Mrs. Judge, Jury, and Complete Asshat

So apparently there's a lady in South Dakota with a soapbox and a giant stick up her ass handing out judgement letters. Oh, if only I were making this up. This woman has decided to give children she deems "moderately obese" a letter condemning the slacking parents instead of the expected candy for their Halloween trick or...no, wait, that's just a trick, no treat.

I'm not sure exactly what qualifies this woman to judge other children who she probably doesn't even know (I don't know how small of a town she lives in) but she must feel that she is indeed qualified to lay down the law for these tubby toddlers and chubby children. She must have gotten her degree in Child Dream Ruining to want to traumatize these kids who only want to get candy on Halloween. That's all they want. To  play dress up, run up and ring people's doorbells, say "Trick or Treat", and be rewarded with a bounty of candy bars, skittles, and gum. It's pretty simple to them. Are they gluttonous heathens who will hoard their stash of candy and lie to their parents about brushing their teeth "extra specially good"? Of course. It's what generations of children have done before them and will probably continue for many more generations.

What's next? Teeth inspection? "Ok you little punk, you're not overweight but let's see how well you've been taking care of those teeth! I want a no cavity certificate from your dentist before I'll part with this miniature milky way." Or perhaps growth charts? "Well, you seem a little on the small side for 7. Better not risk any extra caffeinated chocolate products to stunt your growth further." Got braces? "Well, your parents are spending an awful lot of money on your teeth. I'm not going to rot them by giving you candy. Your parents shouldn't even be letting you have candy considering the mint they're paying to straighten your teeth."

I know, as a parent, I'm supposed to teach my kids to better than this type of person. Since they aren't here, however, let me say that I hope this woman's house got egged, TP'ed, AND slathered in a dozen cans of shaving cream on cabbage night. I hope she sits in her self righteous stew of indignation, bemoaning her fate "just because she was honest." When are people going to learn that there's being honest and then there's just plain being spiteful? Because let's face it, if she was truly concerned about obesity in America, ALL the kids knocking on her door would be getting the same treatment. Instead, she's singled out the ones she thinks are overweight and is making them feel like crap. Which is probably completely new to them. I'm sure they aren't picked on at school, or maybe even home. They aren't self conscious and will eventually grow up to have body image issues. No, I'm sure this will all roll off their tiny, child sized backs and they'll learn a valuable lesson from this "honest" letter and it will make them change their entire way of life.

I wish I lived in that South Dakota town because even though my children wouldn't qualify for one of her "special letters", I would leave this asshat woman a letter of my own. This is how it would read:

Dear Overly Judgmental Zealot,

Thank you so much for the inspiring words that you have decided to impart to the children of our town. I'm sure that your hurtful words haven't scarred them in the least bit. Especially Johnny Jones who has a thyroid condition, or Amy Smith who is eating her way through her hurt feelings over her parents divorce. I know that these children are thrilled to find an adult who will be "honest" with them and completely crap all over the one good holiday they've had since Easter.

I think it is fair that you get to ruin their childhood with memories of hurtful words concerning their appearance. Because it's what's on the outside that counts, right? Not how good of a person you are, how much charity you might do, or how much money you donate to good causes. No, it's completely how you look that matters in this world. Personally, I just want to thank you for teaching my child this valuable lesson.

Oh, and I'm sorry to hear that your house was egged tomorrow night. Such a shame that people can be so juvenile, don't you think?

Signed,
A Grateful Parent

Thanks for your totally unsolicited opinion! Really appreciate it!

The Sitters Versus The Standers

The girls are outnumbered in my house. Yes, there are more peen-eyes in my house than vajayjays. Even the dog is a boy. All these boys and then there's little ol' me and my daughter. We can't counteract all the farts and manly alphabet burping with our loofahs and glitter nail polish. It's like bringing a knife to a sword fight.

This is most noticeably apparent than in the bathroom. Every time I go to the bathroom I have to do the "seat inspection". You know, when you check the seat to make sure there aren't any pee droplets. Yep, it's super awesome to think that someone in your family can't seem to pee without getting urine on the seat. Sadly, I'm not even sure that it's solely the six year old. (He's the obvious choice of culprit due to his age. Unfair, yes, but technically he doesn't have as much aiming experience as his brother and father.)

I need to have this sign in my bathroom.

I wonder if this is only my house that has the dreaded curse of the drip drops or if there are households all over America with mothers wringing their hands over constant pee wiping? Is it only mothers with boys? Or is it kids in general? Is my husband thinking about the football game and not shaking it an extra time or what? (And who is the one responsible for teaching boys that "handy" little trick? Pun intended.)

It's even worse when it's one of those midnight pee runs. The ones that you're only half awake, stumbling through the halls, and don't bother to turn a light on and risk ruining your chances of making it back to sleep instead of staring at the clock and swearing. ("Jesus, just go the $%#@ to sleep already! You've got to go to work in 2 hours!") You never know what you might be sitting on because you'r not fully functioning enough to think about it. (Until you write a blog about wiping pee off toilet seats and give yourself the skeeves thinking about it.)

So needless to say, we're hoping that Team Sitter gets another player. It's the bottom of the ninth and the last batter is up and Team Stander is kicking our butts. So if you're there God, it's me, Margaret. I know I'm not dying because I had the whole menstruation thing explained to me, but I was hoping to get another one of those types. You know, the squatters, not the shakers. Thanks God, I appreciate it.

More Mom Mayhem and Maternal Paranoia

Okay, we've established that (most of the time) my life is utter chaos with 3 kids, a husband, a dog that sheds just to irritate me I think, and a house that refuses to be self cleaning to save me some time. Some days I'm not even sure which way I'm going and could use one of those "This End Up" stickers just to get my bearings. So it stands to reason that when I think I'm getting closer to the end of the tunnel with one child, I find out there's another one on the way, right?

Yup, you heard right my little dumplings, there's going to be another little munchkin in our household. Just because I was apparently teetering on the edge of insanity, but not quite there yet. Apparently, three children didn't teach me quite enough, however, because this baby came as a complete surprise. (Yes, I DO know the birds and the bees story but I thought the birds were hibernating and the bees were busy making honey.)

Pregnancy comes with it's own special brand of paranoia. It's like Pre-Mom Paranoia. Or Practice Paranoia. Getting some skills in before the need for the real deal. It starts with announcing your pregnancy. Even a woman who has never had the heartbreak of a miscarriage has it in the back of her mind. I think some women would  wait until their third trimester if the bump wouldn't already spill the beans. Why? Because we don't know what's going on in there and every stretching muscle or cramp or twinge can cause panic that something's not right. Maternal stress and worry before the baby is even born.

However, most people don't wait until they're in labor to announce the joyous news. (Or in our case "I can't believe we're crazy enough to do this again and how many people will tell us that?" The answer is 6 by the way.) The younger generation is much braver and announces as soon as the cells have divided twice. "Folks, we're 37 and a half seconds pregnant!" We waited until 10 weeks, just under the first trimester mark, and the last possible moment before my proud papa hubby took out an ad because he needed to tell someone the news. I waited another 10 weeks to announce it to my Mayhem readers so they could pop some popcorn and settle in to enjoy the carnival that my life is about to become.

Also, I needed to pre-apologize for the number of pregnancy related posts that are about to ensue. The wealth of topics that gestation brings is bountiful. Not to mention uncomfortable, hilarious and reminiscent of a comedic sitcom sometimes. So come along and be my laugh track, because I'll probably need some good chuckles to remind me I'm not really insane. Am I? Um, no, on second thought, don't answer that.

Call Me Princess Violet McCoffeebeans

Have you heard this ridiculousness about "Snoop Dogg" changing his name? I'm not sure I understand his justification. Was Snoop Dogg just not unique enough anymore? Did it just not spell out who he was as a person? Or hmm, maybe it was a career boost. Let's face it Snoopizzle, you're probably 30 seconds away from a "Where Are They Now" VH1 special.

So what's he changing his name to? Well, duh, Snoop LION. Rawr! Yes, apparently dog wasn't even manly enough by adding that second g to it. Lion is much more appropriate for the 2010 decade, don't you think? Or maybe it's a much more appropriate animal since the Snoopster hit his forties two years ago. Maybe this was his version of a midlife crisis? Most men buy sports cars, he just changes his name to a new animal.

Yeah, I can totally see the lion resemblance.

What? That's so 2012 now? He's changed his name AGAIN? Yes, apparently he stopped smoking so much ganja and realized that Snoop Lion sounds like something a washed up has been might re-brand himself and ditched the new moniker in favor of something else. (And quick side bar, does anyone else think he looks like "Urkel: All Grown Up" in this picture?)

The brand spanking new name? Snoopzilla. Oh, yes, I can definitely see the appeal. So much more manly to be an extinct species that only exists in Jurassic Park movies and animated cartoons. Yep, I can see how this name might seem more fitting with your hipper, fresher vibe. Ok, no, I can't really see it at all. When did making up asinine names for yourself become a "thing"? Do we regular people get to do this or is this something reserved only for people with enough money to bribe bored officials to process the paper work with a straight face?

So thusly, I've decided that henceforth you shall all address me as Princess Violet McCoffeebeans. It is a name much more befitting of my station. Which is of course a woman who likes to drink coffee and whose favorite color is purple.

Captain Clutter: The Sequel (Dun Dun DUN!)

This past summer left me overly proud of accomplishing some clutter clean up that had been driving me crazy for some time. (And when I say overly proud, I mean just-had-my-first-child-and-convinced-he's-the- smartest-and-cutest-baby-in-the-entire-history-of-all-babies-born-ever proud.)

Unfortunately, Captain Clutter and his mischievous men took advantage of my distracted soccer mom mentality these last two months to stealthy sneak back into my house. What kind of sick bastards take advantage of a woman juggling three kids and their school activities, a full time job, and a house, and a dog that sheds so much hair he should be bald by now? The kind that leave behind stacks of paper that "can't be thrown out yet", junk mail hidden under magazines, and clothes that are two sizes too small from my kids. All my beloved progress...poof!

This time, however, I've made a realization about my clutter-ific tendencies. I can't say no, or, well, not without some serious guilt accompanying it. If someone is trying to foist off their belongings and ask me if I want it, I really feel awful if I say no, no matter how politely I can think of phrasing it. I don't know why I feel this way. Clearly they've already been motivated to de-clutter and are looking for victims, I mean recipients, of all the extremely useful and obviously unnecessary items in their own house. So why should I have guilt for rejecting their cast offs? Why shouldn't they say, "I don't want this crap in my house anymore." and I respond with, "Sure, I'd love more crap in my house even though your house is twice the size of mine and this was clearly too big for that much space but it won't at all be noticed in my much smaller house!"

For example: My mother-in-law has recently retired and has found all this extra time in which she can scour the corners of her house for things that have been there so long they've probably been overlooked as part of the scenery. She asked if I wanted a brand new, never even been taken out of the box, waffle iron. Immediately I think, "Hmmm, I don't have a waffle iron. I could make waffles if I had a waffle iron. The kids would love waffles for "breakfast as dinner" night. I could be a Mom super hero if only I had a waffle maker!" So I say sure. Then I realize, where am I going to put this waffle iron? There was probably a good reason I didn't have one and that reason was more than likely capacity related. As in: This house is already at max capacity! (Although I'm totally keeping the waffle iron and its Super Mom powers.)

I also realized why exactly my bedroom always look like Captain Clutter and his Messy Menagerie hit it the hardest: That's the room where things go to die. Or be sold on eBay. Or stored until I can find my own unsuspecting victims. Basically, it is the house closet. All the crap is taken from the main living areas and the kids rooms and shoved out of sight into the master bedroom. I guess one crappily cloistered room is better than six, right?

So continues the battle between good and evil. And by good I mean me. Evil is, of course, that cleverly foul fiend Captain Clutter. Victory shall be mine El Capitan! Just wait! Muah ha ha ha ha!

The Review You've Been Waiting For

Remember when I said that I had a ton of shows coming up that I was trying (and failing) not to be interested in? I know you've all been waiting with baited breath to find out the verdict of what I thought about them, right? Well, I shan't disappoint you any longer!

The Crazy Ones- This is the new Robin Williams show. Week one's pilot was extremely disappointing. I spent the entire 22 minutes of show wondering how a comedic great like Robin Williams could have produced a sitcom so dreadfully boring and lackluster. I was willing to give it another week and I am glad I did. The second show produced great big laughs from the non-stop barrage of banter and quips that Robin Williams is so well known for. Since I have a mixed reaction so far, I've decided to give it another week to completely win me over. Or not. Verdict: On the fence.

The Michael J. Fox Show- This one premiered the same night as Robin's show and was just as much of a stinker. I was extremely dismayed to see that they couldn't live up to Michael J. Fox's reputation. Or maybe it was just the reputation I think he should have? While it was genius to incorporate the Parkinson's as a story line, some of the characters fell flat for me. (The oldest son and the aunt) I was willing to give it another go and the next week, while better, was not as much as a laugh fest as I was hoping for. Since I'm a glutton for punishment, I'll try another week. Verdict: On the fence, but tilting towards the ground at an alarming angle.

Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.- Oh boy, a spin off from The Avengers movie. (Which I loved by the way.) Do I wish it had hunky Thor or any of the crime fighting team we all know and love? Yes. Am I enough of a comic turned movie nerd to love this show despite its lack of green meanies or hunky hotties like Captain America? Absolutely. Besides, after all the Dancing with the Stars and CSI's, it's just different enough to be refreshing to my television viewing palate. Verdict: Definitely a keeper. As long as it doesn't get canceled.

Sean Saves The World- I was intrigued by Sean Hayes' return to network television. Who didn't love him as Jack in Will & Grace? (Personally I think the show should have been called Jack & Karen since they made the show.) I was a little skeptical by the premise of a single Dad but, hey, it's Sean Freaking Hayes! After last week's premiere, which was luke warm at best, I'm hoping this means there is only room for improvement. Considering I'm not in love with about half the characters though, this is one sitcom that's probably heading for a heart break. Verdict: Fell off the fence and it's going to take a miracle to get me back up there.

The Blacklist- This was the show that managed to entice me during previews with the sinister and creepy James Spader and the fresh off the farm FBI agent who's his puppet. Unfortunately, that's currently as far as it's enticed me since I have all 3 episodes chillaxing on my DVR list. The problem is, once I have 3 accumulated of any show (unless I'm trying to savor them), I'm usually starting to talk myself out of watching them. After all, how excited am I to watch this show if they're piling up week after week? Verdict: If it survives the DVR purge, it might be worth considering. Otherwise it might join Sean at the Heartbreak Hotel.

And based on the recommendation of a few of my co-workers, Back in the Game (With James Caan) is apparently chuckle worthy with a chance of a few good LOL's. Personally, I'm still trying to work up the enthusiasm to watch the 2 hour premiere of Grey's Anatomy so you can say I'm running a little behind.

T.G.I.O. (Thank God It's October)

Well, I can officially breathe a sigh of relief that I survived yet another September. Yes, I made it through 3 sets of school pictures, 3 fundraisers, 2 cases of sticker shock over the cost of the older two kid's yearbooks, a soccer schedule, 3 open houses, one grueling search for a calculator that is so expensive it can almost qualify as a piece of NASA equipment, and a partridge in a pear tree. Now that it's over, I can finally enjoy October.

I always have this picturesque scene of how October should be in my mind. There will be colorful foliage and crunchy leaves on sidewalks. The air will be crisp but there will still be plenty of blue skies and good weather for weekend outings like football games and apple picking. I'll start baking again since the weather is cooler and we can once again start to enjoy the heartier meals like casseroles, pastas, and stews. Life will basically be a Norman Rockwell picture (or a Hallmark commercial).

Ah, the simple life in October.

Until reality sets in. Reality is this: Weeknights are still as hectic as they were in September because there's still homework and after school sports and activities. I still have to schlep kids somewhere and we have the middle child's birthday party (which is a sleepover with a giggling gaggle of girls). I'm over worked, underpaid, and losing a great deal of my sanity. I barely make it outside on the weekends because when I'm not catching up the large piles of laundry, I'm sprawled in a chair, thanking my lucky stars I'm not shlepping myself to work or hauling children around. Nice weather, I should be outside, blah blah blah. This soccer mom is sucked dry of her energy, and quite possibly, my will to ever move from this couch again. Until Monday morning.

The only thing I might be even close to doing from my Rockwell scene is baking. Probably because for something I got suckered into volunteering for or maybe even to say "Thank you for buying this crap from my kids' fundraisers" to my co-workers. (True story.)

I'll probably even forget that October is just as chaotic as September and even do something crazy like offer to make a robot costume for the youngest boy for Halloween because I've made one before for the middle child. Of course I'll forget that the arms for the robot were a colossal fail and the girl complained the whole time we were trick or treating or that gluing the aluminum foil to the box was a pain in the a$$.

As much as I'd love to keep venting about how October and I are at odds, I have to finish making brownies for the last day of soccer tomorrow. I'll just do some meditation breathing and comfort myself with the thought that November will be better. What? The kids have a 5 day holiday in November? I need a nap.

Save The Drama For Your Mama!

Have you heard about the lottery winner who wants his life to go back to normal? "Wild Willie" Seeley and 15 of his co-workers split a $450 million jackpot. He wants to go back to being paid every other week and has even gone so far to call his winnings a curse. Here are some reasons I'd like this problem, or if you will, curse:

Hello new closet! And new bedroom and new bathrooms and new backyard. Yes, I'd upgrade this old house  to OurHouse 2.0: A sleeker, more spacious version of our current house. Nothing that looks like I need to start having a chauffeur or start eating Grey Poupon or anything. But I could probably be talked into 2,800 square feet. At almost 3 times the size of OurHouse 1.0, it would be an extreme upgrade!

Being able to stop being "the cheap old broad". Have you heard the saying "I pinch pennies so hard I make Lincoln scream"? We didn't coin the phrase, we just live it. I'm one of the few people I know who actually writes down their budget every month. Just once I'd like to be able to fly by the seat of my pants and walk into Target and buy something unplanned. That's right, living on the edge! Just pay the bills willy nilly, not when I have them penciled in according to my bi-weekly paychecks. I'd like to stop "cooking the books" in my house.

Hello cook, what's for dinner? Ah, yes, remember my lotto fantasy that involves dumping the stress of menu planning and cooking and having someone to do it for me? It's still on my list. In fact, it might have moved up higher than number 1. I don't know what number that is, but that's how much I wish I could have a personal chef.

Actually, I changed my mind about the chauffeur. Oh, not for me of course. For the kids. And their 20 different activities and clubs and events that they have to be carted to, dropped off at, or picked up from. Can you imagine the stress free life of having someone drop you off at the school band concert, no fighting for parking, no getting there 35 minutes early just to grab a parking spot that doesn't make you walk a half mile to the school entrance? Doesn't that sound lovely?

Two words: new furniture. Without dog hair, sippy cup spills, sweat stains, or kid grunge. Yes, I know that I'd have to get new furniture again once the children are grown and gone, but it would be worth it to have 3 whole weeks of clean furniture. (Let's be realistic, that's probably as long as it would stay clean.)

A big ass garage. Yes, I want one of those ridiculously hideous 3 car garages. I want me and the hubby to be able to park the cars in the winter so we can be lazy and not have to shovel it all off PLUS have an extra bay to store the crap that seems to live in garages. With a one car garage, accumulating that crap means you're probably scraping ice off the windshield in zero degree weather. (This probably involves some swearing too.)

Are there downsides to coming into a large sum of money? Hell yes! Would I like the chance to prove that I'm up to the challenge? Most definitely. So if you're listening Lotto Fairy, I could really use your help.

This is how most of my lotto tickets look.

The Veruca Salt Syndrome

Have you ever noticed that when you have a specific diet restriction it becomes the only food that you really want? Or is it just me? There is something about taking a food away from me that makes it that much more appealing. It could be considered "forbidden fruit" but I like to call it the Veruca Salt Syndrome.

Do you remember Veruca Salt from the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie? (Not the creepy one with Johnny Depp, but the original feel good movie with Gene Wilder.) She was the spoiled brat who sang the song about wanting what she wants and wanting it NOW. That's how I feel when I'm told I can't have something to eat/drink. I revert to a 4 year old.

Remember this charming little lady?

Fasting blood work and can't have coffee? Well, first of all, separating me from my coffee is always a dangerous situation. Above and beyond that though, now I can only think about getting to my coffee. It's an obsession. I have to have that sweet, dark nectar of life affirming caffeine. I'm planning the earliest morning blood draw so that I can pour the coffee into a to go mug to keep it hot so that I can have it the second that needle leaves my arm. I actually debate asking if they can hook me up with a coffee IV (well, while you have that needle stabbed into me anyway...) so I can get my fix that much quicker.

Pregnant and can't have deli meat? How badly do I want a sandwich? Is it in my thoughts every day? Am I dreaming of Subway and Panera and running through my supermarket deli section grabbing hunks of deli meat like a cave woman? You betcha! Most women mark X's through the calendar until delivery. Mine was until I could have a turkey sandwich again.

If they ever told me that I couldn't have salt because of high blood pressure, I'm sure that I'd want potato chips, ham, and a salt lick. Just bring me the salt shaker and I'll be happy. Diabetic and can't have sweets? Well, this one might just kill me. I love me some baked goodies and treats. Plus, to be a baker and then not be able to sample those delectable desserts still warm from the oven? Torture.

Now that I think about it, I should have my doctor to tell me that I absolutely, positively can NOT eat green vegetables and whole grains.