First of all, I want everyone(aka Skinny Bitches and Fashion Whores) to know that I am well aware of the fact that I look NOTHING like the women on Housewives of Orange County.
I am aware of the fact that I do not know how to apply makeup( much less bronzer.).By the way, WTF is the point of bronzer if you bake your narrow asses in a tanning bed everyday??
Speaking of tanning, I cannot apply self tanner without looking like a whacked out Ooompa Loompa with color blindness.
I cannot dye my hair without missing a spot or dying the back of my earlobe.
I cannot wear a thong for more than an hour without wishing I could staple its creator to a wall with the thong pulled up over his/her ears.
I cannot wear high heels. At. All. Hell, I cannot walk in a straight line barefoot without tripping over air.
I have only had one mani/pedi in my life and I HATED it. Something about angry Asian women yelling at me, um not relaxing.
I am aware of the fact that I am fat. I am aware of the fact that look like I JUST had a baby eventhough Stinkerbell will be four in less than a month. Suck it. I DO NOT have some no neck, steroid sucking personal trainer coming to my house to help me work out. I also do not have undivided time to go to the gym.
No, I am not lazy. I am not someone who can eat a whole pound cake in one sitting. I am busy. Incredibly busy. I work full time as well as the fact that I am someone’s mom 24/7.. I wish running up and down the stairs fifty plus times did something to chisel my ass and whittle my thighs. It. Doesn’t.
I wish chasing a maniacal three year old through Wal Mart made my legs look like a Victoria’s Secret model. Nope.
I wish picking up my baby to love her up a million times made my arms look more like Flo Jo and less like Aunt Mable. Sadly.No.
And I wish that having four kids did not make me have to worry about “Granny cleavage” when I wore a bathing suit top. Underwire..I love thee!
Here is something though.
I DON’T regret picking up my babies a million times, feeling their soft skin and feeling their sweet baby breath on my neck. I don’t regret wiping hair off of sweaty brows and kissing the tips of perfect little noses before bedtime. I don’t regret my belly getting bigger with each baby, and feeling them stretch and kick inside of me. I don’t regret getting up a million times a night with a sick or scared baby, and cuddling them back to sleep.
I am proud of every stretch mark and spider vein. I know what caused them and I would never get rid of any of them.
I know I will never have boobs that defty gravity. I will never wear a tank top without heavy duty underwire coverage. I will never have a tummy that you can bounce a quarter off of. I will never have hair growing down to a perfectly chiseled heart shaped ass. And you know what? I am fine with that. So you can keep your Prada bags, your Manolo Blaniks, your size 2 waistlines and your perfect bouncy boobies.
I have four gorgeous, amazing,special, unique,frustrating,hysterical masterpieces that I created. There is not a SINGLE designer or boutique that sells or manufactures what I already have. I am lucky, I am blessed. So what if I may not look like a million bucks? When one of my babies wraps their hands in mine or kisses my cheek, I know it does not matter. And you know what? That is fine with me.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
We Are All Nuts
Yesterday, I was upstairs in my bedroom hiding cleaning and putting away laundry. I had a movie on for background noise and, well, I was really cleaning up the HUGE mess I had made from rearranging my room five minutes earlier.
Here is something I should state from the get go. I don’t smoke and I rarely drink. When I am mad, I rearrange my house. Like entire rooms. Change the furniture around, rip down curtains and put up blinds/shades. Yeah, heavy duty Clean Sweep kind of stuff. If I was allowed to paint(we rent), I would probably do that. Suburban Cowboy gets annoyed with it, and even made me ban myself from rearranging the house for one full year. IT WAS AGONY!!!!!
I totally went tangential!!!! Okay, so I was folding clothes and re-making my bed when Stinkerbell barged into the bedroom with all the stealth of a dumptruck.
“yes?” I asked her, wishing she would high tail it downstairs. She usually brought destruction and chaos with her. Or at the very least, her older brother Ferdinand with her.
“What are you doing Mama??” she asked while climbing on the neatly folded clothes on my bed like they were not even there. I gritted my teeth, counted to a thousand and smiled at her. She smiles and hopped off the bed and scampered to the other side of my bed like a deer on crack. Yeah, she had no reason to be here.
“Go downstairs please. Mama will be down soon ok?” I told her. She smiled and I made the mistake of turning my back on her. Stinkerbell is sneaky. She was quiet. She was fiddling with something on my bedside table and I did not really pay attention as I was picking up everything she knocked down.
“mama, whats this?” she asked. I looked up and gasped. She had in her hand EmoKid’s cup that he used for football. Now, you ask, why is my 10 year old son’s athletic cup on my bedside table??? I told him to put his jock strap in the hamper. And his cup he apparently left on my bedside table. LOVELY.
I tried to respond calmy while my inner heebie jeebies were on High Alert.
“Stinkerbell, please put that down,”I said with the tact and decorum of a hostage negotiator. She looked up at me with those amazing blue eyes and held onto the cup firmly in her little hands.
“Why?” she asked sweetly. Ugh, my kryptonite. That dreaded word!!!! Agghhh!!!!
“Because it’s EmoKids and its personal,”I replied, barely gritting my teeth. She smiled again and I SWEAR TO GOD she looked at me and twirled it around her index finger.
“Stinkerbell, put it down! EmoKid uses it on his pee pee to protect it,”I hissed, snatching it from her and slamming it down on my dresser. She walked away, and then looked at me.
“You mean his nuts Mama. He uses it there,” she said cutely. Holy.Shit. I turned my back and fought the urge to giggle. I am not the most mature person in the world. Holy.Shit. I ran downstairs to tell Suburban Cowboy who was sitting on the couch with EmoKid, Princess Bacon and Ferdinand. I told him and he just looked at me.
“Why were you so grossed out? He has never actually worn the cup,” he said calmly. UGH!!! What she said was funny!!! Suburban Cowboy does not think I am funny. And I, don’t find him amusing. NUTS!!!!!
Here is something I should state from the get go. I don’t smoke and I rarely drink. When I am mad, I rearrange my house. Like entire rooms. Change the furniture around, rip down curtains and put up blinds/shades. Yeah, heavy duty Clean Sweep kind of stuff. If I was allowed to paint(we rent), I would probably do that. Suburban Cowboy gets annoyed with it, and even made me ban myself from rearranging the house for one full year. IT WAS AGONY!!!!!
I totally went tangential!!!! Okay, so I was folding clothes and re-making my bed when Stinkerbell barged into the bedroom with all the stealth of a dumptruck.
“yes?” I asked her, wishing she would high tail it downstairs. She usually brought destruction and chaos with her. Or at the very least, her older brother Ferdinand with her.
“What are you doing Mama??” she asked while climbing on the neatly folded clothes on my bed like they were not even there. I gritted my teeth, counted to a thousand and smiled at her. She smiles and hopped off the bed and scampered to the other side of my bed like a deer on crack. Yeah, she had no reason to be here.
“Go downstairs please. Mama will be down soon ok?” I told her. She smiled and I made the mistake of turning my back on her. Stinkerbell is sneaky. She was quiet. She was fiddling with something on my bedside table and I did not really pay attention as I was picking up everything she knocked down.
“mama, whats this?” she asked. I looked up and gasped. She had in her hand EmoKid’s cup that he used for football. Now, you ask, why is my 10 year old son’s athletic cup on my bedside table??? I told him to put his jock strap in the hamper. And his cup he apparently left on my bedside table. LOVELY.
I tried to respond calmy while my inner heebie jeebies were on High Alert.
“Stinkerbell, please put that down,”I said with the tact and decorum of a hostage negotiator. She looked up at me with those amazing blue eyes and held onto the cup firmly in her little hands.
“Why?” she asked sweetly. Ugh, my kryptonite. That dreaded word!!!! Agghhh!!!!
“Because it’s EmoKids and its personal,”I replied, barely gritting my teeth. She smiled again and I SWEAR TO GOD she looked at me and twirled it around her index finger.
“Stinkerbell, put it down! EmoKid uses it on his pee pee to protect it,”I hissed, snatching it from her and slamming it down on my dresser. She walked away, and then looked at me.
“You mean his nuts Mama. He uses it there,” she said cutely. Holy.Shit. I turned my back and fought the urge to giggle. I am not the most mature person in the world. Holy.Shit. I ran downstairs to tell Suburban Cowboy who was sitting on the couch with EmoKid, Princess Bacon and Ferdinand. I told him and he just looked at me.
“Why were you so grossed out? He has never actually worn the cup,” he said calmly. UGH!!! What she said was funny!!! Suburban Cowboy does not think I am funny. And I, don’t find him amusing. NUTS!!!!!
You Mean....Like Gas???
Mornings are hectic in my house. HECTIC. Suburban Cowboy climbs out of bed each morning look sleepily sexy while I have to paste myself together and somehow resign myself to the fact that I look NOTHING like I want to. Frizzy hair, pale skin and undereye circles, I trek to work. I feel like I am settling. All.The.Freakin.Time.
Usually by the time I climb out of the shower and get dressed, Stinkerbell and Princess Bacon are in my bed, struggling to wake up as they glare at me under their hair that is covering their faces like the evil little girl from The Ring. My girls are NOT morning people, yet they do try.
The other morning, I am flat ironing hair that I had already tried to blow dry into submission. It was not looking promising. Princess Bacon was on my bed and I was trying to rush her along so she could at least get breakfast in her belly before she went next door to the sitter for the day. Nothing I was saying was making sense.
“Come on ladies. Hurry up so you can get some food in your bellies,” I pleaded as I slid an earring into my ear and hunted for my watch.
“Why?” Thanks for taking your thumb out of your mouth Stinkerbell to add that favorite question. She is awake enough to ask why, but not enough to put on her underwear??? Where is the logic there?? I wonder how my boss would feel if I told him I was late because I wanted to stand around pantless asking annoying questions???
“Well girls, you need to eat breakfast, it’s the most important meal of the day!” I said cherrily.
“Why?” Really???!!
“Because your body needs something to start the day and breakfast is like fuel. It gets your body running. You know how a car needs fuel to run? Well food is like fuel for your body, it gets it going. Breakfast is body fuel,”I replied.
“You mean gas mom,” Princess Bacon replied. I shoot her a “look” in the mirror.
“Fuel and gas are the same thing Princess Bacon,” I said icily.
“Then just say gas, its shorter,” she said. Really??!!!
“You know what? Get dressed, no more girls….” I replied, beyond frustrated now. I stormed out of the room.
Suburban Cowboy tells me to pick my battles. You know what, he keeps rubbing that one in, I am going to cover HIM in fuel and light his ass on fire. Oops sorry, I should have said gas…..its shorter…..!
Usually by the time I climb out of the shower and get dressed, Stinkerbell and Princess Bacon are in my bed, struggling to wake up as they glare at me under their hair that is covering their faces like the evil little girl from The Ring. My girls are NOT morning people, yet they do try.
The other morning, I am flat ironing hair that I had already tried to blow dry into submission. It was not looking promising. Princess Bacon was on my bed and I was trying to rush her along so she could at least get breakfast in her belly before she went next door to the sitter for the day. Nothing I was saying was making sense.
“Come on ladies. Hurry up so you can get some food in your bellies,” I pleaded as I slid an earring into my ear and hunted for my watch.
“Why?” Thanks for taking your thumb out of your mouth Stinkerbell to add that favorite question. She is awake enough to ask why, but not enough to put on her underwear??? Where is the logic there?? I wonder how my boss would feel if I told him I was late because I wanted to stand around pantless asking annoying questions???
“Well girls, you need to eat breakfast, it’s the most important meal of the day!” I said cherrily.
“Why?” Really???!!
“Because your body needs something to start the day and breakfast is like fuel. It gets your body running. You know how a car needs fuel to run? Well food is like fuel for your body, it gets it going. Breakfast is body fuel,”I replied.
“You mean gas mom,” Princess Bacon replied. I shoot her a “look” in the mirror.
“Fuel and gas are the same thing Princess Bacon,” I said icily.
“Then just say gas, its shorter,” she said. Really??!!!
“You know what? Get dressed, no more girls….” I replied, beyond frustrated now. I stormed out of the room.
Suburban Cowboy tells me to pick my battles. You know what, he keeps rubbing that one in, I am going to cover HIM in fuel and light his ass on fire. Oops sorry, I should have said gas…..its shorter…..!
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