My husband never ceases to amaze me with his total lack of charm.
The man is obsessed with my ass. Always has been. And I hate to say it? But the bigger, the better. He likes his wimmins big. (And I’m pretty sure it’s because he likes that a “totally out there” ass is multifunctional> Looks good, feels good and it holds your beverages. What more could a man want in an ass?) Well, tonight the man took it to a new level, a level I had hoped he’d never take it to, because tonight, he said the following.
“Mmmm, mama, I just LOVE your buttocks. May I touch your nice, round buttocks?”
No. No you may NOT touch my buttocks. And as an added bonus? You may NEVER utter the word “buttocks” again. EVER. At least not while referring to MY buttocks because, seriously? WHO IN THE HELL USES THE TERM “BUTTOCKS” WHEN TRYING TO GET A PIECE OF BUTTOCK?
Apparently the man I am married to. The man whom I’ve been freely giving The ‘Tock to for FOURTEEN YEARS.
That’s who.
Tell me…
Why do you assume that because we don’t hold the same values I must be a bad/evil/stupid/ignorant person? Is it because you truly believe that YOUR belief system is the ONLY one?
Why can’t you accept the world does not revolve around only what you believe to be true? I have, you should try it, it only hurts this much.
Why is it necessary for you to hate people who are different than you? Is it because you are afraid of “different?”
What makes your way of thinking the only way?
pube
My boys are on a plane on their way to Texas.
I miss them so much already, and everytime I think of what Ethan said to me when he hugged me goodbye, I cry a little.
“Mom, I’ll try not to cry, but it’s going to be so hard to let you go.” (Did I not tell you? the boy is s-e-n-s-i-t-i-v-e)
Andrew, on the other hand, couldn’t get up that escalator fast enough. He’s so excited that he gets to visit with his uncle for four days!
God, I miss them already.
I’ll be spending the next few hours obsessively tracking their flights AND wondering who’s PUBIC HAIR was in my EGGS and how in the hell it got there.
And yes, I threw up a little.
TomGirl
***
Having a son who is in touch with his emotions is both a curse and a blessing.
It’s all fun and games when he’s making me look beautiful, but not so fun when he refuses to go anywhere that is “more than 4 miles away from our house” because he’ll “miss his one and only mother TOO bad.” (his words, people, his words)
It’s precious when he cries on rainy days because he feels sorry for the homeless people or when he cries during sad movies, or at the end of sad songs. Not so precious when I tell him to STOP TELLING ON HIS BROTHER ALREADY and he responds with “Oh, so I’m not supposed to care if my brother mistreats me?” To which I respond with “Well, you have to grow some thicker skin.” To which he responds with “Mom, I’m SENSITIVE, I can’t help it, I was BORN this way!!”
I love that he’s sensitive, I just wish he wasn’t SO sensitive. I love that he’s not ashamed to cry about things that hurt him or make him sad. I love that he thinks girls are the greatest thing in the world and that it’s his job to be “The Protector of Girls”, I love that he’ll play with the girls and not care if Andrew makes fun of him because, well, he can’t help it if he’s a “tomgirl”. I love that he is who he is and doesn’t care what anyone thinks. I’m so proud of him for that.
That said, it’s hard not to get upset when he’s telling on his brother for the 80th time because his brother “hurt his feelings”. I mean, come on, since when do boys HAVE FEELINGS? (Kidding! Sort of. No, really! Kidding!)
I don’t want to paint the wrong picture of my son here, because he’s NOT a crybaby, he’s one of the funniest, toughest, most outspoken little boys I’ve ever known. He’s just very in touch with his feelings and extremely in tune with his emotions. I just don’t quite know how to handle one’s “sensitive side” when the one in question was just talking about poop, farts,bungholes and really hot girls five minutes earlier.
The Sauce!
Nothing like a whole bunch of Special Sauce to alleviate the tensions of election day.
Me and the kids are going to walk to McDonalds for breakfast, then we’ll walk to the polling place so I can get my vote on.
And yes, I’m still voting for Bush.
And NO, I don’t have to explain WHY to you.
I might take my camera along and have Andrew take pictures to document my voting adventure. Or not, because I’m really not in the mood to see pictures of myself and be reminded of just how BIG I STILL AM this morning.
Yeah, I’m having one of “those” days.
I think an egg mcmuffin and a vote for Bush will make it all better.
age aint nothin’ but a number… til you CRAP YOUR PANTS
I’m becoming increasingly afraid of growing old. I’m afraid of what will happen to my body and I’m NOT talking about LOOKS.
I’m talking about not being able to control my bodily functions. I’m talking about having to wear Depends. I’m talking about becoming a hunch back. I’m talking about my teeth falling out.
There are books about growing old “Gracefully.” Ok, I haven’t read the book, but how the hell is that possible if when you get older you can’t sneeze without your teeth flying out, or you can’t laugh without shitting your pants? I’m totally serious. I’ve seen what happens to people when they age. I used to visit convolescent homes to spend time with the elderly there. I’ve seen what can happen to a persons body as it ages.
You people have no idea HOW scared I am about it. I’m so scared that when someone tells a joke about someone wearing Depends, I don’t laugh, I cry and say “THAT’S NOT FUNNY, ASSHOLE! We’re only 4 pisses away from wearing them ourselves, DO NOT MOCK THE AGED!”
Two nights ago I almost had to call 911 because of a severe anxiety attack I had in the middle of the night. I couldn’t breath, my heart was pounding so hard and I thought “I’M HAVING A HEARTATTACK!” I have suffered with anxiety for a long time, so I should know better, I should know not to let my mind lose control like that. But, it happened and it’s traumatized me.
Now, I can’t obsessing about what will happen to my body when I get older. Will my heart last? Or will I die young? Will I get arthritis and lose my ability to do the simpliest things due to overwhelming pain? Will my back hurt all the time, taking the enjoyment out of sitting and watching my kids and my grandkids?
Peeing yourself when your pregnant is one thing, but not being able to control your pee on a daily basis because your bladder gave out for good is a whole other thing and I am scared the day will come where that will be my reality.
Do you ever think of that? Of growing old and losing control of your body?
What about losing control of your MIND?
I saw my Granny lose it and, while at times it WAS funny (come on, she thought that Tiger Woods got her pregnant), it terrifies me that one day that could be me. That one day MY children wouldn’t be able to take me out in public because I was afraid the police were looking for me because they thought I had buried babies in the backyard.
This growing old business SUCKS.
Let the bleeding begin
It’s been a YEAR since I’ve had a period, which is a good thing for EVERYONE in my life because I suffer from severe PMS.
Well, I fear the ‘riod is making a comeback because I’m feeling crampy and a little PSYCHOTIC and ON EDGE.
Let me show you a little illustration of why I wanted to cut a lady at Starbucks today…
pffffffffft
I’m sick.
Sick of mean people.
But you know what I’m not sick of?
My daughters farts.
Sure, they stink REALLY BAD, but do you have any idea how much fun it is to watch this sweet, beautiful little girl rip ’em like she just don’t care?
It’s even funnier when we rip ’em together. In unison.
I love that I have a little partner in crime in the gas department.
What I do NOT love is when she rips them in public, stinking up the general area where I am standing with her stroller and people think it was ME. I’ve thought about pointing at her and saying “DON’T BLAME ME, IT WAS HER!” But seriously? How horrible would I look trying to pin the stank on my almost 3 month old infant daughter? So I just smile and let the public believe I have no manners and had some bad mexican the night before.
That’s what a good mother does.
Pop
The best audience!
***
Gabby thinks it’s HILARIOUS when I dance. I’ll put her in her swing, turn on some music and lose my mind on the “dance floor”. She smiles, laughs and even squeals out of excitement. That only encourages me to go crazy, because I loves me some attention. The only thing keeping me from throwin’ down on the ground and doing the worm is the fear that my uterus still isn’t ready for that and I might begin to bleed to death.
I can’t figure out exactly what it is about my dancing that she finds so funny, but I’m thinking that there isn’t a human being that wouldn’t find E cup boobs bouncing up and down, barely missing slapping my face and knocking me out HILARIOUS. Or, it could be the way my ass jiggles when I “drop down and get my eagle on, girrrrl” Ok, I don’t get my eagle on front of my daughter, I just said that for the shock value.
As I’m writing this, it’s hitting me HARD that I think I may need TO GET OUT MORE. I mean, I’m starting to PERFORM FOR MY 2 MONTH OLD DAUGHTER and kind of taking it seriously, even if she IS laughing at me.
Yeah, I need some adult interaction, STAT.