I Got Third

All I remember, really, is that we had been stuck in the house for a bazillion days because no only was it snowy but it was insanely cold, blistery cold, crappy cold that made one's boogers instantly freeze just opening up the door. When it's that cold? People get all kinds of cranky.

Apparently, I was cranky. I don't recall why I send Daughter 2 to her room, but I did. And I not only used my inside voice, but I used my Jack Nicholson as Colonel Jessup voice:

I eat breakfast three-hundred yards from four thousand Cubans who are trained to kill me. So don't think for one second that you can come down here, flash a badge and make me nervous.

The voice I wanted to use was the "There is no Dana only Zuul" voice from Ghostbusters.

But I didn't. I calmly and collectedly told my on-edge child to go to her room.

"You're the WORST mother!" she hollered as she stomped to her room. (FYI--She did use her "There Is No Dana Only Zuul" voice.)

When she had calmed down and I had calmed down, I called her to me.

"Do you have anything to say?"

"Yes," she said, "I'm sorrry I said you were the third worst mom."

"Third worst? I thought I was the worst?" I said, feeling a little bit slighted that while she sat in her room, I had moved down in the rankings. We'd been shut in the house for what seemed like months, we'd had no routine and no structure. I hadn't bathed in four days. I couldn't remember the last time a brush had interacted with my hair. I had let my kids veg out and watch endless episodes of The Big Bang Theory on TV ad nauseum. I'm pretty sure that I okay'd them eating a bag of Doritos and Ritz crackers with a slice of cheese for lunch. Why wasn't I the worst mom?

"You were the worst. But, someone is worser and someone is worser than that," she explained as if she were offering a dissertation on what constitutes bad mommas.

Sadly, though, the third worst mom does not get a tiara or a sash. But, it'll look good on my permanent record. 

I run my unit how I run my unit. You want to investigate me, roll the dice and take your chances. I eat breakfast 300 yards from 4000 Cubans who are trained to kill me, so don’t think for one second that you can come down here, flash a badge, and make me nervous. - See more at: http://www.filmschoolrejects.com/opinions/the-best-jack-nicholson-lines-of-all-time.php#sthash.gxEPL42Y.dpuf

I run my unit how I run my unit. You want to investigate me, roll the dice and take your chances. I eat breakfast 300 yards from 4000 Cubans who are trained to kill me, so don’t think for one second that you can come down here, flash a badge, and make me nervous. - See more at: http://www.filmschoolrejects.com/opinions/the-best-jack-nicholson-lines-of-all-time.php#sthash.gxEPL42Y.dpuf

I run my unit how I run my unit. You want to investigate me, roll the dice and take your chances. I eat breakfast 300 yards from 4000 Cubans who are trained to kill me, so don’t think for one second that you can come down here, flash a badge, and make me nervous. - See more at: http://www.filmschoolrejects.com/opinions/the-best-jack-nicholson-lines-of-all-time.php#sthash.gxEPL42Y.dpuf

Comments I Wanna Post But I Won't 'Cause I'm Nice. Dammit.

I'm tired. I'll admit it. Momma loves her sleep and for the past two weeks, we've been getting to bed late and waking up early. This morning was the first morning that I've really gotten to wake up when I wanted to in a very long time.

It's June. I sleep late in June. Not sleeping late is not good for my mind.

Momma's Christmas List

My Christmas list is not long. Not long at all.

All I want is a lock box.

I peed my pants in Lowes

OK, fine. I didn't pee my pants in Lowes, but I almost did.  I do not blame my bladder. I do not blame the 96-ounce iced water from the world's best convenience store ever: QT. I do not blame The Dad, who was taking way longer than he needed picking out a towel rack for the never-ending and ever-expanding shower/bathroom project. I blame Lowes.

Funny Not Slutty: Show Me the Money!

My sweet little baby decided she wanted to have a lemonade stand. We live close to the corner, so I was convinced that with her sweet face and my knock-off brand of powdered lemonade, she’d totally rake in the dough. She sat out in the heat for hours (and not just because I told her to not come home until she recouped my $1.75 investment). No one stopped. Not one single grandmotherly-type figure. I know the economy is bad, but c’mon! She’s cute enough to warrant a 50 cent cup of watered-down lemonade.

I walked to the corner where her little table with the crayon sign was set up and saw the issue: The sisters in the block before ours had their own stand. AND? They had their baby brother strapped in his stroller for curb appeal. Oh hellz no. ...

Keep reading at FUNNY NOT SLUTTY!

Conversation of the week

It's been a long, damn time since I've had a working shower in my bathroom, and I'll be the first to admit (but certainly not the only one to do so) that I've been more than a little bit cranky about the whole business.  Basically, every conversation The Dad and I have had this summer has been about the shower.  Or lack thereof.  I'm not even sure what this particular conversation was about other than the shower.

Me:  I don't care. You decide and get it done.

The Dad:  Well, I want your input.

Me: You do NOT want my input.

The Dad: Then I don't want to hear your complaints later on.

Me: {snort}

Daughter 2 {sneaking around the corner of the bathroom}:  Are you going to get a divorce?

Me:  No way.

The Dad:  Not all all.

Daughter 2:  Well, I was just going to say that if you were getting a divorce, then I would want to live with whichever one of you would take me to get a shaved ice.

The Dad:  Baby, we are not getting a divorce.

Me:  I'm just very frustrated, Honey, but I still love your daddy and have no intentions of divorcing him.

Daughter 2:  Well, just in case you do, remember: Shaved ice gets me.

Oh, yes he did!

I hate shopping.  Can't stand it.  I hate browsing through the endless aisles of clothes that may or may not fit, that may or may not be the right color, that may or may not cost more than my annual income.  I hate shopping.  The End.

A toilet paper tutorial

My biggest fear is running out of toilet paper.  OK, it's actually a close second behind traumatic and devastating things happening to my family.   But, right after that, comes my fear of sitting on the toilet only to discover that we have no toilet paper in the house.  To address this paranoia of mine, I stock pile toilet paper like the elderly stock pile cat food and jello.

Footloose and Fancy-Free

The day started off rough.  I don't do mornings well to begin with - Have I mentioned that before?  But on picture day, I really don't do mornings well.

Today was picture day for The Daughters.  That thought briefly crossed my mind as I hit "Wake" instead of "Snooze" and accidently slept 15 minutes longer than we should have.  Sadly I had not slept well.  It's hard to sleep well when you're up every hour or two chasing down a sleep-walking, sleep-talking Daughter 2.  In her defense, she was chasing the kitty cat.  In my defense, we don't have a kitty cat!