Dirty Laundry

My husband usually does most of the laundry in our house since he is always flying off somewhere and needs clothes.  It is probably a self defense thing on his part since he gets clean clothes quicker doing it himself then waiting around for me to remember there is laundry to do.  That said, when he is away, I tend to forgot we even have a laundry room in the house and it soon piles up at an alarming rate.   Which is why I hate laundry.  Miss one day and soon there is a moutain of dirty underwear piled on your basement floor.  It’s a no win situation.   So I decide to make up a song about my disdain for laundry.  Before you watch it (or if you watch it), I would like to present the following disclaimers:

1.  I CAN’T SING!  If you have seen my other video, Snow Days, you will know this and are prepared for the off key howl which I call singing.  I know I can’t sing.  My husband, as well, has told me I can’t sing  (I guess the honeymoon’s over).  After 13 years of marriage, he might possibly be embarrassed by me.

2.  It is very hard to make a video (even a bad one) by yourself.  I used to be in video production in my former life so I know what it takes.   Back when I was doing video, there were plenty of warped individuals who liked to do crazy videos and found them just as hilarious as I did. Now, at 45, the amount of individuals who would willing participate in such antics with me have dwindled so I am all alone on this venture, just me, a tripod and a camera.  Even my children, who once thought I was funny, have shunned me.  My children are now at the age where I embarrass them and no longer want to help me.  They used to be willing participants and now they want nothing to do with my videos.  I am beginning to think they might not really be my kids.

3. These are not award winning videos.  They won’t go viral and many of you won’t find them funny.  That’s OK.  I think there are funny and a few of my friends do too.  My warped mind is always coming up with strange things and this is an outlet for me to be creative and have some fun.  If you find them funny, great.  We should be friends.  If not, then I’m sure there’s a cat video somewhere that you can watch.

So here it is.  Enjoy

Oh, one more thing….no laundry was done in the making of this video.

Peace,

Sue

Snow Day

So I was bored…again during ANOTHER snow day.  Came up with this parody to the song “Friday” by Rebecca Black.

I would just like to note a few things:

1. I CANNOT SING! (you’ll figure that out right off the bat)

2. The video is taken by my 9 year old daughter so its a little shaky

3. I am home alone with two kids, a dog, my computer and iMovie.  This is in no way a professional video like you see these days.  The quality sucks, but it was fun to make and kept the kids busy.

4. I hope you like it.

Peace on this snow day

Sue

So Happy It’s Christmas Eve

We’re at Def Con 5 in our house today, but not for the usual reasons, like socks that feel crumply or toast not cut right.  Nope.  It’s all because Fred didn’t move last night.

Fred is our creepy little elf on a shelf and the other morning, I was awoken at 5:00am by my daughter, who was in a panic.

Yaya: Mom? Mom?

Me: What?

Yaya:  I’m really worried.  Fred didn’t move last night.  I think something is wrong.

My eyes flew open and I froze in fear.  I felt my husband stiffen next to me.  Crap!  We forgot to move the elf.

Ever since this elf showed up, he’s been nothing but a pain in my a#$.  When I bought the elf,  I thought it would be a nice little family tradition that my kids would treasure later in life.  I had an elf when I was young. Sammy was his name and he sat on our tree as a cute little decoration.  We put him on when the tree went up and put away when the tree came down.  Simple.

Had I known the new version of this elf would be so labor intensive. I would have left the little f@%#er on the store shelf instead.

This isn’t the first time Fred forgot to  move, yet every time it happens, there is a huge meltdown in my house and the solution usually involves more work for me.  My daughter will sit in front of Fred and have a 20 minute heart to heart with him, trying to find out if he is sick, hurt, angry, or sad.  She makes rainbow loom necklaces for him and sings him songs.  Then comes the letter writing.  She will compose a letter asking Fred all the same questions she just asked him in person.

And of course, these letters have to be responded to.  Guess who gets that job?   I have enlisted many a friend to write an elf note to my kids so as not to ruin the magic.  It is freaking exhausting!

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The boy is completely oblivious to the whole process.  He was all gung ho in the beginning, but his enthusiasm lasted about a week then he kind of withered out.  Now he just walks aimlessly around the room, finger in his mouth, smelling like a porta-potty until he finds the elf.  “There’s Fred.  Can I have chocolate milk now?”    Yep, he’s done.

Now I’m a classic overachiever.  Our household motto is go big or go home.  We are known for going a little over the top at times.  So you would think this elf on the shelf thing would be right up my alley.  I mean, come on!  Putting an stuffed elf into various scenarios is right up my alley, especially the “naughty” elves.  Yet somehow, I just cannot get on board.

Maybe it because I spend so much energy the other 11 months trying to come up with new creative ideas to get my kids to do everyday things like eat, get dressed, or poop somewhere other than one’s pants that my mind is spent by December.

Whatever the reason, I just not into this fricking elf.  I cannot wait for him to fly the h@ll back to the North Pole.

Social media has added a new twist to the elf as well.  Pinterest is loaded with ideas from overly creative people with way too much time on their hands.  Who has time to think of a new idea every night let alone make a frigging calendar of it?!  And then there are the people sharing their elves in various mischief on Facebook.  Hey, look at me.  Look at my awesome creative idea.  Don’t you feel like sh@t now?  Makes all of the rest of us look like slackers.

Fred the Elf goes four wheeling

Fred the Elf goes four wheeling

I thought we were in the motherhood thing together.  Where’s the sisterhood?  Come on, ladies.  Isn’t there enough stress during the holidays?  Do we really need to add one more thing to our list?

And my daughter’s friends don’t help.  They text her each morning with pictures of what little prank their elves have done.  WTF?  I want to send these moms a text with a little emojicon flipping the bird and say what the h@ll are you trying to do to me?

Jen's elf, Percy Jingles wearing the rainbow loom bracelet and blanket made by her daughter.

Jen’s elf, Percy Jingles wearing the rainbow loom bracelet and blanket made by her daughter.

I think next year, I am going to start a new movement – M.A.M.E….Mothers Against Moving Elves.  I sure I will get many followers.  Probably go viral.

But for now, I am just glad it’s Christmas Eve so I can pack up that  floppy legged, plastic face little p@$ker and shove him in the attic….until next year anyway.

Merry Christmas

Sue

(and Jen, who said to mention she would have contributed, but the same sh@t happens in her house so why bother?  Oh, and Little Man doesn’t smell like a porta potty)

Still Mostly Sane and currently still Mamas

My ADHD Thanksgiving

5:00am – Kids come in to ask if it is time to go downstairs.  I tell them”No, go back to bed.”  Kids leave. My husband pretends to sleep.  I wish I could learn this technique.

 

5:02am – Kids are back again.  “Is it morning yet?” I tell them no…. again.  Swear under my breath when they leave.

 

5:04-5:59am:  Kids come back 17 more times to see if it is morning yet.  My “NO!” is getting increasingly louder and my words of profanity are getting increasingly more sophisticated.  My husband still pretends to sleep.

 

6:00am:  Kids return to inform me that it is now 6am and officially morning so can they please go downstairs?  I whip off covers with dramatic flair, stomp around like a 5 year old as I put on my slippers then take the kids downstairs.  My husband is laying perfectly still.  I think he is even holding his breath so as not to give away his position.  I “accidentally” slam door as I head downstairs.

 

6:02am: Kids turn on annoying Disney show and proceed to ignore it while playing on the iPad.  I put on tea kettle and hide under a blanket until my caffeine is ready.

 

6:30am: My hubby wanders down for coffee.  “Don’t you need to make cookies for your mom’s?”  S@$#T!  I start the oven and get out the mixer.   My husband gets on his iPad.  Kids proceed to fight over……well, everything.  We both ignore them.   The boy craps in his pull up.  My husband comments on how much he stinks, but makes no move to fix the problem.

 

6:45am:  Kids realize I am peacefully involved in a task and decide they would like to “help”.  Kids fight over who gets to lick the spoon.  Kids fight over who puts cookie dough on the cookie sheets.  The boy starts to eat cookie dough out of bowl.  Daughter gets bored and leaves part way through first batch.  The boy smells so bad, I have to kick him out of the kitchen.

 

7:00am:  Dad goes into his shop and proceeds to run the table saw.  Kids are now in basement with TV blaring.  I almost burn the next batch of cookies because I get distracted pinning Thanksgiving activities that I will never do with my kids.

 

7:30am:  Yell down to kids to get dressed.  Yaya comes up in a panic because she does not have a Thanksgiving day outfit to wear.  Wants to go shopping RIGHT NOW!  I inform her only Kmart in NY is open right now.  “Can we go? Is that far?”  I give her The Stare.

 

7:32am:  Spend next 20 minutes finding something for her to wear that meets her approval.  Tell her to get dressed then realize I forgot the cookies again.  Run down to kitchen to put in the next batch.

7:52am: Decide to clean up kitchen.  Jam dishwasher to maximum capacity.  Throw the rest of the dishes in the sink.  Notice the living room looks like hell.  Start picking up the living room.  Put the blankets in the basket and straighten pictures on wall.  Figure now is a great time to put the kids’ new school pictures in the frames. Put the old photos in my office and decide to check facebook.  Spend next 10 minutes watching stupid cat video someone posted.  Smell something burning.  Cookies!  S@##$T!!

Little crispy...

Little crispy…

8:02am: Rescue burnt cookies from the oven.  Kids come up to investigate smell.  Give them unburnt cookies and soda then send them back downstairs.  Dawns on me they are still not dressed.  Call them back upstairs.

 

8:10am: Search through 5 laundry baskets looking for a pair of pants for the boy.  Realize most of them are soaking in the basement because they stink like urine.  Finally find a pair.  Don hazmat suit and proceed to deal with the giant poop in his pullup.  Spend the next 10 minutes trying to chip dried poop off the boy’s scrotum as he kicks and screams that I am hurting his penis.  His sister is jumping up and down on my bed, naked, and playing “hot crossed buns” on her recorder.  Tell her to cut the crap and get dressed.  This was meet by “Oooo, you just sweared!  You owe a nickel!”   Control my urge to flip her the bird.

 

8:24am: Double bag the toxic pull up and put it in trash.  Decide to empty all the wastebaskets upstairs.  Notice laundry is overflowing in the hallway.  Need another laundry basket so I start to put the clean laundry away.  Get all the laundry sorted on bed and realize I don’t really have time to put all this laundry away.  Put all the laundry back in the baskets except the one I need for the dirty stuff.

 

9:00am:  Neighbor shows up with Dunkins!  Bow to his glory!  Send him home with a bag of not-so burnt cookies.

 

9:30am:  Realize I now have less then an hour to get out everyone out the door. Go upstairs to run shower.  About to step in and realize I never threw my jeans in dryer.  Contemplate if I can make it down through the basement in a towel without getting groped by husband or kids asking for something…..pull out pair of jeans from dirty laundry.  Think I can get one more day out of them.

9:32am: Try the shower thing again.  Just get undress when husband whips open door.  (I swear he has a camera in the bathroom)  Mentally make a note to lock door.  Husband honks my breasts and leaves.   I yell to him “we need to leave by 10:30 to get to the nursing home!”  He replies “well, you better get moving then.”  Give him the finger before I close the door.

 

9:34am: Get in shower.  Husband is back “to get his shaving stuff”.  Realize I forgot to lock door.  Hubby gets in an ass grab for good measure before leaving.

 

9:40am: Get out of shower and get dressed.  Husband knocks on door.  I remembered to lock it.  Husband comes in to take a shower while I dry my hair.

 

9:42am: Realize drying your hair while someone gropes your boobs is near impossible so I give up and put my hair in a clip.  I give my husband’s junk a honk as payback.  Realize that was not the smartest thing to do.  Escape the bathroom quickly.

 

10:00am: Down to the basement to check on kids.  Tell kids to get shoes and socks on.  Kids ignore me.  Dad is done in shower.

10:15am:  The boy comes into room crying because Dad yelled at him for peeing his pants.  I search for more pants.  Finally find a pair in the bottom of a basket.

 

10:25 Get the boy calm enough to get him undressed.  Put new pants on.  Tell him to get socks and shoes on…..again.

 

10:28am: Actually making good time.  Go out to pack up car.  Realize 6′ fake christmas tree I picked up yesterday for Girl Scouts is still in car.  Start to unpack tree.

 

10:30am:  Dog escapes as I’m bringing in tree from car.  Takes off to visit neighbor walking her dog.  Everyone stops to talk with neighbor.

 

10:43am:  Finally get dog in house and family in car.

 

10:45am:  Pulling out of driveway to make the 30 minute drive to nursing home.  Hoping Grampy’s dementia will help him forget we were suppose to be there at 11am.

 

As we head to our destination, I can’t help think about all that I am thankful for…..my kids, my husband, my family and friends.  But most of all, I am thankful that in 8 hours, I will be back home, in my comfy pj’s, snacking on well done cookies.

 

Happy Thanksgiving and Happy Hanukkah from my dysfunctional family to yours!

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Sue

Busted!

lock

A couple of weeks ago Little Man fessed up to a situation where he and Lady Bug had been pulling a fast one over on the parents.  I was impressed that my six year old came clean.  Big Man had been suspicious about what the kids were up to when he came home from work a few times.  Usually, I was making dinner whenever the dynamic duo was up to no good and Daddy came in looking for his I’m-home-from-busting-my-a$$-all-day-to-support-you-people-hug-me! greeting.  Now, the children were not selling drugs, committing murder, or any other such nonsense, but because Lady Bug is 8 going on 16, I am not allowed to divulge her personal information on-line without her express written consent or that of her legal counsel.  Really.  With that in mind, you’ll just have to trust me when I say the crime was punishment-worthy, but nothing too serious.

I would love to take credit for raising such a fine, upstanding young man as Little Man, whose conscience would not allow him to continue with the deceit.  However, I’m really not that good of a parent.  I was helping him while he was in the shower when he asked me if I keep secrets from Daddy.

ME:  Of course, not Buddy.  We’re a family.  I don’t keep secrets from Daddy, or you, or your sister.  Unless it’s a good secret, like what I got you for your birthday, or a surprise trip.  Only fun secrets.

LM:  Oh, well, I have something to tell you then.

ME:  Ok.  What is it?

LM:  (Confession, which also involved taking his sister down, as they were in cahoots.)

ME:  Oh. Well thanks for telling me about this.  You know that we’re all going to have to sit down and talk about this before bed.  You, me, daddy, your sister.  What made you tell me this now?  Sounds like this has been going on for a bit.

LM:  Well, remember this morning when Lady Bug was reading her Fancy Nancy: Super Sleuth book to me?  Remember Nancy’s sister JoJo felt guilty about taking the marble and it made her feel sick, but then she told the truth and it made her feel better?  I’ve been thinking about that a lot today.

Fancy Nancy

Thanks, Jane O’Connor.  You are an excellent parent.  Me, not so much.  I can take credit for buying your book, that’s about it.  And to be perfectly honest, I had no idea there was such a good message about telling the truth in your book when I picked it up at Target.  Well done, Jane, well done.

I know that I’m pretty lucky in lots of ways.  But specifically to this scenario, I have at least one child who picked up on the message in the book his sister read to him and did the right thing.  I also have an 8 year old who will read 124 pages of anything to her brother after breakfast.  And while I’m not too thrilled that the kiddos were teaming up together to hide stuff from mom and dad, they did have each others backs until Little Man’s conscience kicked in.  Now that’s the stuff that I hope carries them through life.  Somebody’s got to have your back.  It might as well be your brother or sister.  I can’t say that I remember being that good of a sibling to Lil’ Sis or Baby Bro and vice versa.

As for their punishment?  No screen time what-so-ever for three days, plus a weekend with no screen time at home.  And guess what?  They spent their mornings before we headed off for each day’s activities lounging about, reading.  I hope they picked up some more good messages along the way, because apparently I’ve been falling down on the job!

Jen

Camp Mommy

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Recently, a high school friend of mine posted a blog entry about how she felt that she had been slacking as a parent this summer.  As in, she felt like she hadn’t provided her kids with enough fun stuff to do.  We’ve all felt that way.  I know I have.  Just a couple of weeks ago I was feeling guilty that we had only checked one thing off the kids summer “list” of things they wanted to accomplish.  In the very first paragraph, my friend mentions that our mothers never would have felt this way.  This is totally true.  Which got me thinking. Continue reading

What’s For Dinner?

Its Thursday and I am at a crossroads….again.

Its 5pm and I just picked up my daughter from a playdate. My husband is somewhere in Podunk, USA doing whatever he does for work. So I am left to care for his spawn until the weekend. Aside from keeping them out of the ER and somewhat clean, I am also required to feed them and this is where I usually fall short.

We aren’t even buckled into the car when my daughter asks that dreaded question…. “what’s for dinner?” Man, how I hate that question. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. Because I have absolutely no idea what to feed them. Continue reading

Please Just Shut The @%#^$^* Up!

Sometimes I think my ears might start to bleed….

 

Why?  Because my kids never stop talking.  They talk ALL. THE. TIME.  They don’t even care if anyone is listening.  And when they aren’t talking, they are making random, annoying noises.  Just…. noises.  WTF?  Why?  It can be annoying as all hell, but  I have generally become proficient in tuning them out most of the time.

 

The thing I have a hard time dealing with is the questions. The Never. Ending. Questions.

 

My son is the biggest offender in this category.  He is constantly asking questions, most of the time, just for the sake of asking something.

 

Quite a few of  his questions are legit, like “what are we doing today?” or “can I have a snack?” Continue reading

All Grown Up?

It’s been awhile since I’ve had anything to post.  I think life has slowed down a bit.  Maybe the kids are getting a little more mature?  Last week I met a college friend for coffee and she was automatically looking for a Little Man story.  They were always so entertaining.  I had nothing.  Then I saw Sue on Wednesday and I told her flat out that I think that my life is getting boring.  Nothing ever happens around here anymore.   I don’t have any funny stories any more… Continue reading