Thank you Candy Crush

This one time in psychology class- or maybe it was a writing class? Weird that I can’t remember now!- Anyway, this one time in A class, we were told to write for five minutes. No stopping. No thinking. Just write until the timer went off.

It’s been 2 very long months since I’ve written, and it seems with each passing day, the writing block seems to get bigger and bigger. To avoid like total blockage, I’m going to attempt this class lesson once more.

This should be interesting….

Without further ado, I give you my brain. Uncensored. For five. Whole. Minutes.

Ready? Here we go 🙂

So if you just pictured me like jumping from one screen to another all frantic n shit to get the timer started, you were spot on.

YAY YOU!

Yep. This is me. Open. And free. Ok not so much. Today I was actually thinking about writing something along the lines of “Dear Kids, sometimes it sucks to be your mom”. Dude. That looks horrible all out there on my screen right now. But I DID think it. I wanted to follow it up with stories from the trenches of mom-dum ya know? Like, maybe chasing the 1 year old down the street in heels because she got free from my hand and those stupid shoes were NOT actually meant to be worn by  moms.

Or maybe I’d include the awesome times I’ve gone in public with goo all over me…OH! I once sat in an ER with my oldest munchkin for EIGHT long hours. Covered in vomit because she’d puked down my back (again). I was finally allowed to change when they admitted her into the hospital and put me in a pair of scrubs and sat with her so they could wash my clothes. That makes me wonder…How stinky does one have to be to have the hospital staff offer to wash your clothes?

Well whatever that level if stinky that is, I reached it that day!

What else would I include in my “Dear Kids” Letter?

How about how crappy I feel when I’m forced to stand over the kids while they do their chores. Or their homework. Or get on the internet. Or when they…. Dude. WHEN DID I BECOME A  FRICKIN DICTATOR?! This shit sucks.

I would of course end it with some sweet silly nothings just to remind them I still love them and that I don’t realllllly mean it. But yeah. Other than that, I’ve got nothing. Not a thing I can think of to write ab-

Times up. YAY! Look at that. I wrote something. And now I have some mojo back.. Hmmmmm I wonder what I can get into now that I’m over that hump.

Should we try it? Ok. Here we go.

So, yes. It has in fact been 2 months since I’ve written. That seems so long! But it went by so fast!

I wish I could say I was out solving world hunger. Or creating some great masterpiece. Hell, I’d even setter for  wearing  the title of “mom” as an excuse if I could!

In my defense, I did start a new job, (which I love btw) and am all but 4 weeks done with the first of -hopefully- many degree programs I’m hoping to complete in the next 5 years. HEY!! I just realized I have a sliver of a 5 year plan!!

Holy canoli rocky! I CAN  think like a grown up sometimes! SCORE!

Don’t forget to add in the zoo I call home as a total time sucker. 3 kids and 1 “Mr.” are more than enough busy for many people!

So I wouldn’t be…Completely lying when I said life has been crazy in here lately. But it wouldn’t be completely honest either.

Where has my spare time gone the last 2 months?

I discovered Candy Crush.

The first-I dunno- hundred or so boards were filled with love and excitement. Now I loathe it with a deep hatred and disgust only a true addict can understand. And despite that loathing, I still find myself playing a game (or 8) every night before bed.

I will say this though. Candy Crush has taught me some valuable life lessons over the last 2 months. Like;

– I don’t always see the big picture. In candy crush terms, this means I only look at a few rows at a time and don’t really set up my board for the next big move. But, if I’m going all philosophical and junk,  it says  I don’t always see past the little things to the ones that will make a huge difference in my life. I should probably work on that.

– I also learned  can still pull off an all nighter. Boy did I ever too! And more than once!-that was a shock to me! I totally thought I was too old for that ball of crazy!- And by golly, if I can pull off an all nighter for some lame a$$ game, I can give 10 more minutes to the project I’m working on, or to make one “last call” to someone that matters just to let them know how much.

– Thanks to Candy Crush, I also now know that I have what my psychology professor would have referred to as an “addictive personality” and once I’m hooked on something, there’s no room in my life for anything else. For anyone who wants to argue with me about with draw symptoms of candy crush I ask this; Have you ever dreamed in crush mode? Or seen little candy pieces blowing up as you tried to grocery shop? Kicking this habit is no easy feat. (I’m partly teasing- but I’ll never admit to which part :0)

-I also understand paranoia now. And probably hallucinations too. Yes, I may be “crush sober” at this time, but I’m still convinced there’s a man living on the other side of my phone watching my every game move and changing the pieces of the game when I blink to make sure I only win when he decides it’s time. He also listens to my conversations and sends me advertisements for random crap I was just talking about with my friends-and not on my phone. People  I was talking to face to face.

……Effin cheaters.How you gonna change up my candy pieces so I can’t win the board?! That’s not fair!

With that, I would like to say “Thanks Candy Crush” 🙂

(and good night. )

Mama Raised A Serial Killer

I am a photo taking whore. If it’s happening, I am taking pictures. That’s just the way I am. While I would love to say it’s because I’m artistic, I’m not. Like not even a little bit. Taking pictures is just my way of showing the world the way I see things. And since I’m being honest here, I might as well confess, my vision of things isn’t normal.

So, when I stumbled across a “Photo A Day Challenge” on FaceBook I was all “OOOOOOOOOO at last! A purpose that isn’t just me taking pictures to take pictures!” and I started taking pictures. I’ve been doing the challenge since January. Some days are harder than others, but for the most part, it’s really, really fun.

This week one of my picture challenges was to get a picture of my favorite word. This one took me a few days longer than I expected. I really had to think about this one! I stumbled a few times trying to really find the word that represented me. A word that stuck out, made me feel good and screamed to the world “THIS IS ME!” Then I realized it wasn’t asking for the word that screamed “this is me”, it was asking what word I use the most.

I set off looking around the house for a word that I used often enough to be claimed as my favorite word. That’s when it hit me. The 2 words most often used in our house are “Love” -and not in like that stupid overly done way where you’re like “Oh my gosh I LOOOOOOVVVE this pizza”, but in the real, heartfelt way. “I love you”

“No. I love you”

“Well I love you more.”

“Nope. I love you more”

“Well I love you thiiiiiiiiiiiis much” (stretching their arms out as far as they can go) “Which is A LOT, cuz I’m this tall”

Yes. Love is a word used at least 20 times a day in our home. It just barely misses the #1 word slot for words used by me the most by like I dunno….3?  The other word used often and on a daily basis is “Fuck”- and not like “I just saw them fucking” but like “What the FUCK were you thinking?!”

That. Hardly. Seems. Appropriate to announce in front of all of my family and friends. Seriously, I’m pretty sure my Grandma would cry if I proclaimed to all of the interweb that my favorite word in the world is Fuck. (Sorry Grandma)

Besides, the word “Fuck” is not in written format on anything in my home. I checked.-even dug through some books!- It’s not there.Which is weird. But expected I suppose. ****note to self, make a piece of wall art with the word Fuck in it.****

So I announced to the interweb my favorite word, the word most often used in my home is Love.

I wasn’t lying. I just wasn’t telling the whole truth. Which got me thinking about Motherhood and all it’s glory. Why? Well, I suppose partly because Mothers Day is around the corner. But  if we’re being brutally honest, that’s all Motherhood really is. A bunch of half truths told to save face in the eyes of others because we’re all secretly pretty sure if anyone actually knew what was going on behind closed doors, they’d have us committed.

I have this theory that moms don’t admit their “dark and twisty” to anyone who isn’t indicted in the “Mom Club”. Once you get pregnant though, don’t you dare get caught in an elevator alone with an overtired mom reeling from her day. Or sit down at a table of experienced moms at a birthday party. Or go to dinner alone with your lifelong best friend who happens to also be a mom. The things that come from those conversations will leave you looking for a scrub brush for your ears.

And your brain. Who am I kidding? When the mom club shares with you the horror that is your future, you’ll want to scrub your whole body to get rid of those stories.

I’m pretty sure the reason no one hears the horror stories before they have children is because if they knew what really happens when you become a parent, people would opt not to breed. Game Over. The world would end. So instead of ending the world as we know it, women follow “Unspoken Rule # 367” in the “Woman Code Book”

That rule is “Don’t talk about poo, blood, puke or how many nights you stayed up crying because you were certain that because the reason your kid had a bad day at school is because you didn’t kiss them goodbye before they left. And now they’re going to fail 3rd grade, drop out of high school and hitchhike across the country on a killing spree unless you’re in the company of other moms.”

The only exception is pregnant women. Because, well…..It’s too late. They can’t take it back now. Might as well share the horror!-er I mean fun.

Someone out there is reading this right now and thinking “HA! That’s not true! Parenthood is the most wonderful experience a person could ever have! It’s all rainbows and butterflies and shit.”

To that person, I say…… You’re probably the one that actually WILL raise the serial killer. Way to go champ!

The truth of it all is though, that in spite of the long nights camped out in an ER covered in your childs vomit. The irreplaceable remnants of your life that were once displayed and are now missing pieces or flat out broken, or the long nights sitting beside them in a steam filled bathroom praying for their fever to break. Even when you’re missing your special date nights and moments of interacting with other adults, the whole mom thing….It’s pretty freakin amazing.

And NO ONE is doing it right.

Somebody Pissed in My Apple Juice

Yesterday, while I was folding laundry, “The Mr” pranced into our family room obviously excited about something. Without a word he scooped my hand into his and pulled me up from the couch. As we began our walk towards the front door I became curious as to what was making him so happy.

“Where are we going” I asked, his obvious excitement creeping in

“Shhhhh” he hissed. Turning into our darkened den just off the entryway to our home.

“OH MY GOSH!” I exclaimed ” Are we going into the den to make out like teenagers?!”

He dropped my hand, his excitement seeming to drain for a second before he pointed into the glass home that contained one of our tortoises. “Frank is eeeeeeeeaating.” He whispered. “Frank the Tank” is the youngest of our two tortoises.” I know how much you love to watch Frank eat. LOOK!” he cried.

The Mr. was right. The very simple act of watching Frank the Tank eat does in fact make me smile. This episode was not a let down. However, as I sat there smiling like a dope watching Frank open his tiny toothless mouth to devour that large,red, delicious apple a dark thought crept into my mind. I could not remember the last time I’d made out “like a high school kid” with my husband.

How is that even possible?! I’m not talking about those “can I rub your back” make out sessions done just before bed. (we all know where that leads….) I’m talking about like, no kidding, heart racing, hands flailing,lip numbing, don’t come up for air till your face is purple, kind of make out sessions. The ones that fill you with a rush of youthfulness that even I must admit has long since passed.

Suddenly, I was looking at The Mr. like he was a slab of meat for the taking. Eyebrows arched, head cocked to the right, full on stare down as I contemplated my next move. Turning to face him, I dragged my hand across his chest, stopping just at his heart. I began to push him gently to the sofa.

“What’s up babe?” he asked naively.

“Shhhhh.I’m being sexy” I whispered shoving him onto the sofa and straddling his lap ,kissing him deeply. My kisses were met eagerly, our worry about being caught by our children slowly subsiding as we began to enjoy each other in this rare episode of spontaneity.

Just as we began to relax and fall into the roles of “high school kids making out” reality walked into the room and flipped on the light. “Mom? Mom. What’s the password iTunes? WHAT are you doing?!” Shrieked my oldest.

“I’m making out with your dad” I replied not taking my eyes off of my prey. “Turn the light off and leave this room now.”

I wasted no time picking up where we had left off. Cupping his face in my hands and bearing my weight down for balance.

“Mooooooooooooom?” I heard. This time from Baby #2.(aka the son) “I can’t find dad. I need him to get me a tool from the garage.”

“He’s trapped underneath me. Getting smothered with kisses” I answered.

“Ew. Why would he be doing that?”

“Because, damn it. I”m trying to be sexy” I mumbled. All enjoyment seeping out of me like a squeezed balloon.

That was that. My moment was gone.Any hope of capturing a glimpse at my youthful, perky self had depleted.That’s when I began to miss my younger self. The vibrant, smart and witty, never afraid to put on her bikini self. I wanted to find her and punch her in the face for ever taking her time, body and energy for granted.

If someone had told me not to take my youth for granted, to spend more time on me and not to rush into adulthood I would’ve laughed at them. Youthful arrogance will get ya every time…..