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Ohana means family

I learned that from Lilo and Stitch. Pretty much anything I knew about Hawaii before going, I learned from Disney. That, and Mele Kalikimaka means Merry Christmas.

I couldn’t wait to see fire dancers and flower leis. Oh and eat pineapple. Here’s what vacation taught me:

Humuhumunukunukuapua’a is the state fish. It’s not as hard to say if you break it down.

Humu humu nuku nuku apua’a. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?

The Grande Wailea is a gorgeous resort. Every time I ordered a $15 pina colada, I kept thinking of how many meals that money could buy a child in a 3rd world country.

They have this commemorative cup you can buy of either a plastic pineapple or a tiki. It’s $22. Every time you want it refilled, it’s only the cost of the drink you want. Come again? That’s like on Portlandia, ‘It’s complimentary after you pay for it’.

I don’t drink that much, so I guess, I wouldn’t get my money’s worth. I’m guessing the ounces it holds is more than the dinky plastic cup they bring you from the pool bar. So if your gonna get sloshed on $15 pina coladas all day at the pool, you might as well drink it out of a pineapple and get twice as much. That’s what they say anyway.

People told us we would be so pampered at this place. That it’s luxurious and heavenly. Well, it is. But pampering comes with  a price. If you are just an average Joe (no affront to real people named Joe out there), but just plain ol’ folks who fly coach and bring their own nuts and dried fruit on a plane, you will get fine accommodations. The beds are comfy, the bathrooms are gorgeous in the rooms. All granite and huge. The pool and gardens are beautiful. The restaurants have beautiful food.

These garden paths smelled amazing from all the tropical flowers.

But if you want to be ‘pampered’, that costs money. Cabanas are $400 a day. You get chilled towels and Otter Pops brought to you. I, however, sat on my regular chaise that I positioned under the palm trees to get optimum shade and ate my almonds and bottled water I brought from my room. The ones I brought  from home, by the way. And dried apricots. We splurged and got pool side snacks and drinks at lunchtime. It’s okay, it only costs $70 for lunch. (sarcasm font there people.)

At least you get your money’s worth when it comes to the hot dogs:

Anyone hungry?

Luaus are so much fun. Even a vegetarian can enjoy themselves. You don’t have to eat the Kalua pig they pull out of the ground they’ve been roasting all day. Poor piggy. There’s seafood and veggies too. We had a lot of fun that night.

The pros are the pretty ladies in coconuts and the fellas in loin cloths. There was something for the eyes to feast on for both McSweetie and I.  Apparently, our preteen daughter thought so too.  After the men’s fire dance, the one dancer guy that looked like Jacob Black without a shirt, got a huge applause from our table. It wasn’t just me. There were whistles coming from Emma.

I wasted no time getting my picture with him afterwards. Hey, you gotta get near half naked sweaty bronze guys when you get the chance, okay? No judging!

Gee, could I smile any bigger?

We were happy to finally be home. Our pets were really happy to see us too. Sadly, Owen came back with an ear infection from the ocean water.

I’ve been awake since 2 am Maui time today. Am I seriously supposed to do laundry, and feed these people like any other day home? Gah.

I will be exfoliating and applying lotions and product to myself today. I’m still itchy and burned, and now peeling, in places.

There will be more normalcy and routine these next few days. Please, please God okay?

McSweetie bought me this Tshirt. (sarcasm font again people)

My kids are funny- Part Deux

Does me saying Part Deux in the title remind you of that Charlie Sheen movie? Yeah, me too. I should wear a head band or something.

In this installment of, ‘my kids are funnier than your kids’, cuz face it, they are. I have tried to put on paper (okay computer) what conversations have happened recently. There’s really too many to mention. They are THAT funny. But I will try to keep up. If anything, this is like an entry into their baby book for their grandparent’s sake. I understand if it doesn’t really interest you. Yes, YOU- perfectly nice stranger that takes the time to read my ramblings. Okay-

Having a conversation about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes with my kids: (because who doesn’t do this?? I mean, come on.)

Owen in defense of the guy he only knows from the Mission Impossible movies- “that’s not nice to divorce someone. Why would she divorce him. He’s in cool movies.”

Me- “Well sweetie, he  believes in aliens and he’s a little bit of a weirdo. He was probably very controlling of her and not very nice.”

Emma (using the opportunity to incorporate aliens in the conversation) “Quick grab the tin foil, the aliens are calling. Do as I say woman.”

Me- “let me guess, this is your impression of Tom Cruise being demanding to Katie Holmes?”

Emma- “Yep”

***

Emma tonight- “It’s probably a party with beer pong, strippers and tequila shots” (her describing a night of debauchery my husband was unable to attend with his guy friends)

Me startled and feigning dismay “How on earth do you know about all those things my dear??”

Emma- “I only learned it all from you!”

SNAP! <<cough Well I NEVER!! cough, cough>>

***

Owen at tuck in- “Mom, do you ever fart in the toilet?”

Me- “Uhm, all the time, that’s where you do your business.” (Who DOESN”T fart in the toilet?)

Owen- “Yeah, but farting in a toilet echos like farting in a bowl.”

Me- “That’s because it is a bowl dear. Not a bowl like in the kitchen, but a big ceramic bowl of water in the bathroom.”

pauses

Me- “How would you know what it sounds like to fart in a bowl?”

Owen- “After eating chips once, when the bowl was empty, I sat on it and farted.”

Ba da bump. Thank you. Thank you. Thankyouverymuch.

Tune in next week when Owen yells, “Hey BEYOTCH, get in here” to the dog when she’s outside barking at the neighbors.

I’ll take extra cheese with that ham please.

A letter from Katie Holmes to Tom Cruise’s possible 4th wife

I was actually surprised when I heard the news last week that Katie Holmes was filing for divorce from Tom Cruise. Not that their union was ideal or even real… but I thought TomKat had a few more years on the contract. <Cough> I mean, pre nup, <cough> whatever the fuck they arranged between them. And between just you and me, I have a feeling that little Suri is the most spoiled brat on the planet. This is purely speculation on my part. I know she is just an innocent pawn in all this, but don’t you think that she probably raises hell between the nannies, Scientology chaperones and Katie? I bet she has Tom just wrapped around her little Burberry mittened finger.

Doesn’t she look so sweet?

Okay, so here is a warning, or ‘heads up’ if you will to the next woman to fall to Tom’s charms as written by Katie, in my imagination, based on tabloid fodder. Don’t sue me.

Dear doormat-

Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that you will have to be a doormat to make this relationship work. When you realize you’re tired of being a doormat, that is when the relationship will have run its course.

Tom is very charming in the beginning of the relationship. He will pay someone to have your car detailed for you. He will fly your parents out to a fancy hotel and take you all shopping at Bergdorf Goodmans. He will pay for dinner and no one will notice the kool-aid being served that looks like Champagne.

He will try to get you to carry his devil/alien/Scientology spawn as quickly as possible. Trust me. I got knocked up within the first 6 months we were dating. This assured me, he said, that I would get more in the pre-nup because Scientology will use that child’s DNA for future alien/celebrity spawn. This is used in fertility clinics throughout Beverly Hills. Why do you think all the celebrities have twins?

Make sure to compliment him all the time. Whatever you do, don’t mention the height thing. It really irks him. Oh, and don’t point out to him either, that his face looks different from his early movies. This is not surgery. His nose is EXACTLY the same. The only thing that’s changed on him are his teeth which he publicly corrected with braces a few years ago. This is the ONLY thing that has changed on him. DO NOT mention surgery. By the third date, he’ll probably show you his hyperbaric chamber that only Scientology followers get. John Travolta has one too.

This brings us to his friends. Don’t criticize Johnny. They are good ‘friends’. They like to take saunas together, go shopping at the Izod store and spend secret weekends in the Poconos. Kelly is tolerant about this. You will be too.

Another thing NEVER to mention is the ‘couch’ incident. Or Oprah. Or the movie Legend.

No Tom isn’t gay. He doesn’t understand where any of those rumors even started. Just ask Nicole. Actually, scratch that. I think Nicole started those rumors.

Oh, and most importantly- whenever you have sex, (and it wasn’t often, first wife Mimi did elude to him entering monkdom status) he wants you to call him Maverick. Also, you need to yell, at the point of climax, “I can’t handle the truth!” He’s convinced that his sperm is magic. He has magic semen that sparkles. It doesn’t really, but he likes to think so. So just tell him this and he’ll be happy. If you whisper in his ear, ‘take it right in to the danger zone’,  then he’ll pretty much want to please you like he’s jumping on a couch. OH, darn it. I mentioned the couch again. DON’T go there.

Okay, there you go. That’s the gist of it all. Good luck. Don’t expect anything to develop or flourish with your career, family or friends. At first the novelty of isolation is relaxing.  But then, you get really tired of those chaperones.

Well, I’m outta here. My girlfriends and I are going to Vegas. I’m going to do body shots and dance in a cage (that’s not a metaphor or anything).

Cheers,

Katie

P.S. If only Nicole had written ME this letter. Just disregard everything I’ve said and RUN!

Mirror Mirror on the wall, whose hoo-ha is fairest of them all?

And I’m not talking about what you think I’m talking about. Wait. What do you think I’m talking about?

This isn’t about childbirth, sex (I lie, it’s always about sex) or menses. Menses- did I just remind you of your 8th grade health teacher?

This is about fancy vaginas. Blinged, groomed vaginas. Or hoohas. Or ladies’ gardens. There’s your every day ho-hum Brazilian wax, Nair- if you don’t mind the vapors, hedge trimmers, and also vagina brightening. Yes- vagina brightening. Could we have a ‘hell no’? Thank you.

The Bearded Iris is kind of an expert in the ladies hygiene department. She’s a vagina do-it-herselfer. No fancy Brazilians for this lady, just get out the super industrialized afro Nair and she goes to town in her own bathroom. Door locked of course to protect from the littles walking in and being scarred for life. I often read her blog for such tips- you should too.

There’s so much out there about vaginas. Okay- pause- sorry Lisa Brown, I’m just going to call it a hoo-ha. Call me juvenile, it’s not like I’m on the congressional floor.

An ad in India is getting criticism for implying that a woman’s genitals are prettier if they are brighter. I think they’re pretty if they’re just clean.

Vagina Brightening Indian TV ad

We can get our anuses bleached and now our vaginas brightened. Isn’t that great ladies? Isn’t that just what you always wished for? My whole private area is ready for it’s closeup like Gloria Swanson in a fancy turban.

I still remember those ads when I was a kid of the Massengill mom and daughter walking on the beach. ‘Sometimes I don’t feel fresh, down there, mom, what do I do?” My answer would be- go take a shower.

But you know it’s more fun selling us stuff that makes us feel like we’re doing our part. Like we’re creating a pH balanced wonderland.

Thanks to Jennifer Love Hewitt for her book on how to snag a man with a blinged out snatch. Or something like that. It’s not the exact title but you get the idea. How’s that working out for you Jenny Love? What engagement are you on? Such a pretty girl, she’s doesn’t need to hot glue sequins to her labia.

We all know what childbirth can do to the nether regions. It makes it look like a gordita.

I’ve asked my husband if he would like anything different about my parts. Does my labia hang down too low? Is my garden hair bothering him? He’s never really answered me. It’s not like he’s groomed like a Chippendales dancer himself. Does it really matter? I mean, he just wants to do me, call it good and have a beer, right? Now he has to worry about, not just when I ask him, ‘do these jeans push up my muffin top?’, but ‘does this shower gel make my hoo-ha glow?’

Don’t even talk to me about vaginal rejuvination surgery. OH PLEASE! Because the episiotomy and stitches weren’t fun enough!

Fuck you vag rejuvenation inventor! I’m just worried about not passing gas during foreplay, now I have to worry if my vag is rejuvenated enough to charm my hubs.

Well guess what? I can charm my McSweetie with my saggy boobies. I flash him on his way out the door for work. I pretend he’s thrown some beads at me and I lift up my t-shirt. Puts a smile on his face before his long commute to work.

So there you go. Ladies- don’t let media and marketing make you feel like your hoo-ha isn’t all that. Because guess, what? It’s all that and then some. Like Julia Roberts said in Eat, Pray, Love– our guys think they’ve won the lottery when they go to bed with us.

My hoo-ha is a lottery of sorts. McSweetie hopes he gets lucky.

Cheers.

Reasons to Live Friday #4

Today’s list…..My daughter’s side-splitting sense of humor.

Here’s a recap of the day-  It was the last day of school and we went to the beach with her brother and his buddy. They went off to dig in the sand and play on the play structure.

She and I stayed back at the beach chairs and towels and played that game where you throw the wiffle ball back  and forth with those basket like catcher thingys. Yeah, that game.

Remember this?

At first I was seated playing catch. I know, I’m so sporty. I was in the chair, and she was lobbing the wiffle ball over to me. Let’s say I was wearing some less attractive shorts. Like culottes. Oh, just hush. It was a beach day. This isn’t Malibu. So anyway, she says, “gee mom, you’re sporting a camel toe”. Don’t ask how my 12 year old knows camel toe. Oh, who am I kidding? She goes to middle school! She probably knows all kinds of foul things!

THEN..

We saw some Sandhill Cranes swoop in to shore. Thems are huge birds. Seeing them swoop in is kind of cool. Then they started chasing each other mid- air so Emma and I were watching and I’m like, “maybe they’ll start fighting”, then she starts yelling, “mate, mate, mate!” Like it’s some kind of chant in the cafeteria of high school egging on a fight. I’m just cracking up. She’s giggling like she’s got YouTube gold ready to happen. Nothing happened and they just did their crane strut down the shore a bit and then flew off for good.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (I just wanted to say that)

We went back to our game. We noticed an older couple sunbathing further down the beach. I think these folks were in their 70s. The woman was rotund and wearing a two-piece. The guy was wearing trunks, NOT Speedos, thank goodness. The woman started to head down to the shore. Mind you- we have a rocky beach, and our water is freezing. This isn’t Hawaii. So she’s just walking barefoot over all those hard barnacle crusted rocks. My kids have flip flops on. They have tender feet. Not this woman. I think she was Russian. She looked like a Helga or Svetlana. I think she could crack walnuts between her thighs. This woman was- sturdy. So she started wading in the water. Emma says to me, ‘I can’t go in the water, it’s too freezing and she’s old!’ We’re giggling wondering when Owen will catch sight of this woman and gross out. Since anyone in a two-piece is gross to him. Although the gentleman hanging back at his towel, Emma reports, is straightening himself. A LOT. She can see him in her direct line of vision. I can’t without turning around. So she’s describing that he’s continuing to ‘fix himself’ inside his shorts. Then she says he’s groping his stomach and chest. I try to turn and look but don’t want to be obvious. I said, maybe he’s giving himself a massage. For circulation. Or something. It’s probably a Russian thing. Like  what Tai Chi is to Chinese people.

‘Helga’ walks back from the beach after splashing herself in the surf. Emma is impressed with her capabilities to withstand the cold and rockiness. I said, ‘I think she has balls of steel’.  And then Emma replies, not missing a beat, “I think her husband likes HIS balls of steel too much”. I’M D Y I N G!

As if this wasn’t enough… then she and I reclined to our loungers to listen to me read a chapter of The Bloggess’ Let’s Pretend This Never Happened aloud, because I’m cool like that. We were cracking up at the pet wild ‘quail’ (turkeys, cough-cough) chapter. I sometimes don’t read the swear words. Emma particularly enjoyed the pet raccoons with ‘jams’ (pajamas for those not reading it) and the dead squirrel puppet in the Cheez-its box.

To top it off, we ended the day watching the first few episodes of Pretty Little Liars on Netflix.

I think this summer is going to go just fine. I also think my daughter is way cooler and mature than I ever was at 12.

And I am grateful that she thinks I’m cool enough to crack jokes with, and comfortable enough to giggle at kissy, smoochy stuff on TV.

Have  a great Friday y’all!

The ‘Family Bed’ is a sham, and not the kind with a duvet and 1000 thread-count sheets.

I’m going to catch so much hell for this. I’m just waiting for all the mommy groups to grab their pitchforks and torches.

But just hold on a sec.

I’m a cuddler, nurturer, breastfeeding parent like anybody. Okay, my kids are 9 and 12- I do NOT still breastfeed them. We need to specify this nowadays since you can breastfeed children until they go to college.

If you’ve read my blog these last months, you know I dote on my children. Love them, shape them, keep it real for them. They are great kids. But having them sleep in my bed is just a no-no.

I need my space. I need to have my ‘self ‘ to myself. And I think there comes a time when children need to learn how to soothe themselves, and be happy with being alone. Not lonely. Just alone in their beds.

I can see the family bed working for newborns. When you have one child. Not several. Then everyone decides your bed is a free for all. Maybe this idea originated in some Third World country. But I’m guessing that if those little cramped dwellings in Third World cultures had bedrooms and mattresses in every room- they’d be sleeping separately too.

When my children were really itty bitty newborns, co-sleeping would work sometimes. In fact, we did it with Emma often since I had such a hard time breast feeding that this was how I got any sleep. Once she would nod off while latched on, I would nod off too. But as she grew older she needed more and more cuddling to sleep and it wasn’t until she was 5 did we get her to sleep through the night without her coming to our bed, or us going to her bed.

And if letting her sleep in our bed from the start would’ve helped, then I suppose we would’ve continued this, but a fist in the face, or a foot in the nuts, isn’t a way to get a good night sleep. What child sleeps without flailing? Both of mine flail like windmills. I’ve been punched in the mouth before. I’ve been awoken by gasps and grunts from the husband as he’s had a heel sharp to the crotch. Or a knee in the gut. Let me tell you- I have skinny children. They have sharp elbows and knees. All bony and shit. It hurts.  This is no way to sleep folks!

And then there’s the contortion efforts to maintain them asleep, if you should wake up to go pee. Or when you’re stuck between your husband and the child and both are squishing you, or it’s summer and it’s so freaking hot you can’t breathe and you just want your

S P A C E!!!!!

Am I making myself clear? The pictures of family bed families, all comfortably spooning each other is a complete fairy tale. If anyone who sleeps in their family bed and loves it, I’m happy to hear that for you. I am in no way saying people shouldn’t have their children sleep in their bed. But for heavens sake people- do you see the monster you are creating if you even open that Pandora’s box?? They will NEVER LEAVE. NEVER.

Do you and your spouse want some alone time? Do you want some nookie time? How’s that working with your toddler between you?

Hey- the dog is always nearby when we are doing the marital relations. But honestly, she hangs her head in shame and walks over to her doggy bed in the closet until we are finished. You can’t do that with a kid!!

Making parents feel bad for using cribs, strollers and baby swings isn’t cool. I could only Baby Bjorn and sling my kids so much. Owen was born during May and was 3 weeks old during a June heat wave. You think I want that sack of ham strapped to me when it’s 95 degrees out and I’m sweating postpartum buckets? NO!

When I was postpartum with Emma, I needed to do 6 weeks of physical therapy because I kinked my neck carrying her all the time as well as the positions I was breast feeding created tension in parts of my body that hadn’t been used before. Obviously I started bad habits or posture or just using muscles that hadn’t been used before. Also I was on bed rest for 10 weeks before she was born, so I had very little muscle strength when she was born after atrophying on the couch for 3 months.

I love snuggling my kids. The idea of being cuddled in their beds together falling asleep with them is idyllic. But it’s the ‘idea’ not the reality that is idyllic. We snuggle lots. I rub their backs when I tuck them in. We are physically affectionate in lots of hugs, holds, back rubs, hair stroking. All that good stuff.

I hear of many folks that have slept with their children as babies and are trying to get their children to sleep in their own beds because they aren’t babies anymore! This is the disconnect. So much emphasis is placed on sleeping as a family when they are little, but what happens when you need to get your 4 year old to sleep in his own bed? Or when my friend says their 10 year old still can’t sleep alone in his bed? Once in awhile one of my children will crawl in to bed with us from a nightmare. This is okay. But even they will say, I didn’t sleep well last night, I hope I stay in my bed tonight. HA! They GET IT!

We don’t have to be pressured under Mayim Bialik’s parenting philosophies. Remember- she wore a flowered hat and overalls for many years during the 90s. Just because she does it, doesn’t mean you need to also.

If you think I let my kids cry it out, well, I didn’t. But I learned my mistakes from the firstborn and changed them with the second kid. Ha! Don’t we all! I would put him down in his crib when I saw the sleep signals. I would swaddle him all snuggly so he felt secure. He slept for hours on his own in his crib. He didn’t sleep through the night until he was 18 months old. He would still wake up for a 4 am nurse session. And then I realized that this was detrimental to me and wasn’t working anymore. I resented the sleep lost. I didn’t like the feeling anymore of breastfeeding. So one night I just cuddled him instead of nursing him and put him back in the crib. He went right back to sleep. It was just a habit to wake up. He didn’t need to eat. He didn’t need to be held. He needed to sleep really. I broke his habit, and we were all better off.

And now my boy is such a mama’s boy. So I don’t think I scarred him for deciding to stop breastfeeding before the age of 2. Our children will love us and be loving people regardless of how long they are nursed or if they’ve slept in cribs and beds by themselves. My kids love going to bed at night. They think their beds are cozy and safe and their own place for dream land.

Okay, so there’s my rant on the Family Bed. Just remember, it’s MY OPINION. I’m not writing child-rearing books here. I just don’t get it. If it works for you. Great. If it doesn’t- here’s a cup of coffee, you look a little tired.

Thank you for posing so perfectly for the photographer. Now everyone- start dreaming, full REM and flailing. Go! First one with a black eye wins.

I rest my case.

It’s a vlog again.

Does anyone out there actually LIKE Kristen Stewart? I mean, if she were my neighbor or roommate in college, I’m sure I would be perfectly pleasant with her. We might actually go out for coffee. No we wouldn’t. Because I couldn’t take the ‘thumbs up’ habit  and awkward she exudes for even five minutes.

Not that this vlog is all about my dislike of good ol’ K. Stew. But I do review Snow White and the Huntsman. And give a stunning example of her performance.

It’s a decent movie. Don’t get me wrong. And I went with a girl friend and we had a great time. So I’m not complaining. Well, sort of. I’ve seen soap opera actors do a better job than she does. Why does she continue to get work in the industry? It’s annoying.

So with that- here’s the latest vlog.

It’s pretty entertaining. I’m drinking and eating in it. My cat has a cameo. I pay honor to the Queen, not the evil queen in the movie- the Queen of England sillies!

It’s like a Jubilee/movie review/vlog/ extravaganza!

OH and good news- there’s no copyright issues so it should work on mobile devices!

Yay!

Sex (or lack thereof) and the Married Couple

Or as I should call it, How 50 Shades of Grey ruined my sex life. That’s right. I said ruined. I know, I know- you’re like, ‘WTF FRUG, you were all gushing about it in your music video. Yeah, well, that was back then. Now, unless my husband reads those books, (has any guy read them?) or any other middle aged-mom-soft porn, I can forget getting hot and heavy like Ana and Christian did. My husband will never look at me with smoldering eyes, fingering one of his silk ties in his hands, while he strolls on over to me wearing ripped up jeans and carrying a riding crop, telling me to ‘hold still’.  Our idea of kinky is when one of us gets a neck cramp during ‘relations’.

Who the fuck has time for hot sex anymore?  I’m talking monogamous, happily married, tear off each other’s clothes, pretend like you haven’t been married for 15 years sex. My body isn’t a robot. I don’t have a ‘TURN ON’ switch. So if it isn’t the time of the month, fatigue, sciatic nerve spasms, gas from too much bread at dinner… it’s a miracle there’s any relations going on at all. Seriously, mom- this might be where you stop reading- or put your fingers in your ears ‘lalalalala…I can’t hear you.’

Is it nature’s job to just mess with us? And by us, I mean women. It’s not that I don’t want sex, necessarily (oh dear God, mother, I am so sorry), it’s just that the urge for it really is sporadic. Here is a typical cycle of my libido in any given week-

Monday night= staying up to catch up on DVR shows and blog. Plus, my crops in WeTopia are far overdue to be harvested. Hubs is asleep on the couch. #Sameoldstory.

Tuesday= 11 am, started reading a book/ article/ or was watching Last of the Mohicans on one of the Encore channels with Daniel Day Lewis wearing deer skin pants- the only movie he’s ever looked THAT good- and think- hmmm, if hubby was home right now I would SO tap that keg.

Tuesday night= hubby’s home- and awake, but I have gas from that new quinoa and white bean recipe I tried. Plus, I snarfed that bag of Doritos when no one was around earlier, so the MSG is bloating in my intestines. This equals unsexy for sure.

Wednesday = Hubby’s working from home but I’m feeling glum and sad over how my jeans don’t fit me after I take them out of the dryer. I wish he would give me a back rub. And by back rub, I mean, back rub. And bring me donuts.

Thursday= holy hell- was surfing the web for blog material and happened to come across a whole handful of hot guys which got me thinking how nice it would be if hubby was working from home today. But he’s not. Once again, two ships- different ports.

Friday night= fell asleep in front of my lap top at around 9:30 surfing the web for swim suits that will never fit me. Got distracted and started watching cute kitten videos on YouTube, but my eyelids were so heavy, so now I’m just snoring on the couch. Maybe hubs will carry me upstairs, undress me and put me in to bed, which will wake me just enough for me to be aroused and he’ll pleasure me luxuriously for hours. Wait. Scratch that. Hubs hasn’t picked me up EVER since I weigh as much as he does, and he sure as hell wouldn’t make it up the stairs carrying my fat ass, especially with his bum knee. Plus he’s fallen asleep on the couch while updating his roster for Fantasy Soccer.

Saturday= went out with girl friends and got all dolled up to impress other ladies and get hit on by men that don’t mean anything to me. Stumbled home around midnight and took some Advil and went to bed.

Sunday= still recovering from the night before’s outing. Hubs gives me THE LOOK while we are brushing our teeth getting ready for bed. I’m like, “What?”, He’s like, “hey there”. I’m all, “hey there yourself”. Put in my night guard, throw my hair up in a scrunchie and call it a night. 6:30 am isn’t waiting for nobody and Monday mornings are always hell trying to drag my sorry ass out of bed. So no nookie for you my dear. Sleep time.

And there you have the random week in the life of a married couple that wishes, just wishes, that Afternoon Delights, Hotel Sex, or Anniversary sex, could come during random times of the day, conveniently when there’s no time of the month, gassy stomach bloat, constipation, or children around to bother or in their case, be bothered. OR telemarketers or the Mother In Law calling, or the dog whining at the bottom of the bed.

Yep. I went there. My next blog will be- ‘Why you shouldn’t blog about your sex life and humiliate your ultra, introverted husband.’

Stay tuned.

It’s all fun and games until somebody pukes.

Saturday was a day Owen and I were looking forward to.  Ever since our last high tea excursion in the city, we wanted to do it again and bring my mom- this would be my Mother’s day with her. We decided to use this weekend for it instead of actually going on Mother’s Day weekend since we wanted to avoid any crowds – you know how crowded those High Teas can get! (rolls eyes) and also, we have other plans Mother’s day weekend. So this weekend it was.

Owen woke me up at 7 am on Saturday morning. He whispers- ‘I’m excited for High Tea, I can’t sleep’. Okay buddy, I’ll get up. 7 is not too early, and honestly, I like getting up and having time to catch up on emails, harvest my crops in WeTopia, you know, the usual stuff.

When it was time to go to the city to the fancy schmancy hotel, Owen had his nice shirt on and his good sweater on. Off we went in the stylin’ minivan (dear heavens this vehicle hasn’t seen a sponge or soap in months). Y’all know how much I love my minivan.

The doorman greeted us in his smart coat and hat, and I had Owen take my picture next to the Daniel Craig ad at the Omega store (duh, of course!) as the doorman looked on and laughed telling us a story of another group taking their picture next to the same picture. I guess everyone admires Mr. Bond.

Hold that thought! (Screeching tire sounds) Wait just a minute!! I forgot one important thing!!

The night before, while I was tucking Owen in, he asks me- “Mom, is being a kid going to be the best years of my life? Because I get to spend all this time with you.”

Lump in throat, eyes watery. Oh. My. Goodness. THIS is what parenting is all about. Geeze. OOOH I just hugged him to bits that night.

Okay, fast forward, back to High Tea.

Owen ordered his own pot of their signature black tea blend. He got his own tower of little sandwiches, petit fors and scones. There’s little things of cream and marmalade on the table. So. Cute.

My mom and I shared a tower of little cucumber sandwiches, curried chicken sandwiches, tarts, cream puffs and scones. We’re like, “gosh, this seems so small, is there enough food?” We even had one of the waitresses sneak us some extra sandwiches. Not kidding!!

Did we get full on our second scone and third cucumber sandwich? You bet your sweet tea pots we did! We even took home some leftovers. Silly little nitties we are! After a whole pot of tea filling your belly and those little lemon tarts with the cream, you fill up a lot faster than you think! WE learned our lesson!

Owen started to complain he didn’t feel good. Hmm, he said he didn’t feel good when he got out of the car. Let’s see here, (scratches head and thinks hard)  I’m going to make the assumption he’s just full. Funny, how when your kid complains of a stomach ache, you reason with yourself all the things it probably is. Heaven forbid, there’s ACTUALLY something wrong with them. The last thing we want is puking. I don’t just jump to the conclusion of, “oh my goodness, you’ve got the flu, quick, you need a bowl, you might vomit everywhere”. (This is called foreshadowing folks.)

Owen originally wanted to go to the University of Washington’s bookstore. That kid loves books. He was looking forward to looking at and showing books to Oma. They have a great kid’s section and lots of young adult fiction and classics. It’s really awesome.

You know it’s bad when your kid gives up the equivalent of a trip to the toy store, and asks to go home.

Ruh Roh.

“Hmm, here- hold this (hands him the paper bag the left over scones were packed in. YES I took them out first, duh!), just in case buddy ‘kay? Not that you are going to throw up (wipes his little brow comfortingly), but just in case.”

Sure enough- he moaned the entire 20 minute ride home, as soon as we pull in to the neighborhood entrance, HURL sounds come from the back seat! (Gag reflex on mom- engage, blech)

Within seconds the sour, stenchy, biley smell starts filling up the car. I roll the windows down and speed the heck home.

We get on the driveway, I jump out, help him out. Well, the bag was helpful. But not 100%. He’s covered in it. He’s sitting in it. It’s in the seat belt. On his face.

OH GOOD LORD!!

He gets on the driveway and kneels down and takes a Tebow. I see that it has covered the back of his pants. While I get a roll of paper towels and start on the car, he is making sure he is done puking for the time. Poor buddy.

My mom is just chill and being there for Owen, and I’m not letting her help.  I jump in fight or flight mode- which in this case is fight- cuz running down the street screaming isn’t going to get my van clean. And by fight I mean- grabbing every paper towel product and spray cleaner/carpet spray/ Febreze product in sight. Mom goes inside and waits for Owen to change. Once he does- I strip him inside the garage and then throw his clothes in the washing machine immediately- he snuggles on the couch with ‘The Bowl’ and chats with Oma. She gets him some water and he seems pretty good actually.

I have NO IDEA what the heck it was. He says there was a kid that puked at school and went home. I tell you, there’s been at least 4 kids that have puked in his classroom this year. His teacher must have a steel clad stomach. That’s just the worst. (shiver)

My mom and I hug and laugh on the irony of the day. Oh well. I guess this is what ‘Mother’s Day’ is all about right?? It’s never just about us- someone has to go and puke and ruin the fun! I’m just kidding! Owen felt so awful, not just in the bellyache kind, but in his heart. He was so sweet and thanked me for taking him to tea. We three promised we would do it again another time AND the book store so that we could make up for the crappy end to such a fine start to the day.

That whole afternoon we snuggled- well, I snuggled on the armchair NEXT to the couch- I’m not stupid- I think I washed my hands like, 12 times and I gave him ginger ale and he watched Harry Potter. And yes, I made myself a cup of tea. I know, I know, it’s like I need an intervention. But after all that cleaning up and chaos with the car pukeness, I needed a relaxing cup of tea.

The coast was clear for the next 12 hours and he was able to go see the Avengers movie with his buddy like he planned on Sunday. That’s his birthday party this year. Just to see a movie with a friend and go out to eat afterwards. I LOVE kids getting older and I don’t have to plan stuff!! Yay me!

And yes- the car STILL smells. I’m working on it. And yes, I’m trying every remedy known to Googlekind. So if it’s on the internet, I’ve tried it. It’s about 85% vomit-smell free now.

Happy Mother’s Day alls y’alls.

Me and Daniel- OKAY, fine- Me and a picture of Daniel.

Look at him pour his milk in his tea cup like a good English lad!! See all the cute, little fancy accoutrements on the table??

50 Shades of Unrealistic Foreplay and (S)Expectations.

***SPOILER ALERTS****

Not that it matters. This book is not necessarily some M. Night Shyamalan movie that will be all messed up if you find out what happens at the end before you actually finish the book. Not to say the ending is anything special. AND, I think it’s safe to say, everyone pretty much knows what’s going on in these pages.

Here’s the 101-

50 Shades of Grey– smut/soft porn/ romance novel. I think what’s crazy about this book is how popular and main stream it is. Judy Blume and other authors have written some crazy sex shit in their novels too, and no one talks about it. This however, is all the buzz.

You saw my Music Video last week. You know I read the book and was obviously ‘distracted’ by it.

But let me break down to you where I call some serious ‘bull shit’ out to Ms. E.L. James and her big tease she calls a novel. This is not to say I didn’t enjoy the book. Which I did. Very much so. And after all you folks telling me you bought the book after seeing my video- Ms. James should thank me. I like Sephora gift cards- thankyouverymuch.

The author is married and has kids- so she obviously knows what ‘married’ sex is like. This book is after all, fantasy. And fantasy, means, we separate ourselves from reality. And yes, the characters in the book are not married. They hardly know each other. So the reality being that my husband will never play piano with his shirt off and send me texts and emails that are so witty and bantering, or tell me to eat my breakfast because he’s worried about me. HA HA! No sir-eee! One thing my husband has never had to tell me was, ‘to eat’!  I’m pretty good at doing that on my own. Nor will he buy me an Audi sports car and fill my closet with brand new clothes.

BAM- THIS is the fantasy ladies- A CLOSET FULL OF CLOTHES THAT FIT YOU PERFECTLY!!! Of all things in this book, this was my favorite. Does this Ana bitch know how lucky she is??? Oh my gosh- to never go in a dressing room with hideous florescent lights?? Heaven on earth!

Some points I would like to make as well-This is where some points of the book cause me to roll my eyes. And yes, if Mr. Grey caught me rolling my eyes, I’d get a spanking in the Red Room of Pain. Speaking of, I would not survive the ‘can’t roll my eyes’ clause thingy. Just get me a mini fridge and a futon in the Red Room of Pain, cuz I’ll be living there with my sarcasm.

When in the hell does Anastasia pee after sex??? All that massive thrusting and you know what– makes for a serious UTI. That’s Urinary Tract Infection, for those that don’t know the speak.

All I could think of was, ‘this girl better go pee here before she falls asleep or she’s going to have a raging bladder issue in the next 24 hours’.  And, you don’t automatically eliminate the risk of getting pregnant after taking your birth control pills for just 3 days for the first time ever in your life. PUHLEEZE!!

Then- the courtship of witty exchange, nuzzling with his hands in her hair, smelling her skin…. blah, blah, blah…. SERIOUSLY??

Unless you are on some tropical getaway with your husband to some remote island and you haven’t done it in ages so you’re ripping each other’s clothes off in your villa- it’s more like, ‘hey- do you need lube, watch my hair, your elbow is on it. Could you get me a pillow- my neck is cricked and oh, move the dog, she’s like, right next to me. Why is it so cold in here? Can you just make this quick, I’m not even taking off my t-shirt’.

You get the idea.

My husband is so preoccupied when he walks in the door. He doesn’t drop his laptop bag, throw down his Crackberry, grab me by the waist and pull my hair back to bring my mouth up to his and plant a deep kiss on me. If he did, I’d probably gripe about his scruff scratching my lip, tell him he shouldn’t leave his laptop bag there since one of the kids will trip on it, and ask where his commuter coffee mug is so I don’t forget to put it in the dishwasher overnight, and did he bring the sour cream I need for dinner that I texted him earlier about.

The character, Anastasia, tries to be all upstanding in her principles. Yadda, yadda, yadda. We get it. She can’t be a total floozy or we’d lose interest. There needs to be tension between the two characters. He wants to shower her with fancy things- she wants to make it on her own. Okay fine.

But seriously- I wanted to give her a head thump on the forehead through the book. Are you insane??? Take the guy’s offer!

Clothes that fit, a car that you will never have to take to Jiffy Lube for a tune up and wonder if you should go for the transmission flush AND the new air filter or not, since you are still paying for the new tires you had to put on back in January.

Clothes. I keep coming back to this, I know. Maybe it’s because I have dreams where I go in my closet and there are clothes I’ve never seen before with tags on. It seriously is the best dream ever. They are beautiful clothes that fit me and I don’t remember having to pay for them. I’ve had this dream since 7th grade. It just changes from stirrup pants of the 80s to pencil skirts and Manolo Blahniks of the present.

If my husband bothered to tie me up during sex, I’m pretty sure  both of us would fall asleep before we were finished. Leaving me still in the bonds. Which when I finally did wake up, he wouldn’t unstrap me and give me a massage on my shoulders like Christian does, I’d have to nudge him in the head to free me, which I’m sure he would (maybe). My hand will have fallen asleep so I’ll be walking around the room, waving it like a lunatic to regain blood flow, then stub my toe on the laundry basket over by the dresser that I can’t see in the dark. Then he’d roll over and steal the covers and double check that his alarm clock is set for the morning, while I remind him of the fact that tomorrow he needs to take the boy to Cub Scouts,  bring home cat litter and call his mother.

Christian in the book, doesn’t let Ana, touch him, but he does all kinds of ‘things’ i.e. caresses, spankings, massaging… to her. Okay, fine with me. Let HIM do all the work. Do any of you ladies know what the ‘race track’ is? It’s the figure 8 pattern your husband sleepily draws on your back when you’ve asked for a back rub and he lays there half asleep with one hand pitifully ‘massaging’ you.

Oh, and I almost forgot. Hired help to make breakfast. Another deal sealer in my book. Not having to do breakfast dishes, make the coffee and wonder if I remembered the milk… priceless.

This is some serious porn in my book.

So don’t get the wrong idea. Like, I said, this is fantasy. We want to escape when we read novels. And yes, I did, for the most part. But I guess I’m so firmly entrenched in my way of living, that all I could think of was the minutia of details. I’m thinking Christian puts his socks in the hamper. What do you think?

That's more like it.