the mormons are coming

i have a problem, a big problem. i can't get rid of mormons. i know that doesn't sound very serious, but it is. for the last 6 months or so, i've been being harrassed by old people with horribly illistrated brochures on my life in hell. the absolute best part of being harrassed about religion by the elderly, is you can't be rude. how do you tell the nice sixty something year old gentleman on your porch that you are perfectly happy as a heathen? no really, because i tried and failed. you would think they would make it seem a little bit more attractive if they really wanted to sell it though. the watchtower is great, and the religion sounds great, if you're a cartoon girl with a wheelchair. the illustrations say that in that case, you can be healed. i don't need healed, i need a stiff drink. will one magically appear by divine intervention when i'm having a bad day? if not, i'm not sold. my most common attacker is polite, well spoken, and utterly ruthless. i love when he shoves these brochures in my face, smiles and nods at each child as we're interrupted roughly 16 times in five minutes, and keeps going. he tells me that all these children are just gorgeous (fucking liar, they ARE gorgeous, but strangers don't seem to notice when they're pulling my old t-shirt to shreds and screaming that they MUST HAVE CHOCOLATE MILK or asking me who the weird man is and what he's talking about), and then asks me, "Don't you think they DESERVE to have god in their lives?!" actually, i think they deserve to have their mom in their lives, or at least in the house. i mean, how many different children with sagging diapers does he need to see before he realizes that alcohol, pampers and toys r us are the reigning champs in this house?

old crap from myspace 2

Tuesday, April 18, 2006
If you thought the poop wars were fun...
Current mood: scared
stay tuned for the obituary that will follow my next adventure. Should it be called Puke-o-rama?(too vague) or Death by Two Toddlers in Enclosed Area? (too long-winded). How cliche, my very own "be careful what you wish for moment. Go me. So yeah, finally leaving this island, you know, Spamland? The island I would kill to move off of. Yup, got my wish, in two weeks I'll be on a plane, waving goodbye to the biggest complaint I've had yet, Hawaii. Wait a minute, scratch that picture of smug happiness and let's try to paint a more accurate one (maybe in poop for old times' sake). Picture me fighting to put too much crap in an overhead compartment designed to make people shorter than 6' swear like sailors, screaming, "Rian Nicole get back here" and balancing a squirming one year old on my hip. Okay, assume that both toddlers are present and accounted for, and we're in our seats ready for take off. Not too bad right? Wrong. Did I mention my 2 year old just developed a hellacious case of motion sickness? Oh I didn't? Well she has, and it's only when she's about to fall asleep in a moving vehicle. What's that? Keep her up for the 12 hours of travel time? Baby Crack did you say? I won't even dignify that with a logical answer. No. Because I said so (I'm a mom, I can do that.) So, moral of the story is, wish me luck. (Or just send flowers to my widow).

old crap from myspace 1

Monday, December 12, 2005
Having a Toddler is Shitty
Current mood: amused
Okay, I'm sure some of you read the subject and gasped at my lack of maternal instincts, and general bad attitude about my darling oldest. Wrong. Having a toddler has proved to be shitty, quite literally. Today, I have cleaned shit off my child, her room, her sheets, pillow, toys, etc twice. Twice. Yes, those of you with babies, or who will one day have them, this is probably in your future as well, so go ahead and laugh. Laugh again, because it's not only happening now, it's in my future as well, if Tara takes after her artistic older sister. Now, twice in one day, that sounds a little extreme doesn't it? Think it's a fluke? Well, think again, she has not yet broken her previous record of 3 room redecorations in a particular shade of brown (with or without corn chunks). The question is, how can we remedy this situation? Well, if you know the answer drop me a line will ya? I've tried losing my temper and screaming, explaining rationally (to a toddler!), begging, and not reacting at all. The poop paintings continue. She's done it know enough times to be a pro for sure. I should just keep a onesie on her? Footie pajamas? Oh no, not enough for young Miss Houdini, master of escape. She can, and will, remove any and all clothing and diapers. Duct tape may work, but I'd have to apply it directly to skin. Call me a wus, but I think that just may qualify as abuse. So there you have it, I love my children more than I can explain, they're fun to be with and I wouldn't change them for the world, BUT having toddlers is shitty.

feeding the herd

i love grocery shopping. i'm also a compulsive liar. today's trip was, as advertised, the usual. i prepared for my trip to the closet sized commisarry the way i always do, by alternately reminding myself that the commisarry is closed on mondays (whose idea was that?) and trying to avoid that knowledge. eventually what may or may not be good sense won out, and away we went. i remembered to bring everything i needed, except the right credit card. oh well, at least i remembered all the kids. when we got there i parked as far away from everyone as possible, as usual. there are two good reasons for this, one, i'm a notoriously shitty driver, and two, i always manage to park next to some genius who needs fifteen or twenty minutes to remember how exactly one goes about getting into their car. said genius never seems concerned about the dangerously hot weather and my band of merry children. exit strategy for outtings go something like this. park, deep breath, quickly get out and locate the closest shopping cart (which i intentionly park close to), run back to car, get oversized 3 year old in cart seat, warn 5 and 6 year olds that parking lots are slightly more dangerous than playing tag with semis, and wrestle baby into evil front carrier contraption. alright, next step is to make it to the one and only atm on the base, while getting gaped at by people who have apparently never seen a slightly overweight, sweaty mom muttering under her breath and battling an oversized shopping cart with children hanging on for dear life. losers. of course, the atm is down. which is fortunate, because i was hoping to be glared at by the baggers (who WORK FOR TIPS ONLY!!!). whatever. i'm not even attempting to find another one now, maybe i'll try not to buy too much so that it'll all fit nicely in the cart with the kid sitting in it. yeah, and maybe i'll walk out looking like one of those moms that gets their nails done once a week and wouldn't be caught dead without avon's new summer colors adorning their shining mom faces. the shopping itself is pretty standard, once again i've managed to take advantage of "drop a senior citizen in the middle of every aisle" day. i'd hate to miss it. one kind lady talks to my baby in the front carrier for a good 5 minutes before asking "is he choking?" shockingly i did NOT answer, "nope, he just doesn't like your face." hey, i know he's fine, he kicks my four day old incision every few minutes to let me know. we make it to the check out, where the bagger looks sullen because for once the cashier has relayed the message that i will not require assistance to my car. the bagger still hates me and laughs a little as i struggle to get my big guy out of the cart. chivalry lives. so we manage to escape into the heat, where i can look forward to putting the kids in the car, and the groceries, only to have to get them out again before the ac really kicks in. take that bagger! who needs you...