Oh lord son...ya ain't dying...

I have dramatic children. I claim it comes from their paternal side but somehow I am sure my mama and daddy are reading this (in theory) shaking their heads saying "how about that time when..."

Guess it would stand to reason that a little heat rash in the junk nether regions would send my Owen into a flaming fit.

It has been hot - well hot for Alaska. Hell in Oklahoma where I am from 90' plus degree's ain't hot, it is "just right". But for Alaska 90 plus is grounds for the "Save the Polar Bears" people to have run ins with the "Club a seal- it's whats cooking" people all because they got sweat in their ass cracks. In short it makes us mean and hateful people.

So back to Owen. It is hot, we covered that. Owen has been sweating his little nuggets off at soccer camp all week with his big brother Haaken (Quinn had camp when it was much cooler out...think 70's). Wednesday Owen comes home from camp and jumps in the shower to wash off and cool off and while getting cozy with the soap discovers something that makes him render a blood curdling scream that causes the dogs to howl.

Needless to say I jumped up from my spot on the couch in front of the fan (which I had to fight the critters for) and ran to see what calamity had befallen my sweet son when his naked carcass comes streaking out of the bathroom holding his uhhh "junk" while pointing with a soap covered finger "WHAT IS THIS!!! AM I GONNA DIE?" - on inspection it was discovered that my son had heat rash from chaffing. I bit back my laughter at his obvious distress and calmly explained to him that he had heat rash and that he could finish his shower and we would take care of it afterwards. I though the crisis was diverted - little did I know it had only just begun.

Owen hops back in the shower and turns the water to cold in attempts to cure his issue and only succeeds in freezing his wang and friends. So that pisses him off. He finally gets out of the shower and I hand him the GoldBond and explain he needs to powder his parts which gets the "you do it" -"no you do it" debate in full swing. After 5 minutes of my pleading my case that he is old enough to doctor his own junk he finally admits defeat and powders the "peanuts" then the cool tingling steps in, the wailing goes full scale and now I have a naked powdered covered screaming banshee devil child running around the house yelling "IT BURNS! IT BURNS!". I finally capture him in a towel and plunk his naked ass in front of an oscillating fan with legs spread and his hand firmly on his junk which does eventually manage to calm him down and cool him down. Then I had to wait on him for a few minutes while he milked this "flaming balls" bit.

Eventually he did cool off and go to sleep but the horror of his heat rash covered junk will remain with him forever - he now has to sleep naked in front of the fan and has developed an unnatural need to have baby powder covered junk - no more GoldBond for his inner thighs.

And the Oscar for most dramatic performance of a heat rashed young un' goes to Owen Lucas - let us all clap in his honor.

Gifts with a double edged sword...

As I was waiting at the window of McD's tonight (I was there for my $1 sweet tea fix....geee) I couldn't help but notice the display of "Arch Cards" that people can purchase for their loved ones in case they are in the McD's drive up window and suddenly remember "Oh shit, I forgot it was our anniversary surely the love of my life would love a ticket to a fatter ass and big old hamhock thighs, on second thought, I had better get her two". Just who the hell would love opening up a card on any holiday and seeing a McD's gift card? KIDS, small french fry eating, nugget inhaling, happy meal toy collecting kids. Thats who. But don't you think buying them gift cards to the artery clogging hall of fame is kind of like handing them loaded weapons and saying "oh just point and shoot" without saying "but make sure ya ain't shootin' at people". Kids aren't going to walk into McD's and say "Hey with this here gift card I sure would like me some yogurt and apple dippers with a side salad" HELL NO...they are gonna walk in loud and proud and say "SUPERSIZE IT".

I won't lie, I do hit McD's on occasion but I can't even imagine getting my kids a gift card there. Hell I can't imagine getting anyone a gift card there. I know if someone got me a gift card to McD's I would have to question their motives..."Hey, are ya calling me fat?" or "WTF dude, can't you do better than this?" Another place that has gift cards is the Holiday store and the Tesoro stores. Yep, convenience stores...nothing says "thinking of you babe" than picking up a gift card for the convenience store. Sure the white trash crowd who goes there daily for a pack of smokes, a half rack of Hamms and slurpee's for the younguns' probably think this is the height of romantic gifts, this and perhaps a new nudie mag and a 40. Who knows...all I know is that if someone got me one I would be slightly insulted.

So note to all who may be swayed by the colorful plastic arch cards....RESIST! You can do better. If you don't have time to buy a gift cash is ALWAYS a good option. Step away from places like convenience stores and fast food places. It doesn't say "love" it says "I am a cheap ass lameass who couldn't be bothered to think this gift giving thing through"

Things I don't understand...

ECONOMY! It is a word you hear daily, easily several times. You hear it, you shrink from thinking about it because there mere mention of that word right now strikes fear in the hearts of many people who get paid lots of money to track the economy and also people in states that have governors that take state money to pay for trips to third world countries for the purpose of finding a place to eat good tamales and a senorita to make his margarita.

I get we are all freaked out about the economy - well most people are. Oh good lord how are the rich going to afford that new Hummer and that Christmas trip to the Virgin Islands. How are us poor people gonna be able to eat when the price of Ramen noodles goes from 10 for a buck to God forbid a BUCK A PACKAGE!!!

If times are sooooo freaking hard how is it so many stay at home mom's are able to afford hobbies and family vacations? HMMMM?

Seems like every stay at home mom I know has a sewing hobby of some kind, well a fiber textiles hobby of some kind. They are sitting at home cooking and cleaning (which is a job in itself) and then they have the money to go buy adorable fabric a notions and then they take their super kick ass sergers and singers and make these seriously fabulous outfits for their adorable children who are so precious and wonderful that they NEVER fight and always share their toys. Some of these mom's can even knit too! They buy these beautiful yarns in rich vibrant colors and whip out these amazing little scarves or hats for their other stay at home mom friends for various reasons (Christmas, birthdays, Martin Luther King Day).

How do I know this? I am a blog lurker...leave me alone, I can't afford a real hobby involving fabric and yarn and such and besides I don't get to stay at home cooking and cleaning all day (wait, I do cook and clean all day....I just stay up all night working the American dream).

There is this one little blog I stalk on occasion which is so super precious I could cry in my cupcakes. This sweet little thing is a stay at home mom who manages to bake things almost daily, she also finds time to knit and make cutsie little things for her babies which all have orange hair and go to coop preschool. Her family even managed to take a vacation to Hawaii this winter and now here we are in summer they are visiting Ohio.

I want to know how the hell they afford to make all that happen? Have you been to a fabric store? Do you know how much that stuff costs? The only cheap ones are the ones on clearance that are too ugly for even my gramma to use in a quilt. Yet somehow they always manage to find this super to die for adorable print that matches some other freaking precious print and then they turn those into a reversible smock with hand smocking. UGHHHH. And don't get me started on those knitting mama's, the ones that make things with yarn that costs a freaking ass load per skein. I want to cry....

Even back in the day when my lovely ex husband had a job that made good money and we were married there was no way I could afford to have the hobbies these women have (and it didn't matter I sure as hell didn't have the personal time). Vacations to Hawaii? HA - FORGET ABOUT THAT!

So if this ecomomy is something to be concerned about then shouldn't those stay at home mama's be keeping their asses out of the fabric store and thinking about working nights as a pole dancer when daddy comes home to watch the babies?

I guess this is a mystery of life I will never understand....sigh.

Someone take my remote away...lord help me...

I was never one for watching TV - it required to much attention and was usually too boring. Rarely was there anything on that I could relate to (the closest being Green Acres and Beverly Hillbillys-go figure) so I pretty much set it on PBS and listened to the melodic strains of Sesame Steet and Zoom. And Life was good

However Papa insists that we have Direct TV with 4.8 gazillion channels and now I am sure to find something to amuse me, entertain me, make me think and inspire projectile vomiting and sometimes all in one show. Like watching a train wreck in motion - I am helpless to turn away.

My latests addictions are Clean House, All of the kick ass wedding cake shows, Bridezilla and all the amazing birth story shows. (which wierds me out for various reasons).

Clean House - have you seen it? This super annoying and bossy over dressed and accessorized black woman whisks into these houses one mold infestation away from condemnation and with her team of super smiley peeps they convince the hapless house owners to "let go" of their belongings, have a garage sale to make money, then match the money up to a thousand. Then they send the people to a "fabulous" hotel and they commence to reorganize and redecorate these trash houses. What I find just fascinating about this all is what they convince these people to "let go" of. Grandma's old steamer trunk that belonged to her great grandma and came over from the old country "It's a big ticket item, let's sell it, you don't need it" - then when it doesn't sell they put it on a truck and send it to the ghetto good will. SAD! Can't they incorporate it in the new decor? Come on already. Sure the 25 years of periodicals that can certainly go and 40 pairs of salt shakers, yeah, they can let those go too but the family antiques? Good lord people, have some compassion. So then let's say the garage sale makes $1,500 and then the show matches it to make it $2,500, that is what the crew has to spend. The hostess donates something (usually a new bedroom suite or some office stuff) and the designer (who is either seriously weird of flamming gay) takes the bulk of the money and somehow manages to get new furniture for the living room (or some other room) and accents too. HOW? Where is he shopping at? Uncle Lou from the wrong side of town? Anyhow, moving on...

Bridezilla - oh yeah...these bitches rock out. It is all about them 100% of the time and if you ain't kissing their powdered ass you better believe they will get you with a sharp tongued bitch slap. I watched one last night where the bride was a Latino gal with a self inflated sense of worth. She threw a tempter tantrum in the flower shop over her arrangements, screamed money was no object, stormed out and then thew a center arrangement on the concrete. Then to up the ante on her crazieness she maxed out her credit card to get a Cinderella Carriage, told her fiancee' that he couldn't pay for his dad's tux (because bitch maxed out the credit card...) - then she went on a cake smashing rampage and the final straw was when she chased her daughter and threatened to peirce her ears right then and there. She was a the scariest bride ever. And to think my gramma called me a bridzilla when I had a meltdown regarding the kind of cake I wanted at my wedding. I can neither confirm nor deny that I might have said "I don't give a goddamn what kind of fucking cake you make, take a shit in a pan, bake it and slap some butter cream frosting on it and call it a damned cake, Jesus!" - Gramma got me back, she made marble cake. She knew I hated marble cake. She probably spit a lugi in the top layer too. Wouldn't put it past her.

Then we have the birthing shows. I loved the amazing birth episode when this African gal gave birth in a tree top during rising flood waters. I swear on all that is holy if I have another child I will not complain about anything. And the crazy bitches that think they can have unassisted home births. HAVE YOU LOST YOUR EVER LOVING MIND...opps this kid is coming feet first, sure would have been nice to have a doctor.

Anyhow...that is my new addiction (and Chelsea Lately...she had little people bowling last night. HELL YA!). Is there a 12 step wean your ass from TLC program? Hmm? I will look into that Tuesday, I have to watch Jon and Kate tongiht - they are making a big ol' announcement and well Cake Boss is on too. (Oh lord I have become my grandma, I can't miss my shows)



The wedding cake shows. All I can really say here is HOLY SHIT! The things they do with cake and fondant and blown sugar so so freaking amazing I would cry if I had to cut into one of their cakes. What amazes me the most is how they pretty much believe they can do anything. Some freaks come in and say "Hey make me a cake that looks like a hotel I stayed in in Barcelona complete with sugar skulls and railings on the windows. No prob...bring it on. Or some bridezilla comes in and wants her cake to be 15 tiers in an art deco circa 1920's vibe complete with blown sugar glass balls and realistic gardenias. Oh and by the way the tiers have to be stacked lop sided. Yep...no prob. It amazes me. I want to be the cake diva. I want that glory.

Listen up tator tot...

So in my channel surfing I kind of got fixated on the "Shop Erotic" channel. That infomercial cracks me up every time I take a moment to check it out.

When I first popped in they were hyping up the "Mold a Willie" kit. Basically it is a naughty science project that involves getting your man to stick his erect penis in a tube filled with a rubber substance. Yeah... I am sure many men are dying for you to immortalize their penis in rubber. What if ya'll break up? You could take that bad boy out and use it against him. Show all your girlfriends what god gifted him with. That poor bastard would never get a date again (well if he had a wee willy) - by the same token what if he was porn star royalty and you kept that penis for all time. You would be whipping it out after appalling one night stands where picking were slim. You would be all "just use your fingers dumbass, I have the inside job covered" as you whip out your last boyfriends 8" dong. To make it more impressive you could write in black sharpie on the side "The intimidator". No wonder they dropped the price $50 bucks - can't imagine there are many takers on that one.

The next one that made me blow beer out my nose was the rubber dong collection. First they brought out the 5" beginner dong - it was pink. They were all "Look how adorable it is..." and "this is the PERFECT dong for breaking into rubber dongs". PUHLEEEZ...if I am gonna waste my money ording a rubber dong I ain't gonna bother with the beginner dong. If I am brave enough to delve into rubber dong territory you better believe I am gonna go big...Then they popped out with the 7.5" dong in a lovely red shade. It came with a better "more lifelike" scrotal package. Uh huh...they touted this one as "the womans best friend". Yeah...moving on they whipped out the 8" dong in a gorgeous blue color. They were way into this one, it wasn't called "adorable" it was called "impressive" When they wrapped their hand around that monster you could see them remembering moments with that dong. They wrapped it up with the 10" one complete with suction cup "With this bad boy the suction cup is a MUST". Yep...and advil and ice packs too, but that is just details.

All of that made me laugh hysterically but what made me completely lose it and spill my beer and almost rupture my spleen from laughter was when they brought out the double dolphin cock ring. It looked entertaining enough...I was intrigued but then they upped the ante with the vibrating cock sleeve. They were hyping this for clitoral stimulation and the extra addition of "girth" - Yeah like you can introduce that to your little tator tot man with Frodo's fingers "Hey babe check out this new toy that plays with my clit and is guaranteed to make me come and check out the little sleeve...makes you more girthy" You whip that puppy out and you can just watch that erection disappear. To be honest I would totally pay money to see that thing in action. Ha ha...

You know what else I find hilarious? Those gals that do the show. One was a total hot librarian chick complete with dark hair and glasses and the other had that pole dancer bleached blond fake titties thing happening. They were displaying these gizmos with such a manner that I could never pull off. They were so cool and professional. I would be up there have sword fights with the 10" dong, telling ex boyfriends on the air "Hey tator tot...check out this penis enhancer with the handy dandy ruler on the side...go big, go for 5.5" - you can do it". I would also be doing naughty gestures with those things too. How could you not? I would be the worst hostess ever.

And in closing my friends...if you have erotic needs that need met please contact my friend Krystal - she will hook you up and will totally not call you "dirty ho" when you whip out your credit card and order the suction cupped 10" dong, even when you try and cover and tell her "it is a birthday present for gramma".

Slap the ugly right out of your mouth...

I guess I was raised a little too old school. Come to Jesus meetings were always threatened because rude nasty ill behaved children could always benefit from having the fear of God instilled in them. There was one phrase from my childhood that always incited fear "Do we need to go have a little talk..." - there was no talking involved, it was a total hand to butt conversation and my butt NEVER liked to hear what mama's (or daddy's) hand had to say.

I am finding that there are many parents in my peer group who must have been raised by wolves for they seem to have no problem raising children who are ill mannered and just plain nasty. I find this reprehensible on many levels.

One such child plays on my sons soccer team. This child is rude and nasty and I find myself biting my tongue and holding back rage whenever I am around him. Granted this child is a good athlete, would I say he is "gifted" probably not, but certainly a good athlete. I would certainly say he is a better soccer player than my son (which for any mother is a hard thing to admit because we all know our children are "perfect"). Where I first encountered the nastiness lurking beneath the surface of this child is when the boys played a 4 vs. 4 tournament fundraiser back in April. At first I thought perhaps this kid was pretty justified in being irritated with Quinn. Quinn certainly was slacking off out there but at the time I didn't realize it was related to his injured knee and the tumor we later found in his femur. Of course Quinn wasn't giving it his all, he was in pretty intense pain and running made it worse. When this kid walked by my son (who was sitting on the sidelines fighting back tears because his knee was swollen and in pain) and had the audacity to start ragging on how much Quinn sucked I bit my tongue back on what I wanted to say and very politely said "I am sorry that you are upset that you guys lost the game and I am sure Quinn wishes he could have played harder but as you can see he is injured and if you will excuse us we have a Dr's appt to get to" - Of course what I wanted to say was "you little bastard have a little compassion for your teammate here who is limping and almost in tears". When we then found out the extent of the knee issues and found out Quinn is at a higher risk of breaking his leg than most kids this rotten little bastard came up to Quinn and threatened to kick his leg in the tumor because he hoped it would break his leg and Quinn wouldn't be able to play soccer. That was it...guantlet down. I approached the coach, explained my concerns, when the coach said to me "Well he has a twisted sense of humor like that...blah, blah, blah..." I almost lost it. Who on earth raised this child? What world does he live in? Was he raised in the ghetto were a "cap in the ass" is a way of life? I was floored! I would never allow my children to treat others like that. It isn't funny to pick on others for any reason. However the event that really lit my hair on fire happened today. The boys had a soccer clinic and when I went to pick up Quinn from the clinic the first thing Quinn did was to tell me about how awesome his day was. In the course of telling me the story Quinn went so far as to praise this evil horrid child on his mad soccer skills. Of course the kid was standing nearby and instead of saying "thanks" or just letting it roll this kid says "Shut up Quinn, I am right here stupid" and his mother who was standing there said nothing. NOTHING! Ohhhh I wanted to smack the ugly right out of that childs mouth. For Gods sake Quinn was totally praising this kids awesome skill on whatever drill they did and he couldn't even be gracious? And his mother...just standing there and letting her child talk ugly and rude like that. What the hell? You better believe if I caught any of my children being rude like that they would have been seriously embarrassed as I smacked their butt and told them to apologize right there in front of God and country.

If rudeness comes with the kinder gentler approach to raising children I want no part of it. Thank you very much. I will stick with my old school methods and keep up with the "go cut me a switch" mentality. The world is a better place when kids are taught to "do unto others..." - who knew that basic rule of happiness was so outdated.

Anyhow-here's to all of ya'll who survived the "come to Jesus" childhood and are going through life kicking it old school. Ya'll rock and just remember, our kids kick ass.

Well slap me upside the head...

My boys really really want a slip and slide. They talk about it, watch the commercials, beg. cajole and plead for one and I remain steadfast in my resolve "I ain't buying you one...damn it the last one we had your fat ass uncle Bean thought he would give it a whirl and ended up destroying it a week after we got it"

They look at me with the yard sprinkler in hand and their little dark eyes so sad and say "Please mama can we have another slip and slide...please, we won't let dad or uncle Andrew use it. WE PROMISE" and again I say "Nooooo Noooooo Noooooo"

Yesterday I sent them out with their friends to play in the yard sprinkler. They wanted to place it under the trampoline and I said "Noooooo Nooooo Noooo" and then followed it with "Ya'll do that you know you are gonna break a leg or an arm" and they pleaded and cried "But the yard sprinkler is BORING and it SUCKS" to which they got "Do I look like I care...figure something out to make it more fun"

Eventually their little brains wrapped around ways to improve the sprinkler experience. A TARP!! So they drug out a big ass tarp and tent staked it to the ground using it actual sticks and then turned the yard sprinkler on it and away they went. Then they white trashed it up a notch and used their toboggans and saucer sleds to slide across it.

Impressive....kudos kiddos. Boys 1 - Mama - 0.

When I grow up...

I wanna be a white trash gramma....

Yeah....

I was driving along yesterday morning punch drunk tired and hyped up on too much caffiene when that little blurb came to me. Can't even tell you why. You see randomness like that comes across my mental radar all the time. Sometimes I think something like that and begin to mentally spin it into a potential book which was the case yesterday. I had this whole thing happening in my mind while I was driving along about how I could write a story about a former stripper turned gramma who takes a flask to soccer games and makes jello cakes for school fundraisers and church socials. This gramma would be so kick ass you would have to love her. She would live in a trailer house and have a velvet Elvis painting over her couch. She would wear stone washed jeans and fire engine red thong undies. Her hair would be over processed and artfully coiffed in a Dolly Parton circa 1980 updo. She would have a few daughters, one bookish and nerdy that would make her exclaim on a regular basis "Lord I don't know who your daddy was but he must have been a smart one cause I never read anything that doesn't have a penis scene in it" and the other would be a white trash gramma wanna be - they would share clothes. She of course would have a son who drives a souped up muscle car and dates little Stripper Skippers down at the local watering hole. Her grandbabbies would have one mama, several different daddies and would have names like Heaven and Jade and maybe even a Jasmine. Her grandsons would have double names like Jim Bob or Roy Dean. Can't you just picture it?
Her life would be an adventure, always raising bail money for various family members. She would have stories about that one time she was a roadie for Lynard Skynard and would break into "Free Bird" whenever the mood hit her (about cocktail hour). She would have a few ex husbands and would always start stories with "Remember that time we rented that cabin over by lake Eufala? That was when I was married to so and so and we drove that old van everywhere, I made those velvet curtains with the pom poms on them, they were so cute...." or occasionally "Remember when I tore my knee all to hell doing pole routines so I had to take some time off....ya'll thought we were on a 2 week camping trip but really we lived in that van cause we got evicted from the trailer house...".

Funny the way my mind works. I should heed the advice of all my friends that tell me "Girl you totally have to write a book" and take a few minutes a day and get cracking on it. Who knows though, I guess I am kind of intimidated by the magnitude of the task and by my attention span which sometimes rivals that of an overbred golden retriever..."look the ball, look a cat, where is that ball..." wag wag wag...drool drool drool...nap.

What do you think? Think I can take my white trash gramma and turn her into Oprah's book of the month? Would I even want to write an Oprah Book of the month? Does Dolly Parton have a book club?

These are the things that I ponder...and also I wonder how hard it would be to make those sweet little toilet paper roll covers that look like a Barbie Doll in a knitted dress.

Excuse me, the end of the line is OVER THERE (bitch)

As I mentioned in the last blog there was a little story involved with meeting Captain Sig Hansen - so sit down get comfy but bypass the drink because you are just gonna get piss hopping mad on my behalf and jump out of your chair and scream "What the...." - it is okay, I would be mad on your behalf if the tables were turned.

There we were in line at the Alaska Walking Store in 5th Avenue Mall. Being in line is booooooring. Being in line for 45 minutes and having snails move faster than you is painful. I was seriously sitting there thinking "hmmm, I could totally gestate and birth a kid quicker than I can get through this line of Deadliest Catch Junkies". Anyhow, 45 minutes or so of being in line and playing "I Spy..." with the boys (who finally learned the differences between open toed sandles and hiking boots by looking at miles and miles of shoes) had left me borderline foul mouthed and we still had about 15 minutes easily to go and then all hell broke loose. This rude inconsiderate woman and her equally rude and inconsiderate friend were waiting or shall I say lurking around a shelf of shoes for "just the right" moment to cut in front of someone because they were too stupid to figure out that the end of the line was WAAAAY far in back. When little miss bared midrift and her friend camel toes asked to cut in front of me I was polite even though I wanted to take the nearest stilleto and gouge her eyes out. I stepped back and made room for them and explained to the boys that it was okay to let them cut in front. So there they were, in front of me and did I mention that between them they had 7 kids all under 4. Yeah....strollers and wandering toddlers. UGHHHHH. After watching their children dismantle a shelf of shoes, dump out a box of crackers, puke on the person in front of them, bite each other and then take off running through the store it was finally time for them to meet Captain Sig. And guess what. They each had shirts to have signed but not just one each - oh no, between them they had 10 shirts and they all had to be autographed to a specific person and they weren't organized enough to plan that out before hand. "Oh sign this one to Annie May....and this one to Bubba Joe....and shoot I forgot to get one for granny so hold my spot I will be right back let me run over and buy this here shirt" - after 5 minutes or more of shirt signing they then wanted pictures. First it was little miss bare midrift and she had to fluff her titties, tease her hair and then drape herself over Captain Sig. Then her friend camel toes jumped in and had to give a gushing speech about how sexy Captain Sig was "in real life" before she too draped herself over him. Then it was pictures of him with each child by his or her self, then one with each mama and her offspring, and then one with all the children in it and finally 15 minutes or more had passed and they were gone and it was Quinn's turn. I wanted so badly to say "Bitch please..." and then grab her assorted offspring (who easily all had different daddies) and manuever them out of the store (and yeah I am narcissitic enough to think that they whole place would be cheering me on) - I also wanted to to kind of channel my inner trailer trash and start talking smack to her "ohh look at that, looks like your little baby has impetigo, do you bathe her in swamp water?" but of course I couldn't do that and really I know her kid doesn't have impetigo, it is just covered in Alaskan love bites from our state bird - the mosquito. So yeah I bit my tongue but inside I was a seething mess and when my baby boy finally got his picture and his signed T-shirt I started to recover but when Quinn looked at me and said "the nerve of some people huh" I wiped a tear from my eye because I know I am raising good boys - unlike little miss bare midrift and camel toe, their trashy offspring will probably end up jacking cars in Mt. View and shaking their money makers at the Bush Company.

Soccer cleats and all you can eats - a weekend away

Quinn had a soccer tournament in Anchorage - It was an adventure frought full of many lessons and experiences. On this little trip I learned many important life lessons such as:

GOOGLE MAPS CAN SUCK MY ASS - yes indeed. Google maps may well work for people who live in dare I say "more civilized areas" but in Alaska Google maps tends to make up random roads and to take the roads that do exist and give them additional curves and also move them about. We were staying with my friend Jason and he says "just google my address" and so did and when finally confronted with finding his house ended up in some random spot with scary white trash compounds complete with yard dogs, cars on blocks and warning signs about tresspassing. Now I know Jason considers himself kind of a redneck at heart but puhhhleez - homeboy wears Patagonia and North Face - I knew he wasn't in this hood. A frantic phone call later and some hastily scribbled instructions and I was in more familiar territory. I did discover that Eagle River does have an interesting way of zoning - they have this beautiful Baptist Church smack dab in between a Tattoo Parlor and a Discount Liquor store. HELL YA! I wouldn't have learned this had google maps been more "accurate"

ROAD CONSTUCTION CAN SUCK MY ASS - I swear on a stack of all that is holy (my gramma's family bible and my Gone with the Wind book) that every stinking road I needed to navigate had road construction happening. Also they would detour you through EVERY FREAKING GHETTO they could find. Also every soccer mom with a mini-van or Hummer and a cell phone was guaranteed to be in my way and they would be too busy yacking with their "girlies" about the best sales on capri's and tank tops or scheduling mother daughter pedicures to even be remotely concerned with such trivial matters such as STOP LIGHTS or TURN SIGNALS or god forbid GETTING IN THE FUCKING TURN LANE!!! I drive a standard - I actually had foot pain from a day of driving in Anchorage - FOOT PAIN!!! I have NEVER had to clutch and brake so much in my life - I got foot cramps - FOR REAL!

THE GOLDEN CORRAL CAN SUCK MY ASS!!! On Friday, to foster commaradie and to hang with the team, Quinn's coach organized dinner at the Golden Corral - the kids had fun but damn it I don't think I got my money's worth considering my kids mostly ate ice cream and nachos with cheese. Of all the damned food there was this is what they wanted and because I wasn't paying attention this is what they ate. Did I get to eat my moneys worth? Oh hell no - I was too busy talking soccer and chasing my children. Did I learn my lesson? Nope - went back for a second tour the next evening with friends. I also think the stupid "you have to tip $2 bucks a person" can suck my ass. I got my own damned food and I had to chase a waiter down to get a clean plate and to get my sweet tea refilled. LAME!

CHUCK E CHEESE (insert the rest of this phrase all on your own....) - I went on ghetto day. Now I am not some card carrying KKK member and I am certainly not predjudiced but for real on the day I took my children to Chuck E Cheese it had to be ghetto day. I overheard my son having a conversation with another kid that went along the lines of "has anyone ever jacked your mama's car?" - aside from that nonsense Chuck E. Cheese (can suck my....) because I swear to god that they played that Jonas Brothers song "I have been to to the year 3000..." something like thousand times. If I would have had to hear it again security would have found me with the other parents under the Bikkini Bottom Bowling game in fetal position mumbling "no more tokkens, NO MORE TOKKENS"

But on a positive note we did have some fun all things aside. Quinn's team learned that soccer isn't always a gentleman sport and can be a bit brutal at times. The lost all their seeded games and didn't make it to the finals but they did figure out the rules of contact sports a bit by the third game and gave the best team in the 99' boys league a bit of a lesson on 'don't mess with Fairbanks boys'. Our first game was against Kenai and we might have stood a chance of winning that game had we been more aggressive when the other team would shove and nudge us - we certainly weren't out played - just intimidated. We lost that game 4-0. Our second game was against what had to have been an imported team from Brazil or something. Every other kid on there was named Jesus, Diego, Santiago or Eduardo. Their parents stood on the sidelines hollaring things like "Taco Burrito UNO DOSE Cuervo!" which probably meant "kick em' in the ballsack Edurardo or no menudo for you" we would have lost that game regardless...those boys were born with soccer balls in their hands and DVD's of the movie Alive. That game was a washout at 8-1. Saturday morning found us actually playing the team that ultimately won the tournament and we really played a good game. Of course at 0800 we were out there teaching our boys how to be more aggressive by leaning on them and making them lean back and also the right way to nudge "bent elbow" - I do have to admit that me and some of the other team parents almost got 86'd from the game for contemplating a throw down with some dickweed denture wearing grampa from the other team. He was giving us shit about our boys playing mean while his boys were out there kicking our kids in the head when they fell down and other nonsense. I won't go into details here but know this...my mouth was writing checks that the other soccer dads felt the need to cover. That old fellow also got onto us for being too "obnoxious" with our cheering. EXCUSE ME...we were having fun and we weren't bad mouthing the other team or the ref so there was nothing other than our enthusiasm and loud voices that could be constituted as obnoxious and for that I say "FUCK OFF GRAMPS" - and on that "enough said".

Some of our other adventures involved the making of Robbie at Build A Bear (did you know they have little flip flops you can buy for your stuffy?) - and Quinn got to meet Captain Sig from Deadliest Catch (which has a story...but I will save that for another day). We also got some Cinnabons on post at the PX (went on base with our friend Susan) and got to watch the 99' girls play in the final game and walk away with 2nd place - which was awesome.

On the trip home we also saw 3 bears (a mama and her cubs) - some moose, several fox and a porcupine (and Haaken being totally my son said "buddy" - and if you haven't watched Open Season this will not make a lick of sense to you).

Anyhow-that conludes blog #1 about our Anchorage adventure. I am gonna find more to say about it in due time.

PHOENIX ON FIRE (that is our team chant...kind of catchy huh)

Just when you think you are raising Satan's spawn...

One of the little devils goes and does something sweet. The other night when Owen was flat out "sad and mad" and lamenting about how badly his soccer team sucked his older brother Haaken could have rubbed it in and made matters worse but he didn't. He sat next to his "sad and mad" baby brother and put his arm around him and said "Owen I wish you were on our team, if we had you on our team we would be unstoppable". I kind of got choked up over this. Sometimes it is hard to remember my boys have a softer side when they spend so many hours trying to kill each other. Of course this made me remember other instances of them playing nice and showing their solidarity to each other. I offer up these gems. Moments to make a mama proud.

My oldest son Quinn and my baby son Owen are so much alike it is painful. They butt heads over EVERYTHING and most of my yelling and screaming is because I am trying to keep them from killing each other. Yet when one of them is sick or hurt the other one becomes the sweetest most thoughful brother ever. It is amazing to see in motion. For instance last summer Quinn wiped out on his bike going way too fast down a dirt and gravel road. After leaving half his hide in the dirt it appeared he had managed to break his arm. It was obvious it was broken so I loaded the gang up and off to the ER we went. It was his right arm and yeah, he is right handed. From the backseat a small anguished cry was heard "Mama! That is his wiping hand! How is Quinn gonna wipe his butt?" which then led to the offer of "Quinn I will wipe your butt if they put a cast on your arm, I will. You hollar at me and I will wipe it anytime you need me to" - and by God that child did. I tried to jump in there with offers of helping Quinn until he figured out how to do it left handed but Owen trumped me everytime. "Mama I said I would wipe it and I will, he needs me" and away he went.

Then there was the tumor scare back in April where we spent a weekend fretting over what "lesions in the bone" meant. Quinn was laid up with a sore knee and scared he was going to die (why do doctors tell you these things in front of your children?) and Owen was scared Quinn was going to die (yes my children are very dramatic) so that whole weekend Owen was as sweet as pie to Quinn and waited on him hand and foot. When we found out things were so dire the love tapered off some and eventually they went back to their Tom and Jerry routine.

And let us not forget the night before Thanksgiving when I had to take Owen to the ER for horrible abdominal pain where he was diagnosed with extreme constipation and the pain was from his dad's misguided attempt to help him by feeding him chocolate exlax and accidentally overdosing him. Owen came home with narcotics, heavy duty stool softners and a liquid diet. Quinn laid in bed rubbing Owen's sore tummy and re-heating the rice bag to help his poor tummy. He also read and re-read Skippy John Jones to his sad sore and seriously stoned little brother.

And the crowning moment of me doing something right with raising these rotten children comes with Christmas. One Christmas my nephew (who is an only child and kind of spoiled) was complaining that Santa didn't bring him enougn presents and my Quinn looks at him and says "Maybe Santa gave some of your presents to the poor kids" to which my nephew replied "I want them back" and my son says "but Zach, don't you think poor kids should get presents too?" (guess all those times I made them help buy a toy for the poor kids really sunk in) - there was also the time when a kid in Quinn's preschool class had to have surgery on a ruptured appenix and was laid up in the hospital. Quinn used his own money to buys him some art supplies to play with while he was bed bound. Didn't even have to prompt him, it was completely his own idea.

So yeah I complain a lot about how rotten my kids can be and believe me they can make the most sane person want to strip naked and run screaming into the midnight sun but deep under the little boy bravado and the layer of dirt and grime beats a heart that is bigger than you would expect. This is what makes me love being the mama of three little boys, yelling, dirt, nerf attacks and all.

The Agony of Defeat...

Life lessons are never fun to learn. Never. Owen learned it the hard way last night. All of my boys play soccer and they adore the sport. Never once did I think I would be a soccer mom but seeing as my house has injuries from flying soccer balls and my laundry always has socks, shorts and shin guards in it not to mention my purse is full of raffle tickets for my sons comp team I guess I have to woman up here and say "Well hell Shammie you are a soccer mom".
But back to Owen because this is his story. Owen has always been competetive. If his brothers could do it he could do it too and better by God. So it would stand that when it comes to soccer he would be the one who figured out the game first, the one that learned the strategy first and well, he would also be the one who throws his whole heart and soul into it. For a kid this dedicated to his sport at only 6 years old you can imagine how heartbreaking it is for him to be on a team with only one other kid who really gets the game, really understands what he is doing and really tries hard. Everyone else on his team still gets out there and stands, or gets out there and kicks the ball away from their teammates. I can't tell you how many times I saw Owen within a hair of getting that ball in the oppositions net only to have one of his own teammates trample him and kick the ball out of bounds.
My poor son....
He came off the field in tears and looked at me and said "mama I am mad and sad, I didn't know I could be both those things" - and he had tears streaming down his dirt covered cheeks right over the cleat marks from one of his many falls. I gave him a hug and told him it was okay to be mad and sad and he had every right to be mad and sad and then gave the mom speech about how good he was out there. I felt horrible because maybe if I hadn't encouraged him to care about his sport and hadn't encouraged him to be the best he could be then being on a team that doesn't seem to have a competetive bone about them wouldn't be so hard for him. I am torn because I want him to be happy but for a kid like him winning and playing on a team that works hard is what makes him happy. He doesn't understand why a kid would play if they don't play to win (for the record I was the same way when I was his age - playing for the fun of the sport didn't make sense to me, winning made the game more fun).
I overheard a couple of moms complaining about how my kid was so mad about the game and about how his parents must be those driven parents that refuse to allow their kids to play unless they play hard and win. I took offense at that and would have confronted them except I didn't want to cause a scene and I didn't want to have to knock their teeth him with my lawn chair because I was that mad - and there were small children present.
I wanted to tell them that I encourage my children to have fun. I also encourage them to try their hardest. If I wanted them to play soccer just for the hell of it aspect I could save myself the registration fees and let the kids just kick it around in the yard. However I want my kids to play a team sport and learn the lessons that come with it. I want them to have the euphoria of winning at something and yeah, even the bittersweet taste of losing. I just can't be a touchy feely everyone love everyone mama who is okay putting my kid in a sport to watch him stand there watching the clouds in the sky while balls zoom past him. I also can't stomach those parents that don't believe we should have tournaments and that all kids should get medals win or lose.
I guess I am just a little to old school and certainly a lot to competetive. When my children play a game their hardest win or lose I am proud - consequently when they have an off day I don't sit there yelling at them but neither do I sit there singing their praises if the bad day was due to them not giving their all - I just offer up "better luck next time" and leave it at that.
So I guess that is why when my baby sat on my lap with tears in his eyes both sad and mad my heart broke with him. I knew where he was coming from and as sad and mad as he was I was okay that he felt those emotions and I told him so. I knew he played his hardest and he learned today that sometimes being your best doesn't win the game but that life still goes on and you just get up, dust off, wipe the sweat off your face and do it all again the next time.

HE TOUCHED ME!!

I swear that all I do is yell. I know there are better mothers out there who can use soft calming words to get their point across but I come from a long line of yellers and my parenting theory is 'if it worked for my kin, it can damn sure work for me'. Besides I am seriously out numbered here, I have 3 little boys with LOUD voices and if I were to wander around using soft calming voices nothing would ever get accomplished. Really nothing.

So I yell and some days I yell more. I have different degrees of yelling and my children are savy enough to realize that certain yells mean certain things. They know that the one I use to be heard across the chaos means they better shut the hell up and look at me because if I jump in the melee heads are gonna roll. They know that if I yell words they can't understand that I am seriously pissed and they better start kissing ass asap. I am sure the neighbors must think I beat them all the time even though I really don't - they have to assume this because I yell more than a trailer park princess and my words pretty much give me a white trash feel.

Why just today I got to hollar such classics as:

QUINN! HAAKEN! OWEN! YA'LL GET YOUR LITTLE BUTTS IN HERE RIGHT NOW!

QUINN NATHANIEL IF YOU DON'T QUIT MAKING THAT CHILD CRY I AM GONNA SLAP THE SMART RIGHT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH! (and for the record I threaten this a lot and have yet to ever deliver on it...so don't call CPS on me just yet)

OWEN LUCAS IF YOU DON'T STOP SCREAMING LIKE A TWO YEAR OLD I'M GONNA PUT YOUR BUTT IN A DIAPER AND MAKE YOU TAKE A NAP!

I BROUGHT YA'LL INTO THIS WORLD I HAVE NO QUALMS ABOUT TAKING YA'LL OUT OF IT IF YA'LL DON'T KNOCK IT OFF THIS VERY INSTANT! (again I threaten this one a lot and well they are still alive...please don't call CPS on me just yet)

HAAKEN ALEXANDER IF YOU DON'T QUIT CRYING LIKE THE UGLY GIRL ON PROM NIGHT I AM GONNA PUT A DRESS ON YA AND NAME YA HEATHER!

And my personal favorite of the week hollard in public at a soccer game Saturday after Haaken and Owen wandered off with another kid named Connor and scared the living hell out of me and caused mass panic and a search party to be organized.

IF YOU EVER RUN OFF AGAIN I AM GONNA TIE YOU TO A STAKE LIKE A YARD DOG AND FEED YOU TABLE SCRAPS (which made several parents smile and oddly enough garnered me tons of parental respect).

Like I said I yell alot - and I probably should be embarassed about it but for some reason I just can't manage it. I was yelled at all the dang time when I was a kid. People in my family used yelling to get their point across. I remember being yelled at to "FETCH ME A BEER" this was from most of the uncles. The aunts were always hollaring "GO SEE WHAT THAT CHILD IS CRYING ABOUT" when some random cousin was fussing and making a ruckus and my own mother was fond of the "DON'T MAKE ME STOP THIS CAR..." threat on any trip because we were always in the backseat doing the "HE/SHE TOUCHED ME" game. Dad was prone to hollar "GET ME MY BELT" which always got instant silence.

You would think with all the yelling I do I would have sniveling messes for kids. Nah, they are pretty well adjusted and if you asked them (and yes I really have) who yells the most in the family they always say "DAD" which means what yelling I do only has short term effects. I guess that is a good and a bad thing.

Anyhow...the boys are being quiet now. Wonder what I get to yell next....hmmm

Shut yo mouth...

Booblash...any of ya'll remember me talking about it? I once wrote a blog on myspace dealing with the effects of it. Once again I find myself on the wrong side of a rebellious titty and I have only myself to blame.

I was trying to run with Quinn. I am WAY to damned top heavy to run (not to mention flat out portly) but I gave it the ol' college try. I strapped on the best underwire in the drawer, stuck on the least stretchy sports bra, THEN wrapped the whole mess in a big ol' ACE bandage, got dressed picked out my least trashy running shoes and off we went.

We really only jogged..kind of power walked...okay he jogged I did my best dying in the desert impersonation "water...gasp, gasp...WATER..." of course that first 5 feet is always the hardest they say.

So like I said off we went. I felt like Forrest Gump especially when this old man passed me. If that son of a bitch would have flipped me off I know I could have garnered more inner strength and caught up with him and then beat him till his teeth flew out. But noooo... he had to be polite so I had to be polite.

Eventually the run was over. I came crawling into the homestretch and about that time I got a call from a friend far away...and it went something like this:

"What the hell you running for? Is someone shooting at you?"

"No, just trying to be a better more healthy parent"

"Good Lord woman, don't you know you aren't built to run"

"Yeah, seeing as my renegade left tittie Lefty took a flying leap from the fortress, wrapped around my head and hit me upside the right side, I am VERY aware I am not built for running"

"Good God, are you okay? Was there blood?"

"No I am fine, marginal hearing loss and a bit of booblash nothing an ice pack and a Mai Tai won't cure in due time"

"Did your right boob behave?"

"Yes, Poncho held her spot well. Didn't cause a moments greif, she is usually pretty well behaved. Lefty always causes problems. I have learned to adapt"

"Wonder why you have such floppy titties...what causes that?"

"Jesus man, it could be the fact they each weigh more than the average newborn. It could be because I can't afford re-bar and steel girders to encase them in. Perhaps it is the Walmart underwires that make a mockery of my boobs, or maybe it is my poor ass hillbilly genetics. I don't know..."

"Thank God men don't have that issue."

"Shut up! I have seen your testicles you are about 5 years from them being a kilt and having a horrific tripping accident on the way to the bathroom for your morning constitutional. I can see it now, the papers will read MAN ON HIS WAY TO PEE TRIPS OVER TESTICLES, RAMS PENIS INTO BATHROOM FLOOR. I bet even now you have to toss those puppies over your shoulders before you take a shit least you flush em' with the courtesy flush"

Anyhow, like a said an ice pack helped the situation. I didn't have time for the Mai Tai because this mom gig kind of calls for sobriety especially when you have to drive kids to soccer and then hold conversations with the other soccer moms. You don't want to slurr your words.

This morning Lefty seems apologetic. She is looking more perky but of course that could be the swelling too. Either way we made our peace. I hope it lasts, Quinn and I are going to try that running thing again. This time I prepared. DUCT TAPE...it is the force that holds the universe together. If it can reign in that my left titty should be a piece of cake.

Looky here ya'll - Mama is moving to blogspot!

You know...once long ago I had one of these blogamacallits. It was fun. Then I discovered myspace and got busy blogging over there. The advantages of that was I could pick and choose who read what I wrote and it sure gave me creative license to make fun of things that I found irritating. Mostly I used it as cheap therapy and the creative airing of my "dirty laundry". I made fun of myself, my children, my friends and most importantly my enemies. Nothing was sacred.

So now I ask myself "Doak (this is my maiden name and the name I call myself in heart to heart self conversations) - why on earth would you go and pick a public forum to blog in when you know damn well you ain't gonna be able to refrain from making fun of Jimbo and his ex old lady" (Doak has a good point, she always does, damned voice of reason) "Well Doak, since you asked, I am hoping that being a more public forum I will discover new material in which to blog about that has less of a potential for hunting me down and bashing in my knee caps with a softball bat" (see...this could be a good thing huh) "Well I sure hope you can bite your tongue and keep your petty bashing to the good ol' boys at WalMart and asshat drivers in SUV's that piss you off, your babies need you and damn it your mama and the baby Jesus love you, kneecaps and all"

So I am turning over a new leaf. I am sure once in a while Jimbo is gonna piss me off, he can't help it, but when I really need to make fun of what he does to keep me from cryin' my poor little eyes out I can take a little trip over to myspace and let er' rip. My other source of amusement Botox Barbie is losing her home, packing her thong undies and moving to Hawaii to peddle her wares and work on her permatan so in fairness I have to let that fade into the sunset. We had a good run but sometimes you have to let go. Goodbye Botox Barbie - have fun in Hawaii - do they have a fleet week there? Oh the places you will go....

So folks - stay tuned on this channel. We have it all here...while you are at it grab a beer (or coffee if you read in the morning and have to operate machinerey or mold young minds), get yourself comfy and let's get to know one another.