Leave a Detailed Message Because I Probably Won't Call Back

I HATE talking on the phone.  Honestly, I'd rather have a limb removed with no anesthesia!  It's not that I don't like people.  I DO!  And it's not that I don't like to talk.  Hell, anyone who knows me has to know better than that.  I don't intentionally avoid people or their phone calls.  I just hate to talk on the phone!

Please don't get offended if I don't call you as much as you'd like.  Furthermore, I hope your feelings aren't hurt if you call and I don't call back.  I don't have an answering machine for that very reason.  If I don't have a message, it's like I didn't miss any calls.  If I don't answer my cell phone, it's probably because I can't find the darn thing.  I usually leave it in my purse which is usually left in my car or on the dryer in the laundry room too far from ear shot.  By the time I see the missed called, three days have passed and...well...I don't like talking on the phone!

That is exactly why Facebook is my new best friend.  I don't actually have to talk to anyone to communicate with them.  It's great!  I post a message; you respond.  You post a message; I respond.  K? K!  Or if you'd rather email, I'm totally up for that.  Of course, I have 400 email accounts, some of which I cannot even remember my password, so I'm not as quick to respond.  However, I will eventually get back to you.  Hopefully, you've survived the surgery and DHS has returned your kids.

My husband, on the otherhand, is a nosey ass the exact opposite.  I call him "Quick Draw" sometimes.  I'm talking about his cell phone, perv!  I nearly broke things off when we were dating because it annoyed the heck out of me that he'd spend half our time together answering that damn phone.  Lucky for him, I had the total HOTS for him!  And back at my corporate job, it annoyed the heck out of me to hear one of those admin assistants talking on the phone in an adjacent stall of the ladies room.  I would purposefully flush when they paused.  Who does that kind of shit???  Who is so damn important that their secretary MUST answer the phone while defecating???  Needless to say, the phone is an evil necessity that I only have because I'm scared I'll get hungry and not feel like picking up the pizza.

This brings me to a solemn observation.  One day when my kids are grown and my husband is living with a stripper dead from being worked down (God love him), I will be all alone.  Just me and Facebook.  The neighbors will notice the strong smell of death before anyone realizes I'm gone.  They'll find me petrified in my rolly computer chair.  Hands on the keyboard.  Facebook on the web browser.  Cell phone sitting close by with 50 missed calls.  From Domino's regarding the latest daily specials.

He's Turning Into One of "Those" Men

I know it's the same pic, but it's so good...and so apropos!

Remember my post about the Derek Jeter-pimping dads?  Where the dads were "training" their five year olds for the World Series?  I knew that shit observation would eventually bite me in the butt.

This morning, my dear husband decided that we must skip church.  He had far more important things to take care of today.  Being the slacker I am, I figured what the heck?  It's not like my kids are going to leave me alone long enough to worship anyway.  The only real conversations I can have with God lately are at 8:30 p.m. when I'm praying that G will finally fall asleep.  (We have a strict 7:30 p.m. bedtime that's gone to hell in a hand basket since ball season started.)

So we played hookie this morning.  To go to Sports Authority.  For a big sale on ball equipment.  Some freakin' sale it turned out to be...

My husband spent nearly $400 on "gear!"  He bought both kids new bats that were, by the way, still more expensive than the ones they already have -- even at 50% off!  Then he started eyeballing this batting contraption.  It was a hundred dollars.  Of course, after closer inspection, he decided he didn't need it.  Instead, he HAD to have the one that was two hundred freakin' dollars!!!  For $200, he better start batting like freakin' Alex Rodriguez on steroids! 

That wasn't the end of it, though.  Oh no!  "Come on, woman!  He can't hit like A-Rod if only catches like Helen Keller!"  He picked up this net-thingamajig that actually looked very cool if it weren't so damn expensive.  Apparently, the kids throw the ball into this jewel-encrusted net and the net bounces it back to them.  It is supposed to help them with fielding the ball.  Like I said, by the time we walked out of the store he'd spent about $400 on shit gear! 

Don't get me wrong; if my child had been playing ball for several years and was really into it, I could probably stomach spending about HALF of that money.  Or if I had Oprah money...  Hell, if I had Oprah money this blog wouldn't even be necessary.  But if we had money to burn...NOPE.  I still can't rationalize it. 

It kinda gives me a different perspective on the testosterone-lined third base fence, though.  Those dads have probably already put out that kind of money and more on their kids' baseball paraphenalia.  They can't afford any other form of entertainment.  They can't even pay the light bill because Baby Boy needed a new pair of motorized, glow-in-the-dark, gortex lined batting gloves! 

Jimmy Pete can't afford the house note, but Baby Boy is signed up for Derek Jeter's baseball camp!  We've moved into this double-wide to promote my husband's obsession son's career as a professional baseball player.  Yes, we've spent a bunch of money on this sport, but it's an investment into his future.  Eventually, he will get a huge check on signing day, earn the league minimum his first year, then start making the big bucks to support our entire family for the rest of his life!!!  Yes, and we'll send $2,498 of it in order to collect all that money we won in the Nigerian lottery.  We'll be rich, LaWanda Jo!  Rich, I tell ya!

If he starts dipping into my swimming pool fund, we're gonna fight!

      

Godloverzilla Has "Health Issues"

The drama continues. If you haven't already done so, check out my previous post to catch up.  I'm talking about dance drama.  Even the idea of the biggest can of whoop-ass doesn't seem satisfying right now.  I can't help but feel bad for Mrs. C, my daughter's dance teacher.  As kind and patient as she is, I'm sure she'll be much better off without this thorn in her side.  I can only imagine how stressful it is to work with a psycho a loon a re-re a junkie a wreck a hot mess someone so unorganized and unprofessional. 

This is the email I received from the owner of the dance studio where G was taking dance.  Of course, I couldn't post it without my interpretation.  Call me evil, but that heifer is playing with my emotions!  And my money! 

Dear Parents,

We are sending this mail with a heavy heart...  I never got any good news in an email that started off with this statement. 


The economic downturn has affected everyone and the studio is no exception. There is simply not enough income versus expenses. We have sustained as long as we could but now find ourselves with no other choice: as of may 28th the studio is closing and we have to cancel the recital scheduled for next saturday, june 5th.  First off, if you want your audience to believe that you are such a consummate professional, it would probably be a good freakin' idea to capitalize the months of the year!  Oh, and what's with the random colon???  End your sentence with a period, genius, or use a dash.  I couldn't even joke about the content due to the grammatical distractions!  I will add, though, that "economic downturn" basically means "my wife mismanaged your money." 


We have gotten to the point where over half of our students are on scholarship. This coupled with recent health problems that A has been battling drives us to the closing and cancellation.  I've yet to meet a single individual on scholarship, nor have I suspected any student of being indigent enough to receive scholarship funding.


We will be going through the records and determining who has paid for costumes and how much, and who has pre-paid for tickets and how much. We will be refunding these to you as quickly as possible as we reconcile with the costume company and the naval center.  If you haven't ordered our costumes, then what needs to be reconciled with the costume company???  I suspect costume company is code word for "casino."  As for the center, she booked the recital and changed the dates.  Regardless of the "settlement," I am not responsible for the amount she owes them.


We have loved the time spent with your children and you and will miss you greatly. I wish it would have turned out differently, but I have found the Lord does not make mistakes. This is a very difficult time and we appreciate your prayers as we continue to pray for you all.  Yea, they are tight with the Lord.  I can only imagine it's pretty hard to get much praying done at the ball field, though.  According to a fellow studio mom, she saw the owner recently at a AAA ball game looking healthy and having a great time.  I wonder if "fraud" is among the sins that will get you banned from the big party upstairs??


Due to A's aforementioned health issues, if you have any questions please contact H at...  She didn't even have the nerve to send the email herself.  Maybe the rumors of her pill-popping are true.  Maybe "health issue" is code for drug addiction.  Maybe she was too sauced to type an email so her husband took over.  Maybe the little guys in the white coats carrying a stretcher and 4-point restraints dropped her off at the nervous hospital.  
 
I need to start reading Tarot cards or tea leaves for a living.  I totally saw this coming!  Of course, the signs were all written in NEON!

It's a good thing I wear my Big Girl Panties, or I'd be smearing her name all over the internet.  Oh, wait...well, um...she freakin' deserves it!   

    

I Miss the Two-Hour Lunch

Leaving my corporate job was the best move I ever made.  True, I had to leave some of the best coworkers a girl could have.  I miss the camaraderie, but I do not miss the idiotic bullshit bureaucracy.  A piece of me died every morning I walked through the doors of that Fortune 500 with all it's awards and leading-edge technology headed by corporate pioneers.  *blaaakkkk, just puked in my mouth*  It's been over five years since I worked there, and nearly all of my colleagues have moved on to further their careers.  Only a few remain at that hell hole disguised as a window office with pod seating.  Occasionally we get together, and I get to enjoy the stories again.  But things have changed...

Regardless of how awful that job was I cannot help but feel nostalgic.  God, I miss my posse!  I really had more good times at the concentration camp work than bad ones.  Don't get me wrong; I still took frequent mental health days.  However, I enjoyed going to my job just so I could hang with my friends.  It really is true that misery loves company.  Our bond was our misery.  We were forced together by ludicrousness.  We were a team.  A team of oppressed slaves, but a team nonetheless.

Each day at approximately 11:45 a.m., we headed off to some undisclosed location for lunch.  The location was always undisclosed because it always took several hours to actually decide on a place.  Usually the driver made the final decision.  (Of course, that was always contingent upon LLL's approval.)  For roughly two hours, we'd sit in a restaurant rehashing the absurdity of our day.

Oh, if those restaurant walls could talk...  Hank would finally discover how he got the nickname.  Kent's secret stash of Jergen's and tissue would become public knowledge.  Jackie's "basketball" playing husband's girlfriend would be revealed.  And Grant's wife would learn of all about his slush fund and stripper friends.  She'd know that he didn't really believe in religion (though she is very devout in her faith), and he wore the same pants for weeks at a time.  Everyone would know the identity of Booger, and our VP would learn of Patty's online retail business run entirely from his computer.  The details of my secret shaggings with Tommy would be out (relax...pre-hubs and kids).  David would discover how close he'd come to receiving a severe concussion from the baseball bat in Carl's trunk.  And Patsy would never, EVER wear those stretch pants again!

Each day, I laughed until I nearly peed my pants.  Those lunches made it possible for all of us to endure the remainder of our day.  We could finally meet with Jackie without wanting to rip her head off.  Focus, Jackie, focus!  We are talking about me.  I nearly lost an eye!   Those lunches made it possible for us to manage a 3-hour afternoon staff meeting about the cost of lawn care at the complex near the golf course.

Today, all of those memories came flooding back to me.  I didn't get to spend two hours with my friends from back in the day, but I did get to spend two hours with some of my new, yet equally entertaining, colleagues.  Teaching is great, but let's face it, 17.7 minute lunches SUCK!  You barely have time to scarf down a Lean Cuisine and pee before the kids are banging down your door.  On the days when I have a meal requiring more than 4 1/2 minutes in the microwave, I have to skip the pee and hold it until the following class period!

Our summer started today, though.  Exams are over; the students are gone.  All that's left is some paperwork and some desk-drawer cleaning.  Today was the day we'd been waiting for all year!  And it could NOT have been a better one.  We had a nice lunch, a few drinks, and LOTS of laughs.  And we even had time to pee! 

Ahhhh, I miss two-hour lunches...
   

Strange Things Are Afoot

People annoy me.  Not all people, mostly just those who do stupid shit are dishonest.  I've been blogging for hours about one such person, but deleted it all.  It was just too much for one post.  This annoys me even more because I apparently have plenty of reason to be annoyed, but I've done absolutely nothing about said annoyance!

Confused yet?  Seriously, this woman is a freakin' flake!  I deal with her for the sake of my daughter, but her lack of business sense is making me insane!  The rumors about her are abound, but I've shrugged them off as, well, just rumors.  I don't want to pass judgement about something to which I am not privy.

Really?  I doubt she'd be able to function if she were hooked on pain pills.  She's a good Christian lady.  Surely she wouldn't steal pills from the old folks in the nursing home?  Whatever...

Really?  She left her previous establishment owing $8,000 in back rent?  How could she possibly have found another place if that were true?  Who would take her as a tenant?

You're kidding?!?  You mean we paid over $500 to be in a parade that was FREE to the public?

Honestly?  Her employees' paychecks bounced and the costume orders weren't made?  There must be some reasonable explanation.

You mean no one from the studio has actually seen her in weeks?  Maybe she's just busy scouting out new potential business.

It's all becoming very clear to me, however.  This good "Christian lady" is a crack-pot fake taking advantage of folks in the name of the Lord.  I'm no psychic, but strange things are afoot at the Circle K!  (It's Bill & Ted.  You're welcome.)

My daughter's dance recital has been reschedule to June 4th because of the "flood."  (Not the big one, silly.  The most recent flood here in West Tennessee.)  Only, the place where the recital is to be held suffered absolutely NO damage.  It did not get an ounce of water! *red flag #1*

We've yet to see any costumes for said recital although we paid well over $100 for them.  *red flag #2*

She called a mandatory parents' meeting to which she never showed.  The lights were off; the studio was locked.  *red flag #3*

With less than two weeks left, no pictures have been scheduled.  *red flag #4*

There have been no tickets sold, no programs printed, no props completed.  *red flags #5, #6, and #7*

To make matters worse, the only form of communication she uses is email via her Blackberry.  These messages are so cryptic that even the best Windtalker couldn't decipher them.  Seriously, I have no EARTHLY idea to what she is referring most of the time.  Hey, maybe she's trying to tell me that I won some sort of lottery in Nigeria!  Each message does have a common theme, though.  "Times are tough," "the economy is down," "help financially support our scholarship students," and "Praise God."  Regardless, if I respond for clarification or with a question, I receive no response.  It's like a damn seance!

Speak.  Give us a sign.  Who are you?  Tell us why you are here.  What do you want from us?  Why do you keep torturing us with your ineptness!

I'm afraid the owner's lack of professionalism is more than I can stand any longer.  Yes, my daughter LOVES her dance class.  Yes, she LOVES her dance instructor.  No, I am not willing to lose my mind over the owner's inability to run a business anymore.

After the recital (if it ever comes to fruition), G will be moving to a new dance studio!  Preferably one run by a professional and not a crackhead and not a complete loon and not a shady grifter.

Why, Lord, do people insist on annoying the piss out of me??? 


      

The Fine Art of Wearing Big Girl Panties

I'm psychic or something.  Seriously, my intuitive side is sometimes completely mind-boggling.  I am a Christian, albeit a luny Christian, but I'm a firm believer of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  At the same time, I totally get the cosmos and karma and order in the universe.  Call me a Christiantologist if you'd like.  I love the Big G, and am just amazed at how this organized assembly called life plays out.

Take this week, for example.  While cleaning my classroom, I came across a book that I read a few years ago while being tortured like an indentured servant working in corporate America.  It's a simple little book with less than 100 pages and written in big print.  Yet, I'd forgotten the powerful message contained within.  Because I was bored and tired of cleaning, I decided to read it again.  For some reason, though, it affected me more this time.  Little did I know, but that book helped me see things more clearly.

By now, I'm sure you are wanting to rip my head off.  What freakin' book, LB???  Why did you make me read three effn' paragraphs before giving me the title?  I ain't got all day, woman!  'Cuz that's how I roll, sister!

Anyimpatientassreaders, the book is called Who Moved My Cheese?  Okay, please don't stop reading here.  I know it's a hokey little book, and I'm sure most of you have read it during one of those touchy-feely, we-care-about-our-employees, we-are-family, professional development days.  Hell, I read it back in those lucrative business days too.  I read it, tossed it aside, and filled up my plate at the departmental potluck never to think about it again.  Until now...

I won't bore you to tears with a professional book review.  Rather, I'll just give you a brief refresher.  Dr. LB's interpretation, if you will.

So, there are these little dudes named Hem and Haw, and there are some rodents named Sniff and Scurry.  All four of them head off to this maze every day in search of cheese.  Real talk...

One day, they hit the mother load.  They found an entire room of cheese.  Hem and Haw sat around eating and getting fat.  The mice did, too.  When it was finally gone, the mice quickly moved on  in search of more cheese because, well, that's what mice do.  Hem and Haw, on the otherhand, freaked the f*@k out!  Who the hell took all the cheese?  I bet those damn mice did it.

Every day they'd go back to that same place to bitch about the missing cheese.  Meanwhile, the mice had discovered a new source of cheese that was more plentiful than ever before.  But Hem and Haw sat around expecting that the cheese would reappear at any time.  Every day.  The same thing.  Still no cheese.

Finally, Haw got tickled because he and Hem were no longer big dawgs in the pound, so to speak.  They were weak and thin and slowly dying from starvation.  He laughed, though, because he realized how ridiculous it was for them to do the same thing day after day expecting different results.  He finally got his schnit together and got the heck out of there in search of more cheese.  No amount of begging, though, could make Hem come along.  He stayed.

After reaching a point of total emaciation, Hem finally found the Big Cheese.  He worked hard, tried various strategies (some successful, some not), and persevered.  Most importantly, he learned some very valuable lessons along the way.  He vowed he'd never become complacent again.

Why, you may ask, do I give a rat's behind (no pun intended) about that story?  Because now I see myself in a different light.  I see others differently as well.  There have been times in my life when I was a regular ol' Hem.  All I wanted to do was cry and complain about the unfairness of it all.  Boo hoo!  Poor me!  If so and so wouldn't have done this, maybe I wouldn't be in this predicament.

Even worse, I see it so much in some of the people I deal with.  Everybody is looking to blame somebody or something.  Everything happens as a direct result of someone else's actions.  People are just victims.  Victims of the malicious doings of others.  Blah, blah, blah...

I call "Bullshit!"  It makes me want to barf just thinking about it. 

• Sometimes shit just happens!!  
• Sometimes you bring shit on yourself! 
• Life is NOT fair!
• No one is out to get you! 

Aw, you poor little ba-beeee...  Give me a break! Blaggkk!!  *me barfing*  Believe it or not, people are far too self-centered to spend their valuable time and energy ruining your pathetic, little life.  Put on your Big Girl panties, and get over it!  Get over yourself!  It's not all about YOU! 

Alright, alright...  I know you're sitting there thinking "What the hell does this have to do with God and universal order?"  EVERYTHING!  Had I not read that book, I wouldn't be imparting such words of wisdom to you right now.  Had I not read that book, I might be sitting here bitching about all the crap going on right now over which I have ZERO control.

For me, the most profound message in the book was when stuff happens roll with it.  Don't piss and moan.  Suck it up!  Find the humor in it!  Laugh at yourself, even!  Then move. The hell.  On!

You are very welcome.

The Ugly Truth -- It Ain't Pretty

Alright, I've calmed down a little, very little, so this is going to be a long one.  You've been warned...

The MIL struck again.  I'm not sure how I will be able to keep from slapping the shit out of her maintain my composure much longer.  I know I have to for the sake of my family.

HATE is really such a strong term, and I do not like to use it when describing my feelings for someone.  However, it's all I got!  Towards the MIL, that is.  She is a horrible, despicable woman!  She is a complete narcissist who lives in a fantasy world where she is wonderful and everyone who crosses her is evil.  She has absolutely NO life because no one wants to be around her.  She is TOXIC!  According to Dr. Phil and Mrs. LB, you cannot have a relationship with toxic people if you want to be happy.  

What he forgot to add, though, is that once you get rid of said toxic relationship, you'll have to hunker down for the aftermath.  Ya see, toxic narcissists love for the attention to be on them.  If you take that away, they will go to great lengths to get your attention again.  Negative attention is as good as anything.  In fact, the more drama the better.  The MIL is a great victim!!!  It is her favorite role.  Poor, poor Judy...  Her son is being so mean to her.  She can't even see her grandchildren.  Ya damn skippy, she can't!!!

Instead of being PC and keeping it cryptic, I think it's time I lay out the details and expose her for the horrible creature she is.  As you may remember, a few weeks back she came for a visit, she allowed her dog to shit in my son's room, and she and my husband got into because she 1.) let the dog in against our wishes, and 2.) asked our children to lie about it.  It still pisses me off just thinking about it.  The dog shit can be cleaned up, but expecting my kids to lie for you????  That's crossing the freakin' line, lady!

After a complete throw down full of "I hate yous," that looney tune decides to call our pastor and DHS to report that we'd been abusing our kids!!!!

Back up to the her visit.  As usual, she came to our house and sat her fass ass in the recliner where she probably stayed until she left again.  If the kids wanted to hug her, they had to get in the recliner.  My poor recliner...

That evening, my daughter was extremely tired and irritable.  She cried all afternoon.  It was seriously one tantrum after another.  As it got closer to bedtime, I put her in the tub for a bath.  Of course, she screamed and cried the entire time.  I got her out after washing her hair and brought her into my bedroom.  This is our usual routine.  Except G was in full hysterics by this time.  She hates to have her hair washed.  Moreover, there is nothing you can do to make her happy when she is mid-tantrum. 

So there she was, throwing herself on the floor, kicking and screaming bloody murder.  My sweet baby girl turns into Freddy Krueger when she's tired and ill.  AnyCalgontakemeaway, I finally managed to get a pull up on her.  But she refused to let me get her dressed.  At this point, I was frustrated.  I spanked her.  With my hand.  On her bottom.  Completely covered with thick, cotton padding from a night time pull up.  Of course, she immediately poured on the hysterics.

Now if you aren't a spanker, I completely understand your opposition.  I've always been on the fence about it myself. I don't really like it, and don't do it very often. I'm more apt to yell. I'm not opposed to using a spanking as a form of discipline in extreme instances, though, and I certainly don't believe a spanking is abuse.  In my opinion, this was an extreme situation so I gave G a spanking.

After that, I was finally able to wrestle on her pajamas.  That's when her daddy came in to "save the day!"  He always does that shit and it pisses me off!  I let him know it, too.  You cannot come in here and rescue her from punishment when she misbehaves!!!  But she'd been throwing a temper tantrum for a good 30-45 minutes by then.  Consequently, I relented.  It was getting too dramatic and way too frustrating.  JP put her to bed, but ended up giving her another spanking. With his hand. On her bottom. Completely covered with thick, cotton padding from a night time pull up. 

All the while, the MIL kept her big, fat ass herself in the recliner.  She never moved!  She never got up.  She has no idea what transpired since her big ass was all the way in the living room sitting comfortably in our recliner!!! 

Furthermore, she never uttered a word about it...UNTIL my husband pissed her off!

I don't have the exact wording, but this is pretty much what was alleged according to the DHS worker who showed up at my house unexpectedly one evening:

1. I am an alcoholic with a long history of alcohol abuse.  WTF?!?!  Are you freakin' serious?  When I was in college, I did like to party and drink.  So eff'n what!  I was over 21 years old and entitled to live how I chose to live.  I had no responsibilities!  Since I've been married with kids, though, I may have a drink once or twice a year.  If you ask my husband, though, that's not nearly enough...  Perve!
2. I beat my children so hard with a spoon that I've left marks.  Again, WTF?!?!  Yes, I do have a spanking spoon.  It's mostly for effect, though.  I use it to threaten.  I rarely pull it out anymore because my kids aren't really afraid.  I can count on one hand how many times I've actually used it to spank (more like to "swat").  Never have I hit hard enough to leave a mark.  I spank to get their attention, NOT to hurt them.
3. My husband is OCD and has anger issues with extreme mood swings.  I will not deny (nor will JP) that my husband is a bit OCD.  He is very routine oriented.  He likes to follow steps and processes.  Pretty harmless OCD, in my opinion.  It may be annoying sometimes, but it is certainly not disruptive to the family.  I will admit, also, that my husband gets mad a lot easier than I do.  Hell, what man doesn't act like a baby from time-to-time?  He is a push-over, though.  He would never, EVER hurt one of our kids.  Would he give a spanking if warranted???  Absolutely!  As far as I know, however, it is not illegal to spank your children.

We were interviewed.  Our kids were interviewed.  The school teachers were interviewed.  Upon investigating, DHS determined there was absolutely NO proof to support the claims.  Case closed!  We were humiliated nonetheless.

As if that isn't enough, that stupid crazy psycho bitch woman has continued to harass our pastor with her incessant calling and crazy messages.  In addition, she's called my husband's aunt, and her sister, daily to dig for information about us.  Our pastor refuses to accept her calls.  Aunt G doesn't have anything to say.  The MIL is pissed because she has no control over the situation.

As I should have suspected, being the nosey-ass busy body and malicious narcissist is, she cannot stand being out of the loop.  She hates when things don't go the way she wants or when people don't do things as she says.  Consequently, I should have known that she'd try to get things stirred up again.

She did.  She called the DHS hotline on us. Again.  We haven't spoken to or seen her in several weeks, but she reported us again.  Luckily, the case worker at DHS called us about it.  Everyone has kind of figured out her little game.   

My husband called his lawyer and spoke with the police department yesterday.  A police report has been filed.  This is definitely harassment.  In addition, the lawyers want us to sue her for slander, libel, and filing a false report. 

Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think I'd ever end up in a People's Court-type situation suing a relative.  I'd love to call the producers of Judge Judy.  For one, we'd probably make the show because of the unbelievability of this story.  And two, I'd love to see Judge Judy rip the MIL a new asshole.  I know it's not very Christian-like, but I would THOROUGHLY enjoy that. 
         

St. Cloud, Minnesota or the Cindy Offer House??

My kids crack me up.  Really, they do.  I love this age.  My daughter is four, and my son is five.  They come up with the funniest stuff.  I'm afraid I'm creating class clowns (sorry, Ms. Taylor) because I cannot help but laugh at them. 

For example, earlier this year we were trying to plan a summer vacation.  For some reason, my son now has an aversion to flying and doesn't want to go to Disney World as a result.  We have a rule in our house -- if it takes longer than six hours of screaming in the car, we fly.  There's not enough liquor or Xanax in the world to make me want to drive that far.  Sorry...it ain't happening. 

Anygive'emBenadryltomake'emsleep, we started to consider our options.  My daughter got excited!  She said, "Mama, I want to go to the Cindy Offer house.  Can we go to the Cindy Offer house??  Please!!!"

Like you, I'm thinking she's somehow discovered Cindy Lauper and her current address!  Wow, that would be cool and all but I really don't want to impose.

She laughed (silly Mama), "No!  The Cindy Offer House!  I want to go there and the Target Mall."

Now I'm really freakin' perplexed.  If it's not Cindy Lauper's house, then where???  And since when did Target get into the mall business?  G, we can go to Target any day.  While I probably spend as much as a summer vacation in Target, I don't want to go there for our family vacation.
   
She quits laughing.  I can tell she's getting pissed.  Later that day, she called me into the living room with great excitement.  "Look, Mommy!  It's the Cindy Offer House!"

Sure enough, on the Little Einsteins, there was the Sydney Opera House.  They were flying from Sydney to the Taj Mahal.  Mommy had an epiphany!

Oh, G!  Those are great places!  I'd love to take you, and one day I just might.  But you have to fly in a plane to get to both of those places.  The whole time I'm thinking, damn she's smart!  Look at my 4 year old genius!  I'd never even heard of the Sydney Opera House at her age much less want to visit.  Heck, I'm still not all that interested, but baby girl is apparently going to be more "worldly" than her mama.

Fast forward a few months after all the vacation plans have been finalized, here comes my son.  "Mom, can we go to St. Cloud, Minnesota?  I want to go on vacation there."

No offense to those who live there, but really?!?  St. Cloud?  In this great, big world, he wants to visit Minnesota?  At least his smart, little sister gave us choices that were, while extremely out of our budget, still very vacationy (my word...add it to your mental dictionary).

Honey, why St. Cloud, Minnesota?

"I want to go there and sleep on those soft things."  He tries to describe "those soft things" with his hands, but I have no clue. 

Clouds??  Clouds, St. Cloud...I'm taking a stab.  It sounds legit, doesn't it?

"Yea, I mean, no." 

Again, his attempts at an explanation have me puzzled so I do what every sensible mother does -- Okay, I'll think about it.

Sure enough, a few hours later he calls out to me, "Mama, Mama!  Come see!"

On television was a commercial for those Tempurpedic beds.  You know, the ones with the memory foam.  You have to call St. Cloud, Minnesota, to order the product.

I'm thinking, WTH???  Why does he care about that memory foam?  Then it occurs to me.  We've got another genius in the house!  My son, who is extremely curious about how things work, is wanting to see how that suff works!  Maybe he thinks that's what clouds are made of.  Ok, almost a genius.  Definitely a smart kid in the making.  

In conclusion, my kids watch way too much television.  But my son may be on to something.  I'd love to sleep that peacefully.

Mother's Day LB Style

It's Mother's Day, and I'm sitting at home with a sore throat, throbbing ears, and thrush all in my mouth!!!  Of course, things are much improved since this morning.  I've been up since 4:00 a.m. with a puking daughter.  I think the puking has finally subsided, but I've had to change her little panties a few times today.  Yes, my little angel used her best outside voice to remind me (and the other guests) in the restaurant after church that she still had "a little di-ree-yuh."    

Nonetheless, it's Mother's Day and it is a wonderful one...as is every day in LB's life.  I may complain about their shenanigans (mostly my husband's shenanigans), but my family rocks my socks!  I never knew how fragile my heart was until I laid eyes on each of them.  I love them more than ice cream and pedicures! 

My son is so tender-hearted and a real "mama's" boy.  I just dare some skank to try and break his heart!  My daughter is breath-takingly beautiful with an independent spirit.  Believe it or not, she, too, is a "mama's" girl.  She is my little mini-me -- cute and sassy and very determined!  Then there is my husband who keeps our lives in check and who worships the ground I walk on.  I wouldn't have it any other way nor would he.  While his chronic OCD and his uncanny ability to kill my online shopping buzz often bring out the homicidal tendencies crazies in me, he takes care of me like no one else (including myself) could ever do.  I give him a hard time, but I love and admire him.  He's the glue that keeps us together. 

I am so blessed to have all of them in my life.  And you know what??  They feel the same way about me!  I'm one lucky woman.  Just check out all my Mother's Day goodies:

My day hasn't only been covered with puke.  It's been filled with hugs, kisses, and wonderful gifts, too!

I'm no rocket scientist, but I'm pretty sure that is his teacher's handwriting.  I recognize those handprints, though.  Excuse the wrinkles.  I wore it to bed last night.  I <3 that little boy!

Here's another one from my son.  The front of the card said "Thumb Thing Special for Mom."  Again, NOT his handwriting, but the painting is totally all him.  Even Monet had to start somewhere.

Here's something from my 4 year old daughter, G.  It's some type of "pie."  It is actually some scented cotton in a pie pan and covered with brown felt to look like a pie.  Clever, but what the heck do I do with it??  The baby girl was so excited to give it to me, and my heart melted to see her beam with pride.

My house smells so pretty.  I got these lovely roses from my own backyard.  Luckily, the rose bushes were here when we bought the house because I can't grow fungus.  That's just too much work!

My children greeted me at 6:00 a.m. with this damn sweet card!  It is from them and my husband though I'm not sure why JP didn't sign it.  Look at my son's name!  Mama is so proud of him.  He messed up his first "E" but thoughtfully scribbled it out with precision.  The baby girl has an unfair disadvantage with her seven-letter name.  She managed a "G", but Daddy had to kick in the rest.  Maybe that's why he didn't sign.  He was spent after writing the remaining six letters in her name.  Regardless, unless my kids sacrificed their weekly Walmart junk allowance for a silly Hallmark card, I know JP purchased the card.  It's the thought that counts, right?

Mother's Day just doesn't get much better than that, now does it??  I hope you all have a wonderful day, too.

Is this Rock Bottom?

I'm not sure, but I think I've finally reached rock bottom.  My addiction has taken me to a new level of low.  I never, ever thought my life would come to this.  Yet here I am.  Feeling guilty while justifying my actions at the same time.  Rock bottom is a weird state of mind, though.  I don't feel like I'm ready to stop.  I just feel dirty and a little uneasy.

I skipped my weekly Jenny Craig appointment.  In fact, I've skipped it for the past three weeks.  That addiction is starting to cost way more financially than I'm wanting to pay.  Besides, the exhiliration I used to get isn't there anymore.  It's more like drudgery with a pinch of anxiety.  No more euphoria; just dread.  A little bit of my soul is crushed with each subsequent visit.  I'm afraid the thrill is gone.

Now I find myself engaging in risky behaviors in search of a cheaper, quicker fix.  I want to lose weight, but I don't want to spend a lot of money doing it.  And the regular ol' way (i.e. hard work and exercise) just isn't as fulfilling.  It takes too long!  My ADD won't let me stay focused.

Last week, I had the Lipotropic injection to help with weight loss and energy.  It's a shot of B12 and some other stuff that is supposed to increase your metabolism and break down fatty acids.  Last week, I went to a reputable place run by real professionals.  The office was beautiful, the nurses were knowledgeable, and their credentials were visibly displayed all over the place.  Unfortunately, this nice place is closed on Saturdays. 

OH NO!!!!!

All was not lost, however.  There is another office that offers the same injections, and it's closer to my house and a little cheaper.  I was a bit hesitant at first because the hours of operation seemed a bit "off."  The Podunk Medical Weight Loss Clinic is open on Mondays from 3 p.m. until 7 p.m., on Tuesdays from 9 a.m. until 2 p.m., and on Saturdays from 9 a.m. until 1 p.m.  What kind of doctor's office has hours like that??  Sounds like a doctor who's trying to hide from the F.B.I. and the A.T.F.

I felt a bit uneasy again when I discovered the location.  It is in a very small strip mall tucked between an Asian nail salon, a check cashing liquor store, and a Cricket phone store.  Suffice it to say that if my OB-GYN moved to a location of this sort, I'd never grace his stirrups with my presence again.  I was desperate, though.  I needed my weekly Lipotropic injection!

It only got worse from there.  When I entered the office, I was greeted by a nice lady and 14 fatties patients.  The waiting room was a bit small with undressed, paneled walls that were painted in a pukey beige color.  No clock, no fake Van Gogh, no office signage...NOTHING!  The chairs were metal.  There were no magazines or informative brochures.  Just a bunch of fat chicks patients sitting on some metal chairs.

As I took my seat, I overheard the receptionist speaking with another potential client.  I wasn't sure what they were talking about, but I did hear, "Cash only!"  WTF?!?  Who carries cash in the United States?  I couldn't even tell you who is on the ten dollar bill!  Pathetic, I know, but I can describe my debit card in great detail.

Lucky for me, she was merely explaining that the clinic does not accept insurance.  Yes, ma'am.  We'll accept your debit card.

Praise Jesus!

When the "nurse" called me back, I got that uneasy feeling again.  She didn't look like any nurse I'd ever seen.  She was dressed in street clothes with a lab coat thrown over it.  She could have easily passed for a painter, but definitely not a nurse.  Also, she weighed about 500 pounds as did several of the other ladies in the office.  I wanted to ask her why she wasn't doing the shots, but I was scared she'd kill me.  She was a big one!

Although I had to fill out this lengthy medical history form, I seriously doubt she ever looked at it.  These shots affect a person's liver.  My mother died from liver disease.  I noted it on the form.  She never asked me a single question. 

Don't worry; I know I don't have liver disease.  My mom contracted it from a blood transfusion.  However, the nurse NEVER ASKED ME ANYTHING ABOUT IT!  Instead, she took my vitals.  Puh-leeez, you'll kill me with a lethal injection but you want to make sure my blood pressure isn't elevated?!?!  Then she led me to a little room wear I was told to drop my shorts.  I'm not even sure that the needle was clean!  I never saw her take it out of any packaging!  I did see her dispose of it in one of those little HAZARD containers on the wall, though.  Let's pray that it was, in fact, sterile.

The injection site has been a little itchy, but I didn't have any other immediate side effects.  When I left, I couldn't help but feel like I needed a shower.  The place wasn't literally dirty, but it was dirty nonetheless. 

One thing is certain.  I am addicted to weight loss!  I will go to great lengths to achieve it.  Any dealer claiming to show immediate weight loss results is on my speed dial. 

I know how a crack whore feels now...

ESPN Exclusive: Derek Jeter Plays T-Ball in Tennessee

It's been officially confirmed for me.  Men should NOT rule the world.  Furthermore, they should never be allowed to govern a group of 4-6 year olds.  How this ever became a "man's world," I will never know.  If Eve had kept her ass away from that freakin' talking snake, all things in the world would be right.  Men would be the breeders while women would reign supreme.  Damn talking snakes...  He was obviously of the male persuasion.  I digress...

My husband who acts as assistant coach to both my daughter's softball team and my son's baseball team, was double booked last night.  My daughter and son had games at the same time at different fields.  Typically when this happens, I take my daughter to her softball game while he goes with my son to the baseball game.  Unfortunately, this happens more frequently than I'd like, and I end up missing quite a few of my son's games. 

Last night, though, we decided to change things up a little.  I took my son to his game while JP took my daughter to her game.  If the need arose, I would help coach baseball.  Lucky me...the need arose.  I was placed in charge of the dug out.  Make sure the boys bat in order.  Don't let them out of the dug out unless they are batting, on deck, or have a bathroom emergency.  Easy enough, right???

Well, in actuality, it was easy enough.  Yes, there were a few instances of grab-tail and fence-climbing, but over all the boys were good.  We're talking about little boys, after all, and not the Stepford Wives.  They were silly and funny and all over the place, but I liked hanging with them.  I'm pretty sure they like hanging with me, too, as they all smiled at me when I called them up in the line up.  Do you understand the cuteness of a toothless grin on a very eager little boy?  My heart melted each time. 

Then what's the issue, you ask?  Of course, there was an issue.  Why else would I feel the need to blog about it.  My issue was with some of the parents!  OM effn' G!  They were the ones making me nuts!  The kids were good.  Their whiney parents, on the other hand...they acted like it was the St. Louis Cardinals vs. the Detroit Tigers in game seven of the World Series! 

HELL-O?!?  What exactly are these kids here for?  Don't they play baseball for fun?  Aren't they just wanting a new uniform and hat to look cool like their buddies???  (That's definitely my son's motivation.)  Don't they come out to the ballpark merely for hot dogs and junk food and playing King of the Hill on the dirt piles?  Oh, they aren't 5 year olds?  Wow, I didn't know they were grown men making $50 million each year because of their baseball savviness.  Pardon me, Mr. LaRussa, sir.  I was wrong.

All kidding aside, these boys were there to have a little fun.  I wanted them to have fun.  After the ground rules were established, we were all pumped and ready.

Ms. LB is the boss, you got that?  Don't touch the bats unless you are at the plate or on deck.  Don't come out of the dug out without my permission.  Stay in the dug out!  Is that understood?  Who's the boss again??

LB and the boys were cool.  LB and a few parents?  Not so much. 

The parents of one little boy were especially annoying.  First of all, the boy is six years old.  Six!  Based on life expectancy statistics, he's got a good, oh, 72 years left in him!  He's lived approximately 7.5% of his total life.  Just a few short years ago, he was wearing diapers and cutting teeth.  Last summer, he probably didn't even know how to spell his name much less write it.  As of yesterday, I'm pretty sure he still couldn't tie his own shoes.  So what in the WORLD makes his parents think that he should play baseball like Derek M-effn' Jeter????

Oh, wait...  He IS Derek Jeter!  My bad.

There is no doubt that Baby Boy is the best player on the team.  Period.  He can hit the ball; he can catch the ball; he can run like the wind.  However, his parents found it necessary to critique and berate him the entire game.  At one point, Baby Boy cried because they were yelling at him so much.  These are not her exact words, but Mama Boy said something like "Well, I guess you need to gather up your things so we can go home.  Cry babies aren't allowed at the ballpark.  I don't want to hear you cry anymore!  Suck it up, or we are leaving."

WTF?!?  Are you freakin' serious?  You're yelling at him because he didn't get that last runner out?  He worked his butt off to out-run the previous batter, but you're pissed?  Last inning he hit a 3-run homerun, but he's not good enough???  How about you get your big, fat ass out of that chair and try to run those bases?  Better yet, how about running around that field for 6 innings?  With your 3-pack a day cigarette habit and your 300 pound mid-section, you probably couldn't get past first base without dying from a heart attack or emphesyma!

I shouldn't just beat up on Baby Boy's parents.  They certainly were not the only parents acting like jackasses crazy.  You would have thought we were at Nascar or the Victoria's Secret Super Bowl with all the men lined up along the fence hollering.  Maybe if they paid that much attention to their wives, they wouldn't feel the need to bully a bunch of preschoolers.  Just maybe they'd get a little more sex, release some of that pinned up aggression, and chill!  "Stop playing in the dirt!"  "You better tag that runner on 2nd, son!"  "Don't make me come out on that field after you; pay attention!"

My mama instincts started kicking in, and I was getting pissed.  Those were my boys playing on that field, and I didn't want anyone treating them poorly!  They were doing their best!  They were playing hard and giving it their all.  Meanwhile, the daddies were sitting on their rumps shouting orders. 

How could anyone expect the boys to pay attention to the game when they had 50 people shouting instructions from various directions?  One coach on the field was shouting orders while another was in the dug out shouting more orders that just so happened to be inconsistent with the orders of the first coach.  Oh, and inconsistent with what he said after the last play.  You still with me?  No wonder those kids can't win a game.

As a teacher, I've learned a couple of valuable lessons regarding the education process.  Some valuable lessons I'd like to impart upon all the coaches and/or baseball parents out there.  Pay close attention.  This is a very complex formula I am about to disclose.  Ya ready????

1. The teaching moments do not occur during the assessment.  The teaching moments come during the preparation phase.  Furthermore, the preparation phase must always come prior to the assessment phase.
2. The education process is not the sole responsibility of the teacher.  A great deal of practice at home is required in order to develop mastery.  
3. Parents have a tremendous impact on character development.  The statement "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree" is profound and true all at the same time.   

I don't stop my students in the middle of a test to teach them concepts covered on said test.  Rather, we work over a period of time to learn the material.  Immediately prior to the test, we often review the concepts learned.  I never, ever, NEVER* do the "teaching" part during the exam itself.  Furthermore, it is the student's responsibility to practice and apply the concepts at home under the guidance and supervision of his/her parents. 

Seems pretty simple to me...  No rocket science involved.  Just a little common sense, a little patience, and a LOT of hard work.
 
Now stay off their asses!  If they are still playing ball at 16, then you can get raise cane.  Although, I'm sure most of these boys will crash and burn long before sixteen years old.  I have this secret fantasy that Baby Boy will quit baseball and take up an instrument like piano.  It would be wonderful for him, but I'm sure his parents would choke on their cigarettes! 

Ain't no boy of mine gonna be a damn sissy!  Band is for queers!  He's gonna play ball and live in this here double-wide until he makes the major leagues.  Then he's gonna buy his mama and me one of dem-dere double-wides with the fancy tub that shoots bubbles into the water.  We gonna gets one of dem nice above-ground pools with a little deck around it.  Yes sir-REE, Bob!  We'll be in high cotton then.   

*Never is used here primarily for effect.  As is always the case, there are exceptions to every rule and must be judged on a case-by-case basis.  This disclosure is included mainly to CYA.  You do remember my issues with Karma, don't you???