Tree Trimming and Pants

Before I draw you the picture of the unfortunate incident that happened to me the other day, I need to share with you some facts….they may seem random at first, but you’ll understand…

1. I hate pants. Shorts. Skirts. Really, I don’t wear any sort of bottoms at home, I’m a T-shirt and undies kind of girl…

2. Brooke’s favorite song is Party Rock by LMFAO…and I mean the real version, not my version of Party Rock.

3. In my quest to bring my sexy back, I’m in the process of tossing out my granny panties and have taken to wearing a cute cut of underwear called cheekinis…think boy shorts but with more of your ass hanging out…

4. We’ve had a slight ant problem in the kitchen due to the fact that one of the branches from a palm tree in our backyard brushes right up against the kitchen window.

5. We live on the second floor of a coach home.*

Now that we got all of that info out of the way, let me now tell you that the other day Brooke was pretty cranky and I knew the only way to perk her up was to get my groove on…so I put on some LMFAO and went to town….


Yes…that’s a gardener hanging up in the tree trimming the branches…watching me shuffle along to Party Rock…and yes, he did have a big smile on his face when I finally turned around and saw him there…

You think something like this would encourage me to wear pants in the house…but really? How often is a random gardener going to be up in my tree?

Exactly….

Do you wear clothes at home?

*But not for long, we’re in the process of buying a new house with a big yard! woo hoo!

Not Even a Coffee Table

My kids have ruined all of my shit…

I used to have nice things….

And I used to dream of having even nicer things….

Combing magazines and browsing in furniture stores I’d imagine how beautiful my home would look one day….

And then I had four children…who have systematically gone through through every room in my house and ruined my furniture…broken my picture frames…stained my carpet….

I’m not kidding…in every room something is broken.

Hope has broken the door off of the chifferobe in her bedroom, the boys have broken the knobs off of some of their dresser drawers…

Come into my living room and you’ll see a sofa table with a missing glass pane and a couch with a rip in one* of the arms…oh, and are you looking for a coffee table to put your cup of coffee on? Not going to happen, they broke the leg off of that sucker, so now we just use a big ottoman…

In my kitchen I have to constantly scrub the walls and the grout….well, I’d have to constantly scrub the walls and the grout if I cared….if my children haven’t already sucked my will away…

My bedroom boasts a headboard that doesn’t quite connect to the bed frame anymore**….

We’re planning in moving within the next few months, tossing most of our stuff and starting with fresh furniture…

What do you think? Do you think the kids are old enough to not destroy it? Or am I screwed until every last one of them is out of the house?

*fine, two of the arms

**yeah, I’m totally blaming the kids…shut up

Digging it Out

After I left college and the whole club scene, I figured I was through seeing that many naked asses in a single setting…

I was wrong….enter motherhood…

I have wiped more asses and seen more naked butts running through the house than I’d ever seen before…

But as the children have gotten older and more independent in the bathroom, I’ve been assuming that my ass wiping responsibilities were waning, that Brooke was the only one waiting for a wet wipe to swiped across her bottom…

And then I hear, Mo-om! I need help in here! Seriously, I do!

Wow, coming from Jack*, that can’t be good. I was cringing as I was walking toward the bathroom…

And rightfully so, because this is what I walked into…

Yup…that’s shit stuck in his butt.

Shit. Stuck. In. His. Butt.

Shit that he couldn’t get out…

Shit that I had to dig out! I had to dig poop out of my five year old’s ass, while he laughed at me. He thought it was funny that he couldn’t poop it out…

He called me Super Pooper Mommy.

This is totally one of those things you do as a mommy that no one told you about before kids**…

*because Jack? shits like a man. Like a big man who makes really stinky shit…he must get it from his dad…

**those fucking bastards…they also didn’t tell me that I’d pee on myself when I sneeze, or cough, or walk too fast…

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Like I Don’t Do Enough

Everyone knows that the stay at home has many jobs. To prove this I will now tell you that I am the chauffeur, chef, maid (kinda, sorta), launderer, lunch packer, boo boo kisser, teeth brusher….you get the idea…

However, I never thought I’d be on the police squad. Not the normal break up fights between the kids police squad, oh no, this is a whole new unit.

I am now an unhappy member of the poop police. Yes, I’m serious. There is not a person in this house that poops without my involvement…

Let’s go down the list, shall we?

My Loving Husband. What the hell is up with him? I would think that with his self prescribed high fiber diet his bowels would be able to take place without me knowing about it. I would think wrong. Eric takes so long to go that he jokes about taking an unscheduled shit if I don’t know about it and make a fuss. But in my defense, if I’m in a rush to get somewhere and all of a sudden he decides he has to go, my whole time frame is thrown off, then I get crabby, I yell at the kids, and I’m doing the work I had set aside for him to do (i.e.-brushing kids teeth) to get out the door on time. Seriously, Eric’s bowels stress me out, and since he knows he stresses me out, he’s probably more stressed out and causing Irritable Bowel Syndrome, it’s a catch 22. And I know you’re thinking I should let him go in peace….well, take those crazy thoughts elsewhere..

My First Born Son. Why won’t he wash his hands? Why? If Blake’s been in the bathroom for more than a minute I demand to know if he went pee or poop. He’s always honest with me, then pitches a fit when I demand to smell his hands. And guess what? They always smell like poop. Always. You would think by now he’d figure it out and just wash his damn hands…nope…so freaking gross.

My Jackie Jacks. Jack is almost five, and he has man poops. Seriously. He poops like his dad. But he always positions himself on the toilet so that the shit is never in the water. Nope, it hangs on the side of the bowl, stinking up the place. And no matter how many times I beg him, Jack refuses to flush. So if I don’t catch him going, it could be hours before that toilet gets flushed, and then I have to go in and scrub off the hanger onners. At least he washes his hands….

My Disgusting Diva. Need I remind you of the Poop Soup? Hope also is fond of scraping her butt across the toilet seat and leaving a trail of poop behind, kind of like a demented Gretal. Not that I use the kids bathroom if I can help it, but there have been times I’ve sat in her leftovers and visibly recoiled….and once in a while I come across her markings and Jack’s leavings at the same time…yes!

My Baby Girl. Corn. Need I say more?

And just for the record, I don’t poop. And if I did, it would obviously smell like lilacs and jasmine…just ask Eric…

*click here to enter an awesome raffle, $10/ticket, prizes include a new Canon Rebel, and so many other crazily amazing goodies I can’t even remember! It’s to benefit Kirill, a Russian orphan whose adoption was denied simply because he has Down Syndrome. His family is appealing, but the costs are great…please help for a great cause!