeatedly while nonchalantly winning a game of chess. Maybe just jump over a car. 
Looking good is awesome. I'm not gonna lie. Looking like a hot mess is less awesome. Hashtag true story. For me those good looks have to simply be a delightful biproduct of hard work though, not a reason for it. 
As of this week I'm officially back to running. I'm back to lifting. I've even started seeing yoga again. It's not for a dress size. It's because there is a small chance that Jean Claude Van damn is on the brink of a midlife crisis and he's going to unleash a rage unlike any rage ever seen before. His furious feet will rain down upon the innocent in suburbs all across America and I have a family to save. 
I'm going to hit him in the baby maker with my piano. Maybe even just curveball it with my left hand. 

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

I cook. Sort of. Let me learn you.

To claim I am a horrible cook is a pretty significant understatement. Most of the time I apologize to my groceries for the humiliation they are about to become. Its a heart felt apology. Whenever I think about all those heart wrenching, tear jerking stories of how cattle and/or chickens are inhumanely raised and often brutally slaughtered for commercial gain, I immediately follow that thought up with "that's not as bad as what I'm about to do to it". Its sad and true. PETA, arrange for me to cater the next meat lovers luncheon and I'll turn out more vegetarians than you would see at Lilith fair.
Every once in awhile though, I stumble across a recipe that even I can manage. Sometimes, I can do it more than once. That, my friends, is what scientists call amaze balls. If I were to put all these recipes into one book it would be called, You Just Can't F this up.
If you are "one of those" people that can open the fridge and throw together an amazing meal. Two things. F$@% off and move along. This is not the blog for you. If you try to follow this recipe you'll only make things far more fantastical which results in the stealing of my mojo and pissing me right the hell off. As Pantera would say, "Walk on home boy."

If however you are like me and when a recipe tells you to simmer, you hear, "we don't need no water let the mutha f%$# burn" this is the recipe for you. Prepare to impress the haters aka your children. But don't get your hopes up because children are assholes.

First, you are going to need chicken breasts. Then you will need to tell your youngest for the fiftieth f'ing time to get out of the god damn kitchen and if she continues to consume fruit snacks by the box full, costco box mind you, she will never shit again. Now preheat the oven to 300 degrees Fahrenheit.
Second, clean and clear your workspace and find your clorox wipes because the idea of salmonella freaks me out and I'm convinced its the adult version of the boogey man. No one can see it but its there and it's going to get you. Probably at night. I'm still blaming salmonella contamination for the shit fest of '08. An epidemic not even 10 pounds of colon blocking fruit snacks could have prevented. Those poor children. They coudn't even aim at anything. So many bedspreads and towels were lost forever because I'm not about to wash any of that shit. literally.
Third open the package and dump the chicken breasts on the cutting board without getting anything on you.
The fourth step can be performed by you or whoever you can con into it because it's yucky. Slice the chicken breasts in half vertically to create two smaller pieces. Now you want to open them up by partially slicing them horizontally.
Fifth. Hit it with a hammer. Take it easy John Henry! When you pound a chicken breast with gusto shit goes flying and we've already discussed salmonella is not your friend. Do you want your dinner to break the sound barrier when it comes flying out of your anus? If you have young children this means by the time you hear the fart the carpet has to be replaced. So settle down. If you are like me and hitting anything with a hammer creates a frenzy you can't contain, put the breasts in a plastic bag first. Still exercise a little control though. These aren't the breasts of that stupid bitch that laughs at your husbands jokes and rub his arm every f'ing chance she gets. It's just dinner and you just want to thin the breast a little not destroy it.
Step Six. At this point in a shocking display of stupidity you've likely had multiple family members look at the chicken and other ingredients and still ask "whats for dinner?" this is exactly why I've named this dish "Fermez votre trou a tarte" It means "Shut your pie hole!" in french, but what you're really making is stuffed chicken.
Seven. Choose a cheese. I suggested a dry cheese so that you're minimizing the soupy gunk created once the chicken is in the oven. A lot of cheeses create vast mounts of oil. At the same time I don't even kind of give a shit what you do. You want cheddar and bologna. Go for it, There's a reason your momma gave you two first names. Don't fight it. I chose Gorgonzola because I like it and it seems to really fancy up the dish. Now choose a meat. I like to buy the bags of precooked crumbled bacon. Because bacon.
Eight. put your choice in the chicken. a little, a lot, whatever, as I mentioned I don't give a shit what you do. I don't measure the amount because at this point my hands are covered in chicken yuck and i dont want to be touching all sort of drawers and handles and sending my already insane paranoia of salmonella off the charts. Just keep in mind that too little and you won't taste it and too much and it will just fall out of the chicken and melt.
Nine. Close all the breasts by folding them back over where you sliced them and securing them with a toothpick. Then place them in a greased casserole pan.
We're almost done! The first time you make this it might seem like a lot of steps but every time after that you can sail through it while simultaneously pretending to listen to your children tell you what they're thinking. Even the crazy middle child that will verify you are actually listening multiple times because by now she's developed a complex that she's being ignored mostly because you never pay any attention to her but also because she's the middle child and those ones are doomed to be really f'd up.
Ten. You can't just put it in the oven like that because. I don't know why. Maybe it would be too dry or something. Can you dry out a chicken? I don't even know. It might just be because it would taste like shit. Cheese and meat alone won't give the meal any real flavor. Google it. But first combine olive oil, lime juice, season salt, oregano, pepper, maybe some garlic. I don't know the amounts. Just add a little at a time and when it tastes good stop. Pour your mixture all over the chicken breasts and then top each with a little more of your cheese and meat if you used something sensible. If you really did use cheddar and bologna I think you should stop here and hope for the best. In fact just skip the cooking step. you can eat it now. I'm sure you've inbred the gene that would cause you to get sick out of the family line a long time ago. Throw some gravy on it and just chow down. Everyone else put the dish uncovered in the oven for 30 minutes.
Last and final of the steps. In a saucepan combine equal parts maple syrup and balsamic vinegar. Reduce it, which is a fancy way of saying cook until thick. I told my children its called Cretin. The conversation goes like this, them: "what is that?" me: "jackass" but its in french so they get excited instead of insulted. When the chicken comes out of the oven and on to the plate you drizzle the sauce over the top. Its good. You can also skip this entire step and no one will ever know because the chicken is still pretty damn good without it.
In my house a Gorgonzola bacon stuffed chicken breast with a sweet balsamic reduction is both fun and fancy to say and enjoyed by 5 out of 8 of the asshats. It's not pizza but that's still a pretty good rating. I paired it with brussel sprouts but asparagus is an equally enjoyable veggie to stuff in to their complaint box. Its most enjoyable with the younger kids because they still put up a fight. You know what they say about young children, you can't reason with them and you can't beat sense in to them, but you can force feed them vegetables while they cry as some sort of sick and twisted revenge for their lack of common sense and constant need to aggravate the shit out of you. I love that saying. If I ever learn to sew I'm going to needlepoint that shit on a throw pillow.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Exit Strategy

Thursday is Thanksgiving. I'm not that fond of Turkey and yams but I'll eat a bowl vat of mash potaters and gravy like a boss. Depending on who prepared them. Depending on who prepared them you ask? Yes! is my emphatic reply. Think about your favorite restaurant, your favorite dish. Would it still be your favorite if you could see the cooks and knew about that time he shit himself on your cousins trampoline and just kept jumping? You've seen his style over the years. The unibrows, the gunts, the dirty fingernails, the flaky skin, the afro mullet? In my family Thanksgiving is a giant buffet where everyone contributes. I never eat based on what looks edible but based on who brought what. If this is true in your family and your disappointed no one ate your casserole it's not because you overcooked the noodles it's more likely because you need to trim the nose hairs Panama Jack.
Also, you overcooked the noodles. Way to fail.

Every year I run into my grandmothers house and yell "WHO BROUGHT THE F$%^&ING CHEESECAKE!!!!"

and then I see:

and then I scream: NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm not worried that my family reads my blog and will greet me with torch and pitchfork. They learned to dislike me years ago. Or so I would think, but I must be wrong because I seem to always encounter my second discomfort with Thanksgiving which is chit chat with a gathering of people whom are family yet I only know them through Facebook. Somehow I know current weird intimate details about them. Their hopes, their fears, their bad break ups, their hatred of Mondays and love of Fridays. Who their voting for. The fact that they LOVE booze on Friday and Jesus on Sunday. (to these people I say pick a road and stop straddling). I know all of these things but this is as far into a conversation as we can get:

Hi. Good to see you!
good to see you too.
[dead air] ..............
I should go say Hi to grandma

The small talk is awkward for sure but my least favorite portion of the show, the goodbye. In my defense I have come a long way and I now submit to the inevitable hug. I hate it though and this may be the year I take four steps back and end things more to my taste.

AVOIDING HUGS: My exit strategy's of yesteryear:
I faked I was choking and launched out the door on the guise I needed some fresh air
I picked up three large boxes (I was foiled when a certain relative just waited until I loaded them into the trunk. Which I then had to return later that day because those boxes were not mine)
I spilled a drink on myself - cream based works best apparently no one wants to hug a slimy mess.
I sneezed and let it run free (I was desperate) snot is just as effective as a cream based liquid.
I pinched my daughter. She cried. I swooped her up and held her close. Face into my chest so no one could hear her accuse me of pinching her and then it was "shh shh shh" and out the door! RUN FOREST!
I owned it Mission Impossible style. I crept out the front door got into the car and started honking. My family was confused but I got out of there with just a wave.
My daughter Audrey can fart on command. It's loud and it's proud and I have aimed and fired that child in a time of need.

This year I'm going in with a positive attitude and I'm bringing the pasta salad. I'm going to watch 15 back to back republican debates and I'm going to converse the sh*t out of those yolks. Then as their arms expand for the hug...... Fist bumps for all and for all a good night.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Remember that 52 projects thing?

Remember how awhile ago I announced that this would be a productive year? Remember how to make certain that the year was a productive one I set a goal to do a minimum of one project a week, making it 52 for the year and blah blah blah? I did four projects. Just four. I blame the kids. They can suck the zest for life through a pin hole. And that is pretty much the only thing they can do.

I can't even find me a lady pant suit so I can launch myself in to the free spirited giddiness of being elderly while I'm young enough to enjoy it. I have since learned it is not called a lady pant suit it is called a track suit. Apparently it was decreed by some omnipotent power that starting now and from this day forward any and all track suits will be manufactured in china, they will be one size fits none and will come with either a little or a lot of glittery letters on the ass. There is absolutely nothing senile about that, and that is a truth I find disgusting. They all say JUICY or SEXY or PINK. The one and only word that I would have accepted was BINGO.

This is all I want. Why did they stop making this?

No projects, no pant suits. I did get braces and I got knocked up. When you put it all together you have what I'm referring to as my mid-life crisis. Nothing makes me feel young again like an awkward appearance, unprotected sex, dreams of a better wardrobe, and failure to reach my unrealistic expectations.

I'm not even kidding right now. This is a recent photo of me, I'm 34 with braces and I'm pregnant.

What the heck happened to me? I used to get spontaneous tattoos and throw my shoe at people. I don't do anything wild and fun any more. At this point I really have only one last shred of dignity. It is my last stand. My Thermopylae...... sounds intense right? It is.

I vow that I will NEVER watch the movie Frozen. And I will NEVER let anything go. EVER.

It's never happening. I wont watch your stupid show, I won't sing your stupid song.
Take your pity party somewhere Else-a

I do all the other cliche stay at home mom stuff. I do my sons homework for him after he falls asleep, I try to gossip with my teen daughters friends. I car pool. I drive a hybrid. I run relays. It's okay though because I adamantly insist I'm doing all of those things ironically. I can't handle the truth.

I do this. I really do this. 

This year my youngest child started the first grade. She now goes to school full time. This leaves me all day to do whatever the hell I want. I can drink, I can fight a bum, I can go room to room and rub my bare ass all over everyone's stuff. I can say out loud what I really think of their art work. I could get a series of part time jobs that I could quit in wild flourishes of lewdness and flare. I could punch people. I could just punch people at parks and run away. I'd be doing women a favor. Parks are boring. Sitting on a bench watching your kid swing, slide, run, repeat. Too afraid to play on your phone because there is a blog going around accusing you of not "living in the moment" Then out of nowhere a woman laughing manically in her mom jeans, shiny batman cape billowing behind her in the wind, punches you in the face as she runs past. I don't care what that blog says. Instantly you will have phone in hand and be posting that fantastic shit to Facebook. You can almost smell the multitude of likes and comments. Oh the witty banter you will have!! I doubt you'll even remember to report it to an authority.

My possibilities were endless. Right when I was ready to shed the skin of being a stay at home mom and taste the sweet nectar of freedom. A tiny voice in my belly started chanting "18 more years!" For as much as I struggle to exceed or even one time meet the June Cleaver standard. For as much as I loathe the brand and the acronym SAHM. One would believe that I would be disappointed with the news of starting all over. I'm not. I'm so excited!

I have none of the fears of a young mother.
I'm not chasing a toddler and wondering where I'll get the energy for another. I'm gonna out nap this baby any day any time and be proud of it.
I'm not worried that my young child will be scarred for life by a new addition and will grow to resent the baby. My children are older. Now that I have teenagers I'm hoping that happens. I've learned that a good blow to their ego make me feel warm and fuzzy.
Also because the other children are all older I've 'been there' and 'seen that' for every possible parenting scenario. Bring it little one. I am so ready for this. Every baby of the family knows that their older siblings used up all the good lies and broke mom and dad of their patience and sympathy. The family baby has no choice but to behave. Nobody falls for their bullshit.
I'm not intimidated financially. I do not need strollers and baby carriers and swings and activity saucers, This kid is going to have FOUR older sisters. Good luck learning to walk! You want to know how much I'll pay a baby sitter per hour? hahaha HAHAHAHAHAHA MWAHAHAHAHAHA

And finally and most importantly. There's the daddy. This man is so incredibly loving and supportive I can't help but become suspicious and question his motives. What the hell is he up to? He's affectionate and genuine. He makes me feel adored. He makes me feel safe and taken care of without ever threatening my independence. He's always a gentleman and does innumerable things every day to make me happy. When I smile, he smiles. And when he smiles, I smile. Then it starts feeling weird with all that silent smiling so I punch him in the thigh and yell dead leg! He tells me I'm beautiful and kisses me every morning. Even the mornings when morning sickness is no joke. He falls asleep holding my hand. It's 2AM right now and I bet you $100 bucks I could wake him up just to tell him I'm craving a burger with blue cheese and bacon. Without complaint or question he would go buy me a cheeseburger. Because he loves me. And I'm holding this large knife.

Monday, November 3, 2014

Turn it Up Tuesday #59

Welcome to the 59th week of Turn It Up Tuesdays!!! We're so happy to have you here this week - and thanks for the amazing Halloween posts last week! There were so many great posts to choose from!
Let's continue with some more Halloween and Fall posts this week! I'm sure you have tons more to share!
Turn It Up Tuesdays is all about being happy, excited, energetic...and having fun! Link up your favorite posts (old or new) and meet some awesome bloggers in return! Link up your funny stories, DIY posts, recipes, mommy moments -- anything at all, as long as it is family-friendly. We want to laugh, be entertained, be inspired, and have a good time!
Thanks so much to everyone that joins us each week and makes this blog hop the best that it could be!


Silvie from My Silly Little Gang

Through Silvie's posts, she shares the details of raising my silly little gang of boys and the different things she encounters in her life as a mommy. Including crafts, recipes, and reviews, she enjoys blogging and all the work it entails. It definitely keeps her on her toes, but it's rewarding for her when she receives a comment from a reader letting her know they enjoy her post. Her goal is to grow her blog into all it can be. As a mommy blogger, she has had the opportunity to work with several brands to review their products or places.
Stop by and check out her's definitely a great read!
Are you interested in having your blog or website featured in this spot? Then, sponsor Turn It Up Tuesday for a month! Click here! It's only $5 for an entire month! We're accepting sponsors for 2015!

Welcome the lovely ladies of Turn It Up Tuesday!

TUT Hosts 11.1.14 (1)
(from the top - left to right)
Natasha from Epic Mommy Adventures | Stacey from This Momma's Ramblings | Jessica from The Wondering Brain | Cathy from A Peek Into My Paradise | April from 100lb Countdown | Meghan from Life with Peanut | Kae from Where's My Pacifier? | Kelly from Making-More | Melissa from The Coupon Chronicles | Yolanda from That's Mashed Up | Laura from Another Cent Saved | Cindy from Mom Maven | Kimberly from Keystrokes by Kimberly| Rhonda from Mother 2 Mother | Tiffany from MrsTeeLoveLifeLaughter | Mari from Living in Mommywood | Silvie from My Silly Little Gang | Jillian from Baby Doodah | Chelsea from Mommie and Wee | Tenns from New Mama Diaries

And welcome our awesome guest hosts for November!

TUT Nov 2014 (3)
(from the top - left to right)
Angie from God's Growing Garden | Damjana from AppleGreen Cottage | Keri from Living In This Season | Stasia from Our Life on a Budget | Kimberly from Life is a Lullaby | Rebeka from Homemade Momy | Serena from Simple Holistic Girl | Amy from Home Remedies | Stacy from Little to No Progress Here | Tanya from City Mom Loves | Tina from The Happy Creations

Interested in being a guest host for the month or becoming a permanent co-host?

Complete the form here! Monthly co-hosts will be chosen on a first come first-serve basis. We're now accepting guest hosts for December, January, and February.

Here are the Featured posts from last week!

Cathy chose Easy Recipe for Pumpkin Cream Cheese Truffles from A Mitten Full of Savings. "Cream cheese and pumpkin…need I say more!? I can’t wait to make these for the holidays!"
Jillian chose How to Make an Infinity Scarf from Little House Living. "I chose this post because I have been seriously obsessed with scarves this Fall season and they can get pricey. This is a much more affordable option to fulfill my need for many many scarves. haha"
Cathy chose Book Page Paper Pumpkin {How to Decorate for Fall on a Budget} from The Domestic Heart. "Shelly has created an amazing paper pumpkin and you can to with her awesome step by step tutorial! Create these amazing paper pumpkins to decorate your home this harvest season!"
Kelly chose Paper Plate Candy Corn Bunting from Typically Simple. "I love easy craft projects and my kids thought this was really fun."
Jessica chose If I Had A Halloween Party from The Crafty Side of Sarcasm. "How cute! Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. I have yet to throw a Halloween party so when I do, I will definitely check in for some of these awesome ideas, especially the take on food!"
Bernadyn chose How Zombies and Screams Gave Me a Mom Moment from Life in a House of Testosterone. "I chose this post because Kim shares how she had a "Mom moment" with her son in an unexpected time and place. I think that for parents, those special moments are important to cherish especially as your children grow older and it sometimes, it becomes harder to find ways to stay close and connected."
Stacey chose Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Bars from Platter Talk. "Oh my these look absolutely wonderful! My kids would definitely be asking for more because these are three of their favorite ingredients! LOL! I will be giving this one a try and soon! Thank you so much for sharing!"
Meghan chose 52 Ways You Can Save Money Each Month from Amber Kristine. "As a stay at home mom, we are constantly looking for ways to save money. This post was great as it gave me a few additional ideas that we had not thought of yet."
Sonya chose Easy Apple Cranberry Chia Seed Jam from A Worthey Read. "This looks like a great healthy jam recipe that is perfect for fall. Apples and cranberries are both in season so this is a great way to use them."
Elina chose Coffee Filter Crafts | Coffee Filter Wreath from Happy Deal - Happy Day! "The finished project is stunning and she takes you step by step on how to create this unique wreath. I love the flowers she added to it, it gives the wreath a nice pop of color."
Tina chose All Natural Car Air Freshener from Robyn's View. "What a wonderful idea, it looks so elegant! A natural air freshner without any chemicals,safe for all the family. Looks great and the car smells great for less!"
Natasha chose 10 Practical Tips For New Bloggers (From A New Blogger) from Tabler Party of Two. "This is such a great post! These are tips that even us semi-newbie and long-time bloggers can take advantage of!"
FP collage (WM)
The post with the most clicks is How To Put A Dresser Back Together from Anastasia Vintage.
Stop by and show some love to our featured bloggers this week! I'm sure they'd all appreciate it!
If you were featured above, feel free to share the badge below with pride on your blog or website!
Epic Mommy Adventures
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And the Best of the Best is...

How Zombies and Screams Gave Me a Mom Moment from Life in a House of Testosterone
Show some love to our Best of the Best bloggers this week!!!!
As the Best of the Best, you win free ad space on Epic Mommy Adventures for 30 days! Please showcase the badge below with pride on your blog!
Please send an e-mail to Natasha at and she will provide you with all the details!
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So now that you've met our sponsor of the month, our hosts and co-hosts, and the Featured and the Best of the Best,

let's get started!

*Show some love to your hosts and co-hosts simply by following them on social media and leaving a comment so they can follow you back. *Link up as many posts as you'd like! The more, the merrier! *Check out some of the other posts and make some new friends! *Grab the button below and showcase on your sidebar! Invite your fellow bloggers to join the fun!
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Link up your posts, make some friends, and earn the chance to be featured or become the Best of the Best on Turn It Up Tuesday! We will feature the favorite posts each week!

Interested in reading all of the Featured Posts on Turn It Up Tuesdays - past or present? Or do want to know if your post was featured before we go live next week? Follow Natasha Peter's board Featured on Turn It Up Tuesdays! on Pinterest.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

How to be a good football mom and not a scary spectacle

A spectacle is a visually striking performance or display. As fun as that sounds, it has no place on the sidelines of a wee ones sporting activities.

My baby boy plays football. HE IS MY BABY BOY but he's also thirteen so calling him baby boy is apparently what they call in the sporting world, a "don't do that". When I need the boys attention at home, I call him by a number of affectionate terms. Squash, squishy squish, handsome baby boy, hoshywa, squirt. To name a few. At football I am allowed to call him by his last name or jersey number. Those are the only two options.
When I yell, "Mommy's cutest little squishy squash", it's too affectionate and I'm embarrassing him.
When I yell 'Hey Dumb Ass!' it's too harsh, and I'm abusing him. Which is just stupid. There have been numerous moments during a football game that both seemed entirely appropriate. One time he was facing the wrong way but he was also standing next to a giant specimen of a linemen which made him look like the cutest teeniest tiniest little guy. So I yelled "Squish! Turn around! The game is that way dumb ass!"

Don't judge me
Being a football mom requires adhering to a whole tiring list of CAN's and CANNOT's.
I CAN remind him, before the game, to stay hydrated.
I CANNOT take him a drink of my water while he's on the field. Even if it looks like he's not really doing anything.
I CAN encourage him to be aggressive.
I CANNOT be specific. A simple "get him!" is fine. However, "take number 8 out back and beat him with a lead pipe" is frowned upon. And "Hey Dumbass! Grind your cleat in to his shin, punch him in the larynx so he can't scream, and then elbow him in the kidneys 'til he's pissing blood!" will get authorities involved.
I CAN wear his team colors to show support, or make signs, and hype the boys up by loudly spelling football related words. G-O-A-L! W-I-N! I can even passive aggressively diminish the other team by eluding to their shortcomings and lack of S-P-I-R-I-T.
I CANNOT yell "F%$# YOU!" to the opposing teams. Even if I spell it first. I'm just not allowed to do that. at all. They will only warn me so many times. They expect more out of me because I'm an adult.
I CAN bring our team treats, apples or orange slices etc, to naturally enhance energy
I CANNOT bring our team methamphetamine's. Not even chocolate covered uppers.

In the game of football, listen close you folks from Alabama, only the kids can have physical altercations. A lot of people struggle with this. They want to fight the ref, the parents of the other team, the coaches, the parents of team mates.  I don't know what advice to give you. I have never experienced competitive rage. I have come close to fighting one person at at a game.  He was four or five years old. Maybe closer to two. He kept running around on the bleachers and screaming nonsense. He may have been drinking I don't know, his behavior was uncivilized and extremely annoying. Every pounding step shook the entire structure. He would stop right in front of where I was sitting. I focused on the game and tried hard not to give in to the temptation of tripping the inconsiderate douche bag. Finally, God intervened and the little rascal fell off the side. He was crying and carrying on so his mom had to get off the phone and take him somewhere. Don't worry it's not one of those stories with a horrible ending, after he left I was able to enjoy the game in peace.
It could have ended tragically. I could have been ensnared by this kids obvious attempts to instigate a fight. I could have been seriously hurt. I was able to keep it together in the face of adversary because I am clearly a responsible mature adult. Not all football parents can make that claim and on many occasions simple squabbles become full on riots. People are beaten to death with Gatorade coolers and folding chairs.

  • Address your kid by the appropriate name. 
  • Only offer conservative support and cheer. 
  • Keep your anger in check. 

Seems like there should be more to it. In the interest of having a longer list, because I enjoy lengthy lists. I will add

  • Donate money/Fund-raise. The coach is donating his time and energy, help fund safe equipment 
  • Don't let your child skip practices. He is part of a team and his team mates depend on him 
  • Show up to games. That hard work deserves an audience when its game time. 
  • Love your team win or lose. 

Thursday, September 4, 2014

I'm not bringing sexy back. I told sexy to leave

Today started just like any other day. When no one is home I like to yell things really loudly. I was in the midst of a song I made up called 'The weasel is giving the Beetles the measles.' When suddenly! Right in the middle of the 72nd verse, I had an epiphany.

Why am I not wearing a ladies pant suit? WHY am I NOT wearing a ladies PANT SUIT?


In that moment I realized something. How did I end up in sweat pants and old band shirts? There is nothing and no one on gods green earth dictating my wardrobe but me. I am the king of this mountain. I can do anything. I can wear anything. What I am wearing is extra lame with a side of no, no, no, no, no. I need the classiest of all the onesies. What's there to even think about? Do I have a dress code? NO. There. I'm finished thinking.

This beauty can be found at
I'm in my mid thirties. I'm old. Not old enough for all of lives treasured milestones. I can't shoplift yet. I can't make wild accusations and punt random children at the park. I can't make scenes. I'm only allowed to say 'what?' twice before it's considered rude. 
Side note: When I'm an official blue hair I plan on saying 'what' as many times as it takes for people to just shut the hell up. Eventually people will give up talking to me and I will finally have peace and quite. Sweet, sweet quiet. And if people think they can just come in to my area and talk to each other I will turn the tv up so loud the vibration rattles my teeth. I'll keep my mouth open too so everyone can hear and it's extra creepy. Speaking of false teeth. I'm going to get really really big ones that barely fit in my mouth. I will take them out of my mouth and cup them in my hands to bite people, and things, and people. 

"Grandma Stacy has a hard time hearing and remembering where her teeth go"

Enough about that. Lets focus. Where do I go all day? What do I do? Who do I see? Can I go, do, and see all these things in a ladies pant suit? I stay home, I drive my kids to their gazillion activities, sometimes the bank, or the store. I clean and write and make important calls and pretend I'm a ninja who has just been shunned because I refuse to slay my master even though he became evil. Because I know it's not him that is evil, it's the ancient dragon stone he was tricked in to taking from a Shaolin temple. So we fight. I see strangers mostly, sometimes my neighbors, my friends when I'm feeling sassy. This is all very lady pant suit friendly. 
What is the appropriate age for a ladies pant suit? I looked in to it. I said "google? How old was Mary Richards on the Mary Tyler Moore show? Google said "30 something"  and I said "that's what I like to hear googley!"

Note to self: One really shouldn't raise one's arms like that.
When your pants are attached to your shirt there is an unfortunate faux pa. 
What about being sexy? I'm a woman, sexy is important right? NO. No it is not. NOPE! I have no intention of bringing sexy back. I told sexy to leave. And I meant it. Sexy wants me to shave my legs and have things that pout and things that push and some curves but not other curves. Plus, last time I tried to dress up sexy. It didn't really work. If sexy were a project at a science fair I would have received a participation ribbon and sad sympathetic smiles, and a lot of advice about how being more prepared and organized and knowledgeable about the topic would have really helped my grade. With that sad little truth in mind I can easily bid you adieu sexy! We had 18 years together. We're through. I mean it. Don't call. Don't make things weird. Just go.

Plenty o' room for a future fupa!!
 As you can see I could go from standing to dancing almost effortlessly. With an outfit like this I would probably know Disney songs and recipes and what to do with coupons and how to have socially appropriate discussions. I would drink my wine from a glass and laugh at clean jokes. Look at that lady! We are the same age! The time for this is now!

I could never do high kicks in traditional pants. This is actually a huge selling point for me. I like kicking, and I could feel at ease doing a lot of spontaneous kicking if I were wearing a belt like that. I couldn't help myself. If you know me you already know I can't wear scarves because of the constant urge to belly dance. According to MMA experts, kicking is more impressive than shimmying. Just sayin'. Look at her. Just look at her. She looks so free. I want to be free. That's the kind of outfit with a tag that says 'ONE SIZE' that is a relief. With proper diet and exercise I think I could quite easily stay 'ONE SIZE'

Which brings us to our final consideration. What will other women think? Me sauntering around, polished, sophisticated, intermittently weaving in an effortless roundhouse. Who cares?  Seriously. I don't even kind of. The fear of another's judgement is not enough to dissuade me from envying an enticingly breezy pant-shirt union.

It's settled then. Welcome to the Stacy show pantsuit, romper, onesie, jumper, best idea ever. It's really the perfect time to segue my ass in to giant underwear. Though buying my undies where I buy my sprinkler parts and tractor tires really should be a treat I save for my 40's.