Gangsta Clean

In my house, there are 3 levels of clean.

Level 1: Half-assed clean.  This is the level of clean that is achieved on a daily basis.  It’s not that I don’t love having a spotless house, because I do.  But during the weekdays between the hours of 9-5, I’m OBLIGATED to be on the couch at my office desk blogging shopping online working and just don’t have time to clean.

Level 2: Weekend clean.  This is the level of clean that is achieved when, ahem, “other” family members decide they should pitch in.  Let’s just say this level looks very similar to level 1, but with a few additional random tasks completed.  This weekend, that tennis ball that had been stuck in our gutter for 3 months was finally pulled out.  Phew!  Crisis averted.  Also (I don’t want to short-change anyone) a bug that had been smashed on the wall a week ago was finally removed.  I’m going to miss Ol’ Smashy.  The severed legs / bug guts that I refused to clean off the wall and I really bonded over the past few days.  I’m sure I’ll be seeing his wife and kids soon. RIP Smashy!

Level 3: Mother-in-law clean.  This is the level of clean ONLY achieved when my mother-in-law comes to town.  Level 3 would be when I’m on my hands and knees in a bathroom with a magnifying glass trying to remove any evidence that we actually use the toilets.  My kids and husband tend to stand back during a level 3, as I tend to get all Mommy-Dearest for a few hours.

My husband’s parents came into town this weekend and I decided it was time for the kids to pull their weight.  They are only 2.5 and 4.5, but surely they could contribute a LITTLE.   And by “contribute a little”, I mostly mean “don’t make the house worse as I’m cleaning”. 

And so the cleaning began.

The kids put new toilet paper on the ground.  On the ground, that’s where it goes, right?  It is when you live with a 2 year old.

 

They made the bed. Well… sort of.

 

They cleaned the sinks….

…AND the walls.

I’d like to give a special thank you to Inspector Hector color-changing soap for making it look like a drive-by occurred in my bathroom.  Those red pellets are extra fun when you’re scraping them off of paint.  

  

But hey- this is what I asked for, right?  With the help of my kids and Inspector Hector, I think we’ve stumbled across a new level of clean at our house.  Level .5: Gangsta Clean.  

TTFN,

AMo

I (HEART) Segues

My 4 year old son woke up yesterday morning and told me that he was too sick to go to school.  I knew he was faking but was a little hesitant to call his bluff since the LAST time I told him to suck it up I ended up with vomit all over me.  I’m also pretty sure my kid is going to become a politician when he’s older.  When he sensed my hesitancy for letting him stay home, this conversation occurred:

DMo:  Mom, I’m sick.

Me:  You don’t look very sick; let me check your forehead.

DMo: Mommy, you’re beautiful.  Your hair is long and golden like Rapunzel.  

Me:  Oh, thank you honey!  Maybe you SHOULD stay home.

Um, WTF just happened?!  Did he just use his toddler superpowers to get his way?  I mean, my hair IS long and golden- just take a look at all of that flowing yellowness under the tiara.  STILL. I’m pretty sure my kid has got a lot of winking and pointing/baby kissing in his future.

Then there’s my OTHER kid.

When we went to Disneyworld, we let the kids pick out a few toys.  My youngest was IMMEDIATELY drawn to a Buzz Lightyear toy that quite frankly looks exactly like the rest of the 237 Buzz Lightyears in our house.  This one was special though.  THIS one can be pulled apart into two pieces.  MMo does not care at all about the top portion, he ONLY wants the legs.  We have tried numerous times to fashion the torso/head back on, but MMo will immediately rip it off.  ONLY the legs.  The kid doesn’t want ANY other toys.  Just the legs.  This seems like something I should be concerned with, but I’ll live in my land of denial for a bit longer.  I mean, they aren’t REAL body parts… um… yet… right?

Speaking of creepy, I started P90X today.  

I’ll be honest, I couldn’t finish because I couldn’t stop laughing.  First of all, this guy looks like someone featured on Dateline’s “To catch a predator”.  I’d bet 5 bucks that the vanity plate on his bright yellow Ferrari reads “NICERAQ”.

I walked away to use the bathroom and all I could hear from the other room is “Oh yeah, GET THAT BODY involved.  Breathe, oh yeah, are you feeling it?  Oh that’s gooooood.  Hooo hooo hooooo!  Bring it!  That’s what I WANT TO SEE!”, accompanied by a ton of heavy breathing.  If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed someone was watching a little Cinemax after 2am.

 And continuing with creepy…

When you have a Google blog, they supply you with analytics on your audience.  One of the items they provide you with are the key words people type in to Google that lead them to your site.  Mine are usually “mom blog”, “bachelor”, etc.  I’d just like to give a little shout out to the 2 people that Googled “will a dead body pose a health risk” and “XXX hot stepmom” and got my site.  Thanks for reading, and um… good luck with your searches.

TTFN, 

AMo

Scurvy-Infested Cobras, Linda Blair, and Children's Books

I can’t help it- I REALLY don’t like reading children’s books.  I know, I am the worst parent ever… we already established that HERE.  I think a few things factor into this.  

1. I’ve already read almost all of these stories 1.5 billion times and I’m not even allowed to change the frigging ending anymore because my kids call me out on it.   

2.  I’m usually reading these books during the kids' bedtimes and all I can think of is “FINALLY, only 5 more minutes until I can go to the bathroom without being stalked!”

3.  These stories are mind-numbingly boring and predictable.  There are a few exceptions, but even my 2 year old can guess how everything turns out in the end.

So I was reading to my children last night and had a fabulous idea.   There should be a series of books for kids too young to read that would also contain little parental “nuggets” just for your entertainment.  Sort of like a book within a book.   Confused?   Am I getting all “Inception” on you?  Let me illustrate- just click on the pictures to enlarge.

MY LITTLE PIRATE

 

  

I think I may be onto something.  Feel free to print out and read to your own cobra-fearing, non-napping, Linda Blair impressionist.

TTFN, 

AMo

A Di$neyworld Story

Well, we made it back from Disneyworld. We had some good times, some… “not so good times”, and learned some lessons along the way.  Here’s just a brief recap of our trip to the happiest place on Earth.

DAY 1

We got off to a late start on Friday (I think it had something to do with my 2 year old deciding that he’d rather have a techno dance party in his crib and keep the entire house awake than sleep from 2am-7am).  FINALLY, after getting everyone ready, driving 450 miles, refereeing 17 arguments (over a Megamind Happymeal toy- thank you so much McDonalds for rendering worthless the thousands of toys collecting dust in our house), and drinking 3 cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee (sipped through a straw of course), we made it.  Because of the late start, we had to check into our “pool-view” room and head straight to our dinner reservation at the Mexico restaurant in Epcot Center.  Ladies and gentlemen, let me give you this tiny piece of advice.  It’s not in your best interest to make your children sprint through their first Disney theme park to go sit down YET AGAIN after a 7 hour car ride.  That would pretty much be like parading Lindsey Lohan through a jewelry store and expecting her not to take anything.  

I will spare you the agonizing details of our dinner in Mexico, but I would like to thank my special friend Jose Cuervo for helping out in the sanity department that evening. 

 

DAY 2

We finally got to our “pool-view” room that night and everyone went to bed.  Around 4am, my oldest son woke me up to tell me his stomach hurt.  I told him that he was just tired and to get back into bed (note: this would be when I earned my WORST PARENT EVER award).  I deserved the gallons of vomit I woke up to an hour later.

This is the conversation took place when I notified housekeeping of the regurgitated Mexican gift my child had left in the sheets outside my door:

Housekeeping:  “Housekeeping, may I help you?

Me: “My son just vomited all over his sheets.  Could we get a fresh set? Also, the soiled sheets are outside the door.”

Housekeeping:  “We aren’t open right now.”

Me:  “Um, what?”

Housekeeping:  “Unless there’s an emergency we can’t deliver sheets right now.”

Me:  “Soooo vomit isn’t an emergency… how about poop? How about if I’d accidentally severed my hand and bled all over the sheets?  Do you have a list of acceptable emergencies that maybe I could select from?

Housekeeping:  “Call back at 6am, ma’am.”

Luckily (…?), the vomit was a 1-time thing and we were able to make it to the Magic Kingdom that morning.  We were greeted by Mickey Mouse as we walked in.  Right away, I felt some crazy tension between us.  He was staring at me…

Wait, what did he just…

Whaaaa…

 

Inexplicably, I had the craziest urge to do only two things: 1. go purchase a bunch of crap we didn’t need, and 2. Get “PROPERTY OF PIXAR” tattooed across my back.   Five hours and 127 pieces of Buzz Lightyear paraphernalia later, we headed back to the hotel.  Believe it or not, there are no tattoo parlors in the Magic Kingdom.

DAY 3

The next day, we decided to check out Hollywood Studios.  The moment we stepped into the park, my 2 year old began to cry.  And not a normal cry… I’m talking the “hey look at me, my parents obviously beat me” cry.  While this was happening, my 4 year old began to sprint as fast as possible to anything that he may have forgotten to purchase the day before.   I’ll skip through the majority of our ridiculous day.  The bottom line is this: we are Disney novices.  The term “Fast Pass” meant nothing to me before this weekend.  You see, back when I was a youngster, we actually WAITED in line to ride the rides.  Apparently that is not how Disney rolls in the 21^st century.  After spending a torturous 45 minutes in line to ride something that lasted about 10 seconds (not to mention Mr. Terrible 2 was STILL crying), we decided that maybe we should go back to the hotel and take a dip in the pool.  What I didn’t realize at the time we promised this pool adventure to the kids was that A) it was only 55 degrees out and B) there was a cheerleading championship held this weekend and I’m pretty sure ALL of them were sunbathing at our pool.  Well hey there Buffy and squad!  Nice to meet you and your boobs.  Enjoy it, you’ve got about 7 years left until it all heads south!

DAY 4

It was time to head back to the Magic Kingdom, but THIS time, we were prepared.  We got to the park right as the doors opened, and sprinted like maniacs to collect our fast passes and move on.  We rode 10 rides in 4 hours, and that includes the 20 minutes we spent in an “It’s a Small World” boat because the ride broke down.  About 10 minutes into it, my oldest asked if he could jump out and swim back.  I couldn’t blame him, after the 50^th chorus of the song, I was thinking of breaking off a piece of a nearby puppet and fashioning an oar to get us back.  But I digress.  I THINK the kids had fun, but I was too busy running like a mad woman to secure our places in various lines to know for sure.  Not to mention, I only had a few hours left to find a tattoo parlor. I LOVE PIXAR, WOOT WOOT!

DAY 5

We went to Animal Kingdom on our last day.  I think we all enjoyed this park the most because we weren’t expecting anything but a glorified zoo and got so much more.  It was a great time; we finally slowed down and enjoyed watching our kids enjoy the experience.   I’m sure we’ll go back, but we’ll probably wait until our Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde youngest son is a little older.  I noticed as we got further into the trip that Disney doesn’t really acknowledge you until you’re 3 years old.  If I had to do it all again, I would have waited that extra year.  But we’ll be back.  With our fast pass knowledge, extra sheets, and my Pixar tattoo.  Everyone, please go see CARS 2 coming out on June 24^th 2011!!!!  PIXAR IS THE BEST EVER!

TTFN, 

AMo

Procrastination Thursday

It’s THURSDAY!  Right now I should be cleaning the house packing for Disneyworld working, so of course I thought now would be a perfect time to blog. 

Because this is a procrastination entry and I don’t REALLY have anything to say, it will most likely be pretty random.  Please feel free to skip the text, look at the pretty pictures and move along to something more interesting.

Yesterday, my dentist suckered me into getting my teeth whitened while I was in his office replacing a cavity filling.  As my hygienist started applying the bleach, she said “Now you have to stay away from dark foods for the next two weeks because your teeth will be susceptible to staining.”  Um, wait a second…. back that train up.  Apparently Ms. Lady, you are unfamiliar with a little something called the 4 food groups? 

  It was too late though, the bleach had been applied.  So now I’m sitting here sipping my Dunkin Donuts coffee (it really is liquid crack) through a straw.  I recall years ago watching a ridiculous stereotypical suburban mom do this on TV and thinking, wow, what an a-hole.  And now here I am, doing the same thing.  Next thing you know, I’ll be wearing sweater vests and rocking out to Michael Bolton in my minivan with my 2.5 kids……… uh oh. Wait a minute.  I own a sweater vest, my car resembles a minivan (sorry you large SUV drivers out there, even though TECHNICALLY it isn’t a minivan, it’s still in the same cool category), I have two kids.... oh s%*t.    

Well, I guess it’s time to own up to what I have become.  I am suburban mom, hear me roar.  HOWEVER.  If I ever saw Michael Bolton on the street, I would body slam him for ruining radio listening in the 90’s.

That’s all I’ve got, blogpeeps- have a fantastic weekend.  I’m off to the most expensive happiest place on Earth with my man posse.  I’m sure I’ll have more on that later.

TTFN,

AMo

My son is trying to kill me.

Right now, I should be writing about what I’m SURE was the most controversial Bachelor episode ever.  However, I am in a borderline-comatose state that any parent would understand and haven’t been able to watch good old Brad woo those lovely ladies yet.  

My son is trying to kill me, you see.

I can clearly recall the years before the birth of my children saying “Wow, I’m so tired!”, or “I MUST take a nap, I don’t know how I could possibly stay awake for one minute longer!”  Yeah.  Tired.  Whatever.  Shut up, 25-year old self.  You don’t know ANYTHING about being tired.

My little sweet, precious 2 ½ year old son is trying to kill me.

Admittedly, I have not put my youngest into a toddler bed yet.  Why, you may ask? Well, I was completely traumatized by moving my oldest son into his big-boy bed a couple of years ago.  I convinced myself that every little noise I heard after we took him to bed was either him falling onto the ground and breaking a bone, unlatching a window so he could jump out, or just taking a dive down a flight of stairs.  I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since the day we moved him out of the crib.  

So to have TWO in big-boy beds?  Yeah, they’re going to kill me.

I have no choice but to move him into a toddler bed at this point.  He’s waking up approximately 10 times a night.  I mean, I get it- have you ever felt a crib mattress??   I might as well just slap him on the kitchen table and cover him up- he wouldn’t notice the change and I’d have less of a walk to get him back to sleep.  

He’s playing mind games with me.  Really.

He lures me in with a simple request, like “Hey, cover me back up”, or “I seem to have dropped my Cookie Monster on the ground”.  THEN he pulls the old bait-and-switch.  “MOOOMMMMY!  I don’t WANNA go night-night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  This goes on. All.  Night. Long.  I am the only acceptable person in his room after 8pm.  He will turn into a tiny baby Fidel Castro if his dad even attempts to lay him back down.

SMo: “Hey little guy, need me to cover you up?”

MMo: “GET OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUT AND NEVER RETURN.”

He’s singled me out.  He’s only after me.

Even when he’s not screaming, I am WAITING for him to start screaming- which means I am probably averaging about 2 hours of sleep a night.  They say that lack of sleep causes memory loss, clumsiness, and paranoia.  I admit that over the last couple of weeks, standing next to me could be hazardous because I’ve become so clumsy.  But memory loss?  PARANOID?  No, I don’t think so.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go hide in my closet.  Remind me to write sometime about how my son is trying to kill me.

TTFN,

AMo

6 gifts not to give your lovah for Valentine’s Day

What, did you think just because it’s Super Bowl Sunday that I’d be writing about football?  Yeah, no.  The only team I care about is the Detroit Lions, so I probably won’t be interested in the Super Bowl for the next 50 years.  Believing that the Lions have a chance at the Super Bowl in the foreseeable future is sort of like believing Charlie Sheen is indeed sober and the hookers that always seem to surround him are just “good friends”.  But I digress.  As Valentine’s Day draws closer, I’m sure you men are wondering what to get your woman for the big occasion.  Here are a few gifts I’ve found you might want to steer clear from.

1.       A dieting cookbook.  Nothing quite says I love you like, “Hey fat a$#, it ain’t called baby weight anymore if your ‘baby’ is 5 years old!”

2.       Lacy bras/thongs.  Let me be really honest with you.  NO woman likes wearing a lacy bra.  If I had to compare it to something, I would say it feels like having fleas coupled with rubbing sandpaper against those mysterious lady parts.   And don’t get me started on rectal floss. 

3.       Nothing.  I don’t care how much your valentine insists that you don’t have to get her anything, she is lying through her flower-adoring, jewelry-craving, chocolate-loving teeth.  Show up with nothing and I’d pretty much assure you that you’ll get the same later that evening.

4.       Stuffed animals.  If you are old enough to read this, you are too old to give your significant other a teddy bear holding a heart that says “I can’t BEAR to be without you!”

5.       A Playstation 3/subscription to Maxim Magazine.  There is a 99.9% probability that your girlfriend/wife will never enjoy a 3-hour Call of Duty / Madden NFL ’11 marathon.  There is a similar probability that she doesn’t REALLY want a bathroom magazine collection featuring other women’s butt cheeks.  Though I have to admit, the article “How to make a ping-pong cannon” and the quiz “Which serial killer are you” were really quite riveting.

6.       Anything from a convenience store.  OK… so it’s Feb 14, you’re on your way home and you realize in horror that you’ve forgotten to buy a gift.  The answer is NEVER to pull into Rite Aid, grab the discounted leopard print Snuggy, marked down Christmas ornaments from December, and a 3-pack of Dentyne.   If you’ve forgotten a gift, you’re going to have to get creative.  She would LOVE a personalized card made just for her.  Amongst the pretty heart drawings and your homemade poem, I would suggest you write something like “We’re going on a cruise in MAY!” and contact your travel agent ASAP.

So happy VD shopping to you (wow, that sentence would have an ENTIRELY different meaning if said to Charlie Sheen).  Woo hoo, only 8 hours until Super Bowl kick-off!  I’ll be cheering for the yellow team.

TTFN, 

AMo