10 Mad Skillz

In my previous life, I was a teacher, and I loved it. But, I found myself annually praying for a job because adequate funding for education is about as likely as eating one pop tart and leaving the other one in the silver wrapper. Not happening. This meant that my resume was updated on an annual basis for a while.

But I always found that there were things that I just couldn't incorporate into my resume, stuff I am quite skilled at, stuff that can be dayum useful ... but really has no place in a “professional,” hoity toity resume. So here are ten of my top non-professional resume worthy skills so I can get my awesomeness out of my system. In no particular order ...

1. Skilled at creating new and much more amusing (though not always child-appropriate) lyrics for children’s songs.

2. Able to complete a wide array of tasks adequately and on time while concurrently winning several games of Words With Friends.

3. Competent in instant bathroom location at any locale, even when I have never been there before and the signs are in a language other than my own.

4. Able to covertly obtain an entire bed's-worth of blankets onto my half without waking sleeping partner. (Please contact my husband for confirmation and at least 5 minutes of whining on his part.)

5. While playing basketball with garbage I will almost never hit the can, but I am optimistic and hopeful enough to try every time.

6. My Momdar (mom-radar) enables me to know when a child in a five mile radius climbs on a surface higher than 2 feet from the ground, is in possession of a permanent marker, or utters the phrase, “this will be sooo awesome!”

7. Able to make dee-lish Mac n' Cheese without reading the directions on the box.

8. Loves reading historical romance novels but ruthlessly judges others for enjoying such drivel.

9. Able to make working models of things like motors and flashlights out of styrofoam, popsicle sticks and glue. Give me glitter and paint and they will look good too. (Remember – former teacher and a mom)

10. Knows all the words to “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” and can still fold M.A.S.H. notes.

There are so many other things I can do that fall flat on resume judgment day, but this small smattering gives you a glimpse into the amazingness that is me.

Careful, jealousy isn't a slimming trait.   

the turtle, part 2

So We lived through Christmas, I have a ton to post because while I am not a Christmas-crafty person I am a broke-enough-to-need-to-make-Christmas-presents-crafty person and I wanna share ... but before we get to all of that lets revisit the turtle.  You know, the one who has apparently decided she is part monkey?

St Paul came out on Christmas morning and told me "go look at your turtle."  Figuring this was some sort of sadistic way to not have to tell me she had bit the big one and really made Christmas all sorts of special for the kiddos this year I winced the whole walk back to see her.  Then this is what I saw.

I pulled her down, promising that the "season" was almost over and to just hang in there while checking for sharp objects and moving her house so that hopefully she can't climb it again.  I really would love to see her actually do it, no, not jump you sicko.  I would love to see how on earth she actually gets up there, I mean doesn't this like defy about 12 laws of nature???

I suck at Christmas

Lets go ahead and clear the air now: If you are wanting a warm fuzzy I am in the spirit of the holidays BS caked post filled with cute crafts and ideas, go elsewhere.

I groan as Thanksgiving approaches, because this time of year does not happen to awaken a cozy, warm, happy feeling in me.  You could easily confuse me for Ebeneezer were it not for the fact I happen to not be a wildly rich, old, English dude.  Bah.

Since becoming a mom I have really, truly tried.  I can fool my kids.  Most of the time.  I think.  If not its just more therapist-couch-fodder, and I can live that with that.  But between the turtle trying to jump off of her house, the man cold's insistence on re-invading repeatedly, and all this Christmasy cheer I'd consider skipping milk and just make my breakfast cereal with tequila if I thought it wouldn't taste so exceptionally bad with Coco Krispies.

So when it comes to Christmas decor in the mommadeaux house we aren't exactly a regurgitated glitter and garland factory like so many of the blogs I see out there.  Elf on the Shelf?  St. Paul is already developing rules for what I am allowed to do with it because I plan to have one next year and he is scared that we will personally pay for the retirement of the previously mentioned therapist if he gives me free reign.  He's probably right on the money there though.

So there are really only three Christmas-ish things in my house right now, items that suggest the warfare I feel Christmas invokes and items that are manufacturally flawed.  I said I suck at Christmas, but at least I have a sense of humor about the whole thing.

A camouflage Christmas Tree Skirt.
Nuff said.

The applique should, of course, read "Ho Ho Ho"
but when sewn on upside down it says what we all are really thinking:
"Oh Oh Oh"
And yes, we bought the "bad" one on purpose.  So did my mom.

Merry Christmas and a Bah Humbug to boot.  Lets get to New Years, the holiday we all openly admit we have to drink to get through it!

turtles & S.A.D.

the scene of the crime, later that day

Since we have had fairly typical-for-other-parts-of-the-country winter weather here lately we've all been a tad in the downy dumps.  Not being used to cold, grey, dreary weather has made for a miserable mommadeaux clan, and you know my feelings on my menfolk getting sick.  Thing 2 is genuinely sick, Thing 1 had to be picked up early from school this week due to illness, I can't get St Paul out of bed in the mornings without a lot of threats and the promise of coffee brewing and this morning he actually said he was "dying," and I have personally polished off more Christmas cookies than is reasonable for a gal who says she's watching her figure.  So I decided we all had the desert-region-version of Seasonal Affective Disorder, commonly called S.A.D.

But I misjudged the level of seasonal depression in our house apparently.  Why you ask?  Because yesterday morning I had the strangest wake-up-yelling I have had in all ten years of motherhood thus far.

"Mom come quick, the turtle climbed on her log house and jumped off!"

Yes, turtle.  The docile, slow animal typically associated with laziness.  She climbed up on her log tunnel, don't ask how, I can't quite visualize it myself.  This had to require a good amount of effort on her part.  Ultimately I guess she just couldn't take it anymore.  In her misery, she decided to jump off the highest area she could manage in an effort to end it all.  However, the highest area in her aquarium is like 3 inches tall.

As it turns out, she merely got herself stuck and scared the crap out of Thing 1 who awoke to the loud thud that resulted when her shell hit the side of the aquarium.

While this incident may leave you scratching your head don't be alarmed.  If anyone was going to own a turtle that was both acrobatic and klutzy, it would be me.

bumper sticker warm fuzzies

Maybe I am just becoming more observant lately, but I have seen a lot of really funny bumper stickers lately.

While at Costco this AM I saw one that was unintentionally a bit humorous.  I should have snapped a picture, but didn't think of it at the time, but I had to share it here.  So here is my thought for the day for you ...

You know its time to remove the bumper sticker from your back window when the words "tasty food" have faded to the point they aren't really readable and all that’s left is "Love people and cook them."


Yeah, it gives you the warm fuzzies, don't it?

an open letter to the jerk who stole my ads

Dear Jerktastic Buttmunch Who Stole My Black Friday Ads,

I just wanted you to know that I have spent the better part of my Wednesday wishing you a lot of misery.  If any of  my exes are correct, I am a witch.  If I am in fact a witch, you are really in for a rough couple of days because I have been focusing all my witchy powers your way this fine pre-Thanksgiving Wednesday.

First off, by now your hands should have turned into a bloody, pulpy mess given the number of paper cuts you acquired thumbing through MY ads.  Yes, I did that.  I hope that cheap newsprint glossy stuff feels like razor blades, you thief.  I started off hoping that each page gave you a paper cut but I realized that freaks as hardcore as you must go through them multiple times to price compare, so I amended my original curse to include a new slice with each page turn.

You may as well not bother staying up after gorging yourself on Thanksgiving to start shopping online at 12:01 AM because your computer will only explode right at that moment you click the button that says "Proceed to Checkout" causing you to not only not get any of the things in your cart but to also send a variety of embarrassing spam emails to those you are most concerned with impressing.  Family pictures? Passwords? Tax info? Internet favorites?  Yup, all gone too.

Imagine this, but times like a million.

If you decide to not heed my warnings and turn your computer into a nuclear wasteland after all, please stop there.  Because if you decide that you must physically go shopping, you will make the news.  You might get trampled or you might get buried alive under a mountain of those Lets Rock Elmo toys, but I assure you that you won't get a single one of the things you went out to shop for.  Not one.  You will be exhausted and have nothing but your frazzled, theify nerves to show for it.  And everything you go to buy this holiday season will be full price, and dang hard to come by.

For the record, had you asked me for the Black Friday ads I would have given them to you.  This is because I think that people who actually leave the house on this, of all shopping days, are either nuts or really nuts.  I respect some of the nuts, but for people like you, I got nuthin'.  At any rate, we are too broke even for Black Friday deals and all I wanted was the regular, boring grocery ads so I could feed my family.  Ass hole.

In closing, my temper is quick to rise but burns out quickly, so while I hope a lot of misery for you it will all be fine by Saturday morning and you will be healed but hopefully a valuable lesson will have been learned.   In case you missed what that lesson was let m spell it out for you:

Stealing is wrong, but stealing the ads from my paper? Really low and pathetic. Even without all the names I have spent today calling you and the misfortunes I hope befall you, I pity someone like you because karma's a real bitch and if you are so sad as to think you neighbor's ads are worth stealing I am willing to bet you have few friends and even less of a life.  Happy freaking Thanksgiving, you jackhole.

Sincerely,

Me

P.S. To all the peeps who didn't jack my ads, I hope you have a great Thanksgiving with those you love.

lies I tell my children

just like candy

Given that a decade passed by between kids I often feel a bit like a first time mom all over again with child numero dos.  I don't remember all of it from ten years ago, and if we're being honest its not like I knew what I was doing well enough to make actual decisions then.  Its a miracle Thing 1 isn't already in rehab.

So when I was nearing the end of the prison term that is pregnancy I joined Baby Center and added myself to a bunch of clubs so I could read and get advice as needed.  I have found on this one website, more than anywhere else, the most concrete of evidence that women are singularly the most cruel beings on the planet at times.  The moms on this site rip each other to shreds at times over things like formula feeding and onsies with stupid phrases on them.  I am not much of a Judgey McJudgerson myself, because I am pretty sure I am doing it all wrong by someone's standard anyway, so I don't dive into these blood baths or partake in assuming I know a dayum thing about how someone else parents (unless you let your kid sleep with knives, then I think you're nucking futs, you sicko).

But a while back the concept of lying to your kids came up on a post and it got me thinking about the lies I tell my children.  As I am not the type of mom featured in parenting magazines I will admit I have had some fun at the expense of the minds I mold ... no, you really are the only person with a butt crack and its because I dropped you ... but one of my best ones came to light fairly recently.

When Thing 1 was younger I, like all good mothers do, warned him of the dangers of accepting candy from strangers.  It was probably a Halloween related bit of wisdom but I never do anything halfsies, so I went fully monty and told him about the crazy Tylenol poisoner.  I believe that whole thing happened the year I was born or so, so I have been raised with the pain-in-the-ass-bottles but none of the fear and stuff people who really lived through it experienced.  But I sure milked it.  And after I was done telling this innocent little three year old about it (see, I told you I was a bad mom) I proceeded to tell him that the crazy Tylenol poisoner considered spiking candy at one point too.  In my infinitely selfless willingness to show motherly love I told Thing 1 that it was best that I act as his royal taster and insure that none of his food was poisoned.

I know, you think I am sick.  But think about the possibilities.  I got the first taste of anything good for years!  That trusting little goober would allow me to take a sip of his chocolate shake, a bite of his cookie, a taste of anything that was appealing to me because I had the foresight to know what kinds of things crazy Tylenol poisoners would poison. Interestingly enough it was all the things *I* like.

But the funniest part about this story isn't that I was evil enough to say it, do it, and milk it for years, but rather that at about 9 Thing 1 finally realized that his mother was devious enough to hatch such a plot.  I got nearly six years of it!

But really, the best news of all: I convinced him to not tell his little brother.  Here we go again! =)