I got lost on the way to Happily Ever After...

Should anything ever happen to my husband I would never remarry.  Now for you hopeless romantics clutching your hearts with a tear in your eye, spoiler alert this blog is not about forever lasting true love.  So you might want to stop reading now, because this is where the fairy tale becomes reality.

I would not remarry as I do not believe in ever lasting love between two humans.  I do not think our species was meant to form a bond with one other for 60+ years.  We are not a monogamous species.  Very few species are actually.  Black vultures show monogamous tendencies, but that may have something to do with the fact that when one of the flock starts showing in another member of the flock who may not be his lady, the others gang up on him and beat the crap out of him.  Just yet another example of society forcing monogamy against instinct. 

I think people get wrapped up in lust...have similar interests...enjoys each other's company.  They get married...love is grand...life is magical.  Then pregnancy...stretch marks...morning sickness...expanding bellies (and I am not just talking about Mama's).  Dad watches 7 pounds of flesh shoot out of his wife's gaping vagina.  Suddenly Mom is covered with baby vomit and Dad is working a double to pay for dance lessons and real estate taxes are due and everyone is exhausted.  Dad still wants to go out hunting and play poker with the guys while Mom just wants to be able to pee without anyone watching her.  At this point it is parenting and finances that holds a marriage together, not love. 

Don't get me wrong...my husband is an AMAZING guy.  He works hard for his family but we are most definitely at the point in our lives where when the other walks out the door we breathe a sigh of relief for some alone time.  I no longer miss him the minute the door closes.  That was lust.  Sweet, sweet lust. 

My best friend is a single lady who just went out on her first date since her seperation.  I get excited for her but at the same time, I wonder why.  We should celebrate independence and the ability to support ourselves.  She has no one to answer to, no one to disappoint her.  She really has herself in a wonderful position in life, one that should be celebrated.  I am quite envious of her at times and admire her strength. 

Humans, by nature, are polygamous.  I think you would be hard pressed to find evidence to suggest otherwise.  And I am not talking like Sister Wives but talking about the satisfaction of having one mate and one mate only for life.  This idea has been forced upon us by religion, by society but never by nature.  There is several types of monogamy...social, sexual, genetic and marital.  Very few humans would pass the true test of being a monogamous creature.  Can you think of anyone who has had only one sexual partner, lived with only one person, reproduced with only one person and married that same person?  Unless you pass all those tests, then you are not a monogamous creature. 

Even before you start thinking my husband and I are part of Swingers R Us or that we are unfaithful to each other, please know neither is true.  Some couples are capable of fighting off temptations of nature and making the long haul together.  This does not mean that they are monogamous, it means they fought instinct.

The idea of love between two unrelated people is one I dismiss.  You can care for a person,  have respect for them and form a friendship with them but with time you work at it harder and harder.  I would gladly take a bullet for my children, but never for someone of the opposite sex.  Long term relationships are hard because they are unnatural to our genetic makeup.  I truly think the divorce rate has more to do with people less fighting their urges and society being more accepting of our natural instincts. 

Before you argue with me, and there will be those who can't swallow this spoonful of sugar, do me a favor.  Go to Newzjunky and read the Celebrations.  All those happy couples, grinning ear to ear, excited to start their happily ever after.  Now go and read the number of divorces filed in the current month.  The divorces far outweigh the marriages.  At one time all those divorcees believe in happily ever afters as well.  Also be prepared with hard evidence of monogamy in marriages.  Not religion based either, because to me that is society imposed, much like the black vulture situation. 

Our society is obsessed with cheating.  Just the other day I saw the front page of a popular newspaper had split the headline pic between a picture of the crazed guy who shot all those poor people in the movie theater in Colorado and a picture of Kristen Stewart who just cheated on Robert Pattinson.  Yes I can see how her affair ranks up there with the deaths of 14 innocent people.  Say the names Bill Clinton or Elliott Spitzer and the first thing you think of is their sexual escapades.  I roll my eyes at it.  Human nature people. 

However, should Brian ever succumb to his natural instincts of desiring multiple mates, I will not hesitate to evict him from our social monogamy.  And I will go on, solo...living my happily ever after!

TGIF!

Last Friday night Katy Perry danced on table tops, took too many shots and rounded out the night with a menage a trois.  This Friday night I spent the entire evening in a laundromat.  Way to make me feel like a loser, again, Katy Perry.  For real though, when did my weekends go from letting loose and getting crazy to a marathon of housework?  At what point, did this become acceptable?

So Operation Life Organization has been progressing.  It is a tremendous amount of work to organize chaos.  Let me give you a tad bit of background on the situation at hand.  My husband bought this house nearly twenty years ago for next to nothing.  It is an old (built in the 1800s) two story farmhouse.  We have four bedrooms, one bathroom, two living rooms, kitchen and hallway/foyer.  Plus two enclosed porches.  I am currently facing the dilemma of dumping money into this old house and enjoying a mortgage free life or taking the plunge and buying new.  My parents have offered us land to put a double wide on, with all the hookups needed.  Mortgage for new home or no mortgage with old home? 

Even if we decide to go for a double wide, we are a year away from making that decision.  So for now, I have to get this house whipped into shape so that I can have company over without cringing.  Not to mention I have noticed a direct correlation between how my house looks with how I feel internally.  A messy, unorganized home usually means a mess emotionally.  I have to get my life under control.  Ta-da...Operation Life Organization!

So nine rooms, two porches and a very limited schedule and budget to work with.  I am proud to say one room is 100% complete...Madison's room.  I am working on getting the other rooms all cleaned up so that I can start overhauling each room.  It feels like I have a million projects going on all at once.  I am sooo looking forward to winter when life slows down a bit and I have a chance to breathe and dedicate to just the house.  Right now I probably have 3 pickup truck loads of stuff to take to the Impossible Dream thrift store just cluttering the house in piles waiting to go.  Luckily the husband is taking them tomorrow. 

I gave my beloved a task today.  See, he is a bit of a Hoarder himself.  Really likes to hang on to stuff.  I told him when he got home from work today he had to clean our room out.  I told him he was only allowed to keep ten old tshirts.  That's it.  No more than ten.  I also told him I expected at least 3 of the 33 gallon trash bags of clothes to be taken out of our room to donate to the thrift shop.  We ended up with probably 7 or 8 garbage bags of clothing coming out of our room and I ended up using ELEVEN machines at the laundromat, including several of the triple loaders.  I did up the blankets and all the clothes that were in heaps on the floor of our bedroom.  It took several hours, over $50.00 in quarters and two bottles of laundry detergent but all of our clothes are clean, folded and put away in dresser drawers or hanging in our closet.  The room is actually clean and not a tornado of clothes.  I highly suggest for anyone facing overwhelming  amounts of laundry to bite the bullet and go to the laundromat and just get it done at once. 

While there, I did notice the scene is a bit like Cheers.  As you walk in, everyone knows your name.  The "regulars" were all greeting each other and talking about their weeks.  I felt like such an intruder.  Luckily at the end of the night my best friend stopped by.  You know a person is your best friend when they come to keep you company at the laundromat and help fold.  She had just gone on a date and just wanted to chat.  I don't miss dating.  Helping her prepare was stressful enough.  I mean what do you wear, where do you go, what do you do, what topics should you avoid?  When you first see each other how do you greet each other?  Do you hug, kiss, shake hands, curtsey?  Who pays and how do you bring up that subject?  You try to be yourself but everyone is very guarded around people they aren't quite comfortable around yet.  Do you let them think you are a gasless human or do you rip one off like you would at home?  She had decided beforehand that the subjects of farting, burping, her list of medications and any unusual body smells should be taboo on the first date.  I agreed, however at some point the truth will prevail on all those subjects. 

Truth be told is you get to know the real me through my blogs and Facebook.  The way I feel, think, am comes out in my writing.   Yet, if we were to get together in public for 99% of my readers I would be guarded, maybe quiet and shy.  Why is that the case?  Why don't we present oursevles as we are 100% of the time?  Why don't we rip farts in front of each other as it is just a bodily function and we all do it at some time or other?  Wouldn't it be easier to get to know one another without the games and being on your best behavior?  If anything ever happened to my husband, I don't believe I would remarry.  I think I would move in with my best friend, assuming she is still single and be satisfied with companionship instead of a relationship.  Why not?  We are both already aware of the farting and burping habits of each other, know the medications the other is on & are aware of any unusual body smells the other may encounter.  It's our Golden Girls retirement plan.

So Katy Perry can have her menage a trois because I have a best friend who I can be myself around 100% of the time.  Who spends her Friday night with me in the laundromat folding clothes.  Who would rather help me with my life organization than go out drinking.  I am so thankful for her in my life and also TGIF!

Keeping abreast on issues in society...

Breasts.  Boobs.  Tatas.  Melons.  Racks.  Bosom.  Boobies.  Tits.  Jugs.  Knockers.  Titties.  Fun bags.  So many names for a part of the female anatomy.  When looking up the word breast it is defined as, "Either of the two soft, protruding organs on the upper front of a woman's body that secrete milk after pregnancy."  Men, with a definition like that how have these become a object of sex? 

We use our hands and mouth during sex but yet no one freaks out when you bare them.  In fact every part of our bodies are active during sex...legs, arms, neck, back....and yet we can bare them without repercussion.  These two mounds on our chest simply store fat and produce milk, yet American society connects them with sex.  I am not quite sure why...with age those fun bags become sand bags.  Seriously...it's like taking a cue ball and putting it in a tube sock.  The fun bags have officially deflated.  They are the twins alright...Flopsy and Mopsy. 

With my first child, I had to decide whether to breastfeed or bottle feed.  I chose to breast feed and faced both positive and negative opinions on the matter.  Some of my fondest moments stem from rocking my little sweet bundles of joy as they suckled and looking into their eyes when suddenly they would pause and crack a big grin while wrapping their little hand around my finger.  I could go on and on about the known benefits of breastfeeding, but I am sure all my readers are well aware of the benefits.  Truth be told, breastfeeding is a deeply personal choice and one only the mother can make.  A woman should never be frowned upon for the choice she makes in regards to feeding her child.

That being said, if the woman chooses to breastfeed she should not face opposition to how she chooses to breast feed her child.  If she is comfortable with breast feeding in public, then so be it.  It is not her fault that those that surround her are insecure with the human anatomy.  In 47 states a woman is in her legal right to breast feed in public.  In fact in some countries, such as Taiwan, a person can be fined for interfering with a breastfeeding woman.  Go Taiwan!  I can't believe the uproar breastfeeding in public causes when we have restaurants such as Hooters and Tilted Kilt and establishments called strip clubs and yet no one is protesting them!  Go ahead and try to find a pair of shorts that are not cut directly under the crotch line or find a decent one piece bathing suit.  I can't believe the prices that manufacturers charge for strings of fabric that they pass off as bathing suits! 

Take your family to the beach and you will see more nudity on a woman than you do with a breastfeeding mother.  Hell, take your family to the mall and they will see more nudity with the people walking the mall.  The nipple is completely covered by the baby's mouth and so even if they nipple is revealed while accessing the breast for a feeding, it is for a very brief moment.  For those who oppose, try this on...DON'T LOOK!!

I went to a cookout for a friend who now lives out of state and was up visiting.  It would be the first time I met her beautiful daughter.  I walked up to peek at the baby and noticed my friend was nursing...yes uncovered.  The way the baby was held, I couldn't even tell she was nursing until I got up close.  I apologized and she was so non chalant about it, telling me if I was okay with it, so was she, it didn't bother her.  I never had so much respect for her as I did in that moment.  It was such a natural, nurturing moment.  We were at a cookout with lots of people, several of them male (and even soldiers at that) and not one person acted as if it bothered them.  I didn't see staring or drooling or jaws hanging open.  I saw people having fun and in a very accepting atmosphere.  That is how it should be. 

I made a point in mentioning that there was soldiers around based on the Facebook post that got me inspired to write this blog.  An observation was made in a Federal Building (illegal to prohibit public breastfeeding in any Federal building) that a woman was there with a crying baby.  To soothe the baby, she started breastfeeding in a room that included soldiers.  Gasp.  How dare she!  How dare she respond to her child's needs instead of neglect them until she find a germ filled bathroom!  How dare she not use a blanket to cover up her child, blocking their air flow and creating a little heat tent with the blanket that covered two sources of body heat.  Anyways, this observer was disgusted and several people chimed in to agree with her.  Included one absolute moron who made this comment and I quote, "If there was soldiers around and that person wiped it outm she was fishing. SHe was hoping a soldier would wanna share cause there are only a couple things on our mind at that point, get done clearing cause that proccess sucks and makes on...e wanna kick little kittens and stab babbys (especially if they are on a nice boobie and the baby is so lookin over the boob sayin ooooh ya im the man! look at me and you soo wanna be me) drink a very large beer and see something nakid. Its not "sexualized" its human nature. Even in africa the men still check out the danglies. Have a great day yall, I couldnt resist to comment on this too funney."  Sigh.  Obviously he was never breastfed. 

First of all, what does it matter that there was soldiers around?  You are stereotyping that all soldiers are horny and immature that they can't handle seeing a breastfeeding in progress.  I am sure there are many men who fit that stereotype, soldier or civilian, just as there are many soldiers who are accepting of a breastfeeding baby not being a sign of a woman fishing.  As a new mother with a young child I can almost guarantee you that sex is probably the last thing on that woman's mind. Would you find it as shocking to see a woman handing her child a Pepsi, filled with all sorts of toxic ingredients?  How about fruit snacks with Red 40 dye in them?  Would you be as concerned then as you are by seeing a mother feed her child all natural milk? 

All the cases of child abuse out there and no one does anything about it.  You probably know someone who you suspect is a child abuse victim and do you pick up a telephone to report it?  No, but you will gladly bash someone who is placing her child's needs over society's opinions.  Someone who is responding and tending to her child's needs. 

In that case, I would also hope those who are disgusted by public breastfeeding abstain from watching any movies with any nudity.  While you are at it, maybe you should cover your eyes when you get undressed so you don't have to look at your own breasts. 

Maybe if after she got done breastfeeding she left her breast dangling out of her shirt I would see your point of fishing for a man or attention.  Maybe if she squirted you in the eye with some of her breastmilk I could understand how upset you got over the situation.  Maybe if the kid was breastfeeding while in line to take his test to get his driving permit I could see how some might find it disgusting. 

I am someone who has been "blessed" with larger breasts.  The word in quotations is meant to be extremely sarcastic.  I have lost 60 pounds and my bra size has not budged.  I would love nothing more than to have Flopsy and Mopsy lopped right off.  Less chance of developing cancer.  Easier running without two sand bags strapped to my chest.  I mean it would be nice to sleep on my back without worry of them falling in my face and smothering me during the night.  Suck on those thoughts the next time you connects breasts to sex...

What the truck?

I was pumping gas this morning and couldn't help notice this big, jacked up, muddied truck with an overly loud exhaust peeling out of the parking lot.  It wasn't pheromones emitting from the lift kit in the truck that was attracting my attention..more like it was the cloud of fumes blowing out the exhaust pipe that left me choking as my ears wept from the sound of the tires peeling out.  Why, oh, why do men think that jacked up, loud trucks are awesome?  I think they are beyond ridiculous.  I don't look at that truck as a sexy beast but more like a fuel sucking, toxic fume breathing beast.  Peeling out makes you look like a moron, by the way.  The only people who think that is cool probably still live with their parents.  You should not require a step ladder to get in your vehicle.

I feel the same way about pimped out, low riding cars.  Sure, I loved the movies Fast and Furious and Gone in 60 Seconds.  Great movies.  However, this is Watertown, NY.  There is nothing great about drag racing down Arsenal Street past Taco Bell and KFC.  Meeting in the parking lot of Big Lots to compare engines.  That's hot.  Especially when you blast your music so loud that the bass shakes the sheets of tint off your windows. 

Now, 98% of these vehicle owners are men.  I prefer my men like my cars, decent in appearance but not too flashy, reliable, dependable with endurance. I think you can tell a lot about a person by the vehicle they drive.  I can't help wonder if the men who drive jacked up trucks or pimped out cars are trying to overcompensate for an area of lacking.  They need the loud bass to attract attention they are otherwise unable to get?  The need a car with flash to make up for what sits behind the dash?  Perhaps the lift kit is to compensate for something else that may need a few inches of expansion?   A little too Fast, making women too Furious?  No woman wants a man that is Gone in 60 Seconds!

Just my two cents....but hey, it could be the confusion from all those toxic fumes I was breathing in this morning...

The Story of Birth

Two days and no blog...I have already been scolded by someone who reads my blogs with her morning coffee.  It has been a CRAZY busy weekend!  My baby girl turns 5 tomorrow!  I spent all day Saturday organizing & redecorating her bedroom as part of her birthday present.  It turned out gorgeous!  Plus I painted a wall with chalkboard paint so now she can draw on the walls all she wants!

Yesterday we had her birthday party at the zoo!  Whew, birthday parties are so much work!  They pretty much determine your social status...the pressure!  First of all, the location sets the atmosphere.  You have to figure out an activity that will keep the kids entertained for two hours.  No one wants to be known as the parent of the kid with the lame birthday party!  Her love of animals made this an easy choice- the zoo!  Next is the invitations....the decorations...the food & drink.  Oh and the goody bags.  Oh, the goody bags...probably the biggest source of pressure in determining birthday party success.  The stores have aisles lined with cheesy, cheap goody bag fillers and as parents it is our duty to comb thru the cheesiness and find the treasures!  This takes imagination, creativity and a deep wallet. 

Luckily, Madison's summer birthday happens to fall within back to school sales.  Not lucky enough to be close enough to the start of school to score 10 cent boxes of crayons but I did score Crayola crayon boxes for 50 cents each and notepads for 22 cents each.  Plus I found these cool monkey themed goody bags with hats and noise makers.  I had to throw in some kind of food item but was really hesitant to load the kids up with sugar.  Sure, that would guarantee me a spot as the cool Mom with the kids, but the Moms would all be shooting me mental daggers.  So I went with the all natural, no artificial coloring fruit snacks.  I figured that was a good compromise!  So much fun, but so glad it is over! 

Despite the brand new remodeled room, Madison still got in bed with me last night.  I asked her if she wanted to hear about the day of her birth.  She said yes, so I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her.  I told her of how I lay in bed the night before my scheduled c-section and rubbed my belly.  I was so excited to meet her, to hold her.  I wondered what she would look like, what she would be like, who she would become.  I told her about all the people who came to the hospital early in the morning to wait for her to debut.  I explained about the doctors going in and bringing her out and how her cries were the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.  I told her how I had to be in recovery until I regained feeling back in my legs and could wiggle my toes and how hard I worked to wiggle my toes because I so badly wanted to be with her.  I told her how much we had wanted a baby and how happy we were to be her parents.  She listened to everything I had to say and in the end she said, "Mommy?"  I smiled and said, "Yes, baby girl?"  She looked at me with her sweet blue eyes and in the sweetest little voice she said, "Did you brush your teeth today?"

Simply Simplified

Simplify.  Seems like such a simple task.  Sounds easy, rewarding.  Clean, organize, reduce.  I just want to rip my hair out at this point.  Bulldoze the house and all the material things in it and start fresh.  That would be truly simplifying. 

Where did all this STUFF come from?  My house should be condemned right now.  It's very overwhelming.  I need to watch a few episodes of Hoarders to make myself feel better.  I just want to do so much, all at once.  I feel bad just throwing stuff out because I know there are people out there with very little but at the same time, I lack the time to find a needy family and get it to them.  I don't want it but I think it is wasteful to just dispose of it.  Holy cow, instead of watching Hoarders maybe I should be on Hoarders.

Why do we feel the need to accumulate so much material belongings?  We all strive for nicer, bigger, better, newer...  Until one day we are drowning in STUFF and so we decide to simplify.  Just get rid of the stuff.  In a eight room house with two enclosed porches that is ALOT of stuff.  I have so much I want to do, I need a week off because of course I try to do it all at once.  I get an idea in my head and I obsess about it until it's done but usually that ideas branches off into twenty new ideas....

In some countries this is called bi-polar disorder.

With Madison's birthday rapidly approaching, we had decided to split the girls up into their own rooms and remodel the rooms for their birthdays.  Not really increasing the amount of material gifts, but rather improving on what they already have.  So we get Paige all moved into her new bedroom and tonight I headed up to organize and clean Madison's room.  She will be spending tomorrow night with my parents as I remodel her room to surprise her with a new jungle themed room as she loves animals.

I am about half way through during my kind of cleaning.  Three garbage bags of junk removed.  One garbage bag full of giveaway, which has now been transported into a downstairs room for me to deal with later (HOARDER ALERT).  In the garbage bags are nine headless Barbies, six Barbie heads (three are still unaccounted for), a half rotted lemon that she had stuck in one of her purses ( I knew I had bought another lemon, I am not losing it!), about a dozen toys that I had previously thrown out and she must have gone through the trash to retrieve (Hoarder, jr), about two dozen stuffed animals that I had to sneak in on the sly to avoid a mental meltdown and several pieces of artwork that I struggled over.  You want to save all your kids artwork and school work but the truth is it is unreasonable to save it all.  That is called a pack rat.  So I try to pick out a few pieces that I really like and throw the rest out when she isn't looking.  I shudder at the memory of the time she discovered I had tossed out some of her masterpieces.  She threw herself down on the floor next to the trashcan, sobbing about how I don't like her artwork that she worked so hard on.  Mother. of. the. Year. 

We had several "disagreements" while I was up cleaning her room.  She, of course, sat on the bed watching a movie while I worked feverishly.  She even hushed me at one point because apparently I was cleaning too loud and it disrupted her movie watching.  I had discovered a drawing on her wall, which I told her she was not allowed to draw on the walls.  She replied it was her room and she
 could decorate it how she liked.  Wrong.  I bought several containers to separate toys into in an attempt to organize the room.  She tried to tell me they were her toys and she would put them where she wanted.  Wrong. 

I finally called it a night and will finish it up tomorrow when she goes to my parents for the night. 

I should have just got her that hamster.

Janet who?

Last night I went for a nice, relaxing jog at dusk.  By the time I got back from my 3 mile trek it was dark out.  I decided to take a dip in the pool to cool down.  Both of my swimsuits were on the line drying so I said, hey it's dark...I will just go in my sports bra and underwear.  When will I ever learn?

So first of all I grabbed a towel and walked out back in just my underwear, sports bra and tshirt.  I heard commotion next door and could see the outline of my neighbors in the dark so I ran back in the house. Like that didn't already draw attention.  I told myself I was being silly.  I mean underwear covers the same areas that a bathing suit bottom does.  Plus it was pretty dark.  So I wrapped the towel around me and snuck outdoors.  I quietly climbed the ladder and as I slipped in the pool I pulled off my tshirt and threw it to the ground. 

It was so nice.  The cool water swallowing my body in the middle of a velvety black night.  So relaxing.  Relaxing until my husband came out the back door to find out where I was.  He flipped on the back porch light, which I was okay with.  For some reason he has a flood light on our back porch.  He turned that on and of course it shines right into the pool.  Holy crap, Brian, where the hell did you buy that thing?  Helicopter Search & Rescue Supplies R Us? 

In the midst of trying to recover from temporary blindness, I didn't notice he had went back inside the house and left the freakin flood light on.  So here I am in the pool, in only my sports bra and underwear, with the neighbors outside next door.  WITH A FREAKING SPOTLIGHT ON ME.  Trapped.  I attempted taking a few of Madison's Littlest Pet Shop figurines floating in the pool and throwing them at Paige's window to try to get her attention.  I suck at pitching.  Finally I just had to swallow my pride, quickly exit the pool and run for the saftey of the house.  Lesson learned?  There is no such thing as relaxing when you are a wife/mother...

Move over, Janet Jackson, I have earned the right to Queen of Wardrobe Malfunctions.  LIke the one day that I was rocking black gaucho capris at work.  It was about 2 or 3pm in the afternoon when I felt the urge to pee.  So I went to the bathroom, had a seat and started my business.  I happened to glance down at the crotch of my pants...or perhaps I should say the lack of the crotch of my pants.  A HUGE HOLE...the entire crotch missing.  All day long.  It was probably a hole the size of a watermelon.  I wanted the toilet to swallow me right then and there.  They had been on the floor of my bedroom and I had been in a hurry so threw them on that morning.  My dog must have chewed the crotch out while they were on the floor!  I was laughing so hard when I came out of the bathroom I was sobbing.  Lesson learned?  Never get dressed in the dark, especially with clothes off the floor...

Or the time I had just woke up and was on a cleaning frenzy.  I had just thrown on a shorter nightshirt, no bra, no underwear and was a cleaning machine.  I bent over to pick up some of Madison's toys when I heard a knock at the door (a guy Brian knows).  Does anyone want to guess what was facing the door?  Lesson learned?  Never let the full moon rise in the direction of a door or window....

Pet Peeves

So for about five minutes last night I considered getting Madison a hamster for her upcoming 5th birthday.  There was the pics of a fluffy little ball of fur with eyes staring at me, the thought of how excited she would be, I could be SuperMom.  Only one thing stopped me.  Poop.  Is it really too much to want a pet that does not defecate?  Or shed?  Or expect me to remember to feed or water it every day?  The kids are still alive, isn't that enough?

Part of parenting is allowing the kids to have pets to learn to how to care and be responsible for another life.  In my pretend life where I don't have kids or stained carpets, I don't have shedding, defecating pets either.  I am thin and I own an airbrush that magically makes any problem areas on my body disappear.  And I live right in the middle of the ocean on my own island.  I look good in those big oversized, bug eyed, Kim Kardashian inspired designer sunglasses.  I wear white all the time, unstained white.  Back to reality.

Pets.  Ugh, seriously though...every parent's nightmare.  I reflect back to when we had a beta fish.  Appropriately named Poop.  (Hey my daughter was two, you pick your battles).  We nicknamed him Apple (her second choice).  For a fish that just floats around in a bowl of water all day, he was pretty demanding.  He wanted to be fed, have his water changed, not be dropped on the ground.  It got kind of outrageous.  I would just clean his bowl and try to be a good parent by asking Madison to help me feed the fish and next thing I know she would have the ENTIRE bottle of fish food dumped into his bowl.  And through that bowl of fish food, I swear Poop was giving me the evil eye. 

Katie (previously referred to as my best friend) once had a fish too.  Her story turned out to be a little bit more tragic than mine.  Her daughter got a fish for a birthday present from one of Katie's friends (friends do not do this to true friends!!).  Now Katie is a single mom, living up in the projects (or as close to the projects as you can get in Adams), with a lot on her shoulders.  She apparently thought the fish needed some sunshine...okay I can't lie...the water needed to be changed so it stunk really bad but her couch was calling so she stuck the fish outside and decided to change the water later.  It was a hot day.  The fish was on the ledge of her balcony in the direct sunlight.  Long story short, the fish, Cessia (she too allowed her daughter to name the fish), went to heaven.  Give us some credit for our kids surviving this long.

Just last night we put our dog outside to relieve himself.  When I was getting ready for bed around 11pm I heard a scratch at the downstairs bedroom window.  Oh, Dakota, I forgot we had a dog.  I would hope that if one of the kids were missing I would notice within at least an hour.  I am pretty sure he had been outside for 2.5 hours.  Just the other day we were driving down the road to go to Watertown and we passed the dog on the side of the road, running home from an apparent trip around the block.  No one even realized he was missing.  Twice in a week.  We. Are. Awesome.

On second thought, I bet Madison would like a nice immobile, undefecating, needless stuffed animal for her birthday.

Zigazig ah with aliens

I know you have all been there...in the car, in the shower, cleaning...belting out your favorite song and suddenly you realize the lyrics make absolutely no sense.  No matter how much you read into the lyrics bottom line is they are ridiculous. 

First example:  Wannabe by the Spice Girls.  "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends?"  Come on now, a guy must have penned those lyrics.  What girl says that to her guy?  Unless she is a major swinger...and then the next line should have been "And I will get with yours, until the fun time ends."  This song is to the Swingers Club what Katy Perry's I Kissed A Girl was to Lesbians of America.  And really, what is a "zigazig ah"? 

Next song is Glad You Came by the Wanted.  "Hand you another drink, drink it if you can."  Whhhaaatt?  Why?  Did you roofie it?  Are you really glamorizing getting a girl drunk so she can, "Look well on me"?

Only Katy Perry could make sex with an alien seem super hot.  I mean, after listening to E.T. I get pretty jealous that I don't have an alien beaming me up at 2am for a booty call.  If 2012 is really the end of the world, I hope aliens invade the Earth a few hours before we self destruct so that I can be filled with his poison and be stunned with his lasers.  That bitch Katy...she has everything!

And Rihanna..."Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it"....refer back to my blog on the disgusting truth about vaginas for explanation of that lyric.

For those Twilight fans, you should recognize Flightless Bird, American Mouth from the prom scene and again during the wedding.  Nice song, until you look up the lyrics.  Which of course, I happen to do in my spare time.  "I was a quick wet boy, diving too deep for coins.  All of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys.  Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair.  Stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere."  I can't.  Speechless.  Who the what?

These people make MILLIONS off writing these lyrics and my lyrical genius self (blowing the ego horn) pinches pennies.  It blows my mind.  Like rubber bands shaped as animals earned someone millions.  Hamsters on wheels.  A ticklish Elmo.  I apparently sleep too much. 

Finally Meatloaf...before I even pick on his lyrics, I need to know how did he come up with his artist name?  I mean was he eating dinner, got a call from his agent who said they would sign him right there and then if he came up with a name and so he went with the first thing he laid his eyes on?  Meatloaf just oozes sex appeal.  I can so see why you would go with it.  Anyways this loaf of red hot meat would do anything for love, but he will not do that.  WHAT IS THAT?  Way to leave us hanging and guessing!  I mean no wonder relationships are complicated, there can not be guessing games!  If I had to take a stab at what he is talking about, my guess would be he wasn't willing to get with her friends or he wouldn't zigazig ah...

An Oldie but Goodie: The Pap Fear

I love how Eve or Mother Nature takes the blame for the monthly curse on all women. I believe that Eve was home, trying to take care of the kids, keep the Garden of Eden clean and keep her nude body in shape. Adam was sitting in a hammock made of leaves and twigs, watching T-Rex take on a Raptor and Eve asked Adam to please go out and get some dinner for the kids. Adam, being the typical man, ran to the Forbidden Fruit tree because it was closer than the Allowed Fruit Tree, grabbed this illegal fruit and ran home so he wouldn’t miss as much of the fight. Eve, unknown that her husband had cheated and broken the Holy Law, took a bite of the fruit as she prepared it for the hoards of children. Bam…we all have monthly hell. It’s why it’s called MENstruation…

Being a woman has so many benefits. Periods. Shaving. Pregnancy (which the side effects could be a whole paragraph of their own…nausea..morning sickness…stretch marks…labor…leaky breasts). Menopause. And of course, the gynecologist.

I wonder at what point in life gynecologists say, hmm I really want to be a gynecologist. My sister became an English teacher because she loves literature. My mother became a nurse because she felt helping people was her passion. I work with accounting because I am good at it. So is it the love of the female anatomy? The passion for Pap Smears? Because you are good with internals? I don’t get it…

Sooo I decided it was time for me to hoist myself up into those stirrups. I have a slightly unusual paranoia about diseases of that region and truly wish I could opt for a volunteer hysterectomy. It’s on my surgery wish list. So despite my Pap Fear, I made an appointment. Lucky me, they got me in the day after I called..which happened to be today! I hadn’t had a pap smear since 2009, but not because I skipped a year. No, it’s simply because I thought to myself since I was officially an adult (30) I should break away from Planned Parenthood and get a real gynecologist. So I did. Epic fail. I went to the “real” gynecologist two or three times and she never even had me take my pants off. It’s like going to the foot doctor and he never looks at your feet. I am not even really sure what it was she did for me and then charged my insurance $137.00 for. Per visit. So back to my beloved Planned Parenthood I went. I’m a fan of Margo, although I am sure she has seen 95% of Jefferson Counties’ vaginas.

Did the normal novel of paperwork. No I don’t want a copy of your privacy policy. Yes I have insurance. Yes you can contact me and leave a message. I’m not concerned about what my Mom will think. Peed in a cup. Which I think the cups are getting smaller. Thank God I have good aim. Weighed in…at 40 pounds weight loss by the way. No I don’t want HIV testing…No I better not need Chlamydia and Gonnorrhea testing…if all that was negative in 2009 it BEST be negative now or else my husband has some explaining to do! The nurse is about to leave when she says, “Tina will be in.” Tina…who is Tina? I am now in panic mode. I love and trust Margo. She can be doing her thing at one end of the table and chatting me up about her son doing a spinning class at the same time. She is that good. So I disrobe, waist down and cover my lap with the flimsy little cloth thing that looks like an oversized dental bib to me. I say the prayer that most females say as they await for the doctor/practitioner…you know…Oh I hope I don’t have a sudden bout of gas, I hope it all looks presentable down there…once you have one vagina you have seen them all…like pumping yourself up before the big game. Just they don’t serve snacks here.

Tina comes in and I size her up. Within minutes I like her. She instantly puts me at ease and is very chatty. She is suprised when I tell her about my experience with a “real” gynecologist. She tells me that people think once they get insurance they should see a “real” gynecologist but it always isn’t in the best interest of the patient. Judging by the thickness of my chart, she may be right. I feel foolish for ever feeling like the grass was greener in another office.

So now for the big announcement. Pap smears are no longer recommended every year. Apparently the United States was the only country who did them annually and now it is every two years for women over age 21 and every three years for women over age 30. She said that because we have had it pounded into our heads that we need one every year, it may sound scary to go that long without a test but it’s actually safer to have them less often. Even if you were to get HPV, it takes three years for it to develop into cancer so as long as you go when you are supposed to all will be fine. It doesn’t apply to high-risk individuals (aka Hoochie Mama’s) but I was pleasantly suprised!

She also told me as I lose weight, it doesnt necessarily mean I will have worse periods. In fact, excess fat can lead to heavier, worse periods. It was like twenty minutes of education. Tina is my hero! She did take a peek at the plumbing to make sure it all looked dandy and recommended that still be done every year. So unfortunately that means she had to break out the Jaws of Strife. Any one who has been to a GYN knows what I am talking about. I am 99% sure that contraption was invented by the same man who invented heels, pantyhose, tampons, and underwire.

So all is well and I am all set in the female department for another year. I am done trialing new GYN’s. I am a loyal patron of Planned Parenthood. Of course if Dr. Barnes ever returns to this area, all bets are off but I doubt that dream will ever happen.  I bet Dr. Barnes never would have taken the shortcut of picking fruit from the forbidden tree....

True Story: The Vagina

**Disclaimer**  If you are not comfortable with the female anatomy or reading about sex, please do not proceed.  Very adult themes in this blog that may offend the more conservative audience.**

Somewhat recently on Facebook I noticed a picture, obviously man created, boasting the love for vaginas.  It made me giggle and sigh. 
Men...we have you fooled.  Fooled into thinking that the vagina is a sexy, mystical erotic playground.  Oozing with seduction.  I am going to break your heart.  It oozes all right...just not with seduction.  This playground has been built on top of a sewage system.  It violates many safety codes.  It may look fun from afar, but really, it's overrated and possibly a little hazardous to your health.  Bad engineering. 

I don't understand the hype about the vagina.  I am obviously quite at ease discussing all aspects of the anatomy.  So yes, I have had many conversations with many of my female friends and not a one of them raves about their vagina.  If men only had half a clue of even a fraction of the situations that occur in the "down under" they probably would "switch teams". 

I love my best friend.  Probably unnaturally so, like borderline obsession.  In fact, we have a retirement plan of living together in the Golden Years.  It will be completely sexless as we both are straight and we honestly know too much about each other's disgusting hoo-hoos.  At least once a day one of us will ask the other, "Can you smell my vagina from where you are standing?"  True story.  And most times the other can't.  Most times.  Just this morning we both revealed we didn't bother wearing underwear when we went out in public.  We have officially given up on caring about what wobbles to and fro and what hangs low (her exact words).  We are so brutally honest with each other about our bodies and we find that situations that may seem embarassing or shameful are acutally common.  For instance, the word that will make most women blush and groan...queef.  (You know you either just giggled or groaned or both).  We decided early on in our friendship that this is a ridiculous word and we are not even sure of how it became part of the English vocabulary.  We renamed in, more appropriately so, the Fargina.    Unfortunately society sees movies and porn that glamorize sex and really set us up for major disappointment.  You never see a movie star fargina in the middle of a scene.  Do men even realize what is going on or do they think you just ripped gas on them? 

But then again girls don't ever have gas.  Oh no, no.  We release glitter sprinkling unicorns into the air. 

If the sexual organs were meant to be lusted over as we do in society, should they not have been engineered more attractively?  I mean women all over are fantasizing about Magic Mike, however I am not sure what the hype is about because I could care less to go see male strippers.  The last thing I want is some man's ding dong all flopping around on stage.  For goodness sake, it looks like Squidward's nose.  Thank goodness my vagina is not closer to my face so I am not thinking about Spongebob every time I have sex!   And the vagina does not resemble a flower.  The closest thing to a plant it resembles is the Venus fly trap. 

It is a high maintenance area.  The hedge trimming alone is time consuming.  And yeast infections?  Ugh...HORRENDOUS!  Not to mention once a month the ceiling of your uterus caves in and drops out your vagina.  I just can't seem to imagine why I have a hard time viewing this part of my anatomy as a feature attraction (heavy with sarcasm)! 

You are probably thinking by now I hate sex.  Not true.  However, I am realistic about it.  As much as I would like to picture me slowly running my foot up along Ryan (Not a mispelling, sorry Brian but in my fantasies it's Ryan Gosling) Gosling's leg as he lays me down slowly I know in real life, my leg would cramp up, probably causing my toenails to rip into his skin of his calf.  Which would in turn cause him to jump up quickly, probably giving me a quick elbow to the jaw as I reach for my spasming leg.  And end scene. 

Take the much hyped book 50 Shades of Grey.  So not impressed with the book.  The whole idea is so far fetched.  A billionaire who is enraptured by a young, clumsy virgin...a virgin who goes from pure to nympho in 60 seconds.  Desperate housewives of America are just in love with the idea of fantasy sex.  In two months, they will go back to despising sex with their non-billionaire husbands who scratches his ass, mentions how sweaty his balls are, rips a fart and then tries to initiate sex. 

I wonder how many libidos I just killed.  And if you have...or think you have...the perfect vagina, keep it to yourself so I don't wallow in jealousy.  I prefer to go on thinking all women share these issues.  Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.  Bottom line is the playground is still fun to play on.  Just as long as all those play there know they enter at their own risk!

A big fat cup of FML...

Social awkwardness aside..I had a good time at the family reunion.  Good food, good company, good times.  A place to sit.  No stained clothes. 

The reunion was at the beach.  I chose to wear my bathing suit with a dress like cover up.  Not taking into consideration that upon leaving the reunion I need to go to WalMart to buy a gift for a birthday party Madison was invited to attend today.  I am pretty sure I will wind up on The People of Wal-Mart website now.  If you see me on there, please don't tag me in the photo.  Present check.  Gift bag check.  Card check.  I decided to check out the hair ribbon while there for the cheerleaders comp bows.  While browsing the ribbon I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of Madison stuffing something down her dress.  Now we have had somewhat of a recurring issue with the little one having sticky fingers.  While in Disney she stole a pencil topper.  At the time we all made a joke about how she was at least smart enough to remove the price tag before pocketing it.  With each time it has become less funny and more alarming.  I knew it was the silly putty I had just told her to put back on the shelf when she showed me.  Do I ask an associate to confront her and hopefully scare her?  Do I allow her to take it out of the store and then make her bring it back in to embarass her?  Do I just give her a stern talking to without harming her fragile ego?  I decided to nix the associate idea as I have heard far too many stories about associates who take the lesson too far.  I went with the stern talking to and making her put it back.  Stealing is my numero uno no-no.  People work too hard for what they have, you don't take it.  And now my little sunshine is on her way to a lifetime of crime.  Needless to say, I was a bit upset at this moment.  In my awesome bathing suit cover up. 

So leaving the store, neither of us are skipping or singing.  We are both in bad moods over the sticky finger situation.  I can't find the car.  It's hot.  The bags are getting heavy.  I am running late.  Ugh.  I finally find the car and notice Madison left the back window down.  In my head, I am grumbling about what the sense is to lock the car when the window is wide open.  I am about to find out the sense behind it.....

Now anyone who knows me knows that my purse is like a season finale episode of Hoarders.  I mean the crap I have packed in there could probably support a third world country.  So I decided to reach through the open window, unlock the door, put the bags and Madison in the car all before digging through the bottomless pit aka my purse for the keys.  BIG MISTAKE.  Apparently if you reach through a window and attempt to open the lock from the inside it sets off your car alarm.  Just FYI.  Standing in the middle of the packed, crazy busy WalMart parking lot, with my hands full of bags, my bathing suit cover up and flip flops on and my car alarm is screaming.  I think it took a few seconds to sink in what was going on...then I panicked and started digging through my purse, my ears bleeding from the sirens of the alarm.  I mean really, Mitsubishi, can you say overkill?  Madison starts screaming, "What's going on?!"  So I did what any sane woman would do in this situation.  I dumped my purse out right there in the parking lot.  Yes, yes I did.  Once again, I am just full of class.  I found my keys, silenced the beast and without making eye contact with anyone in the parking lot I picked up the contents of my purse.  The whole time just silently thinking F...M...L...  Now I normally hate that term.  It seems so negative.  However in situations such as the one described above, I think it is rather appropriate. 

Once again, please if you see the photos from this shenanigan, please do not tag me in it when you share it on Facebook. 

So we are in the car, riding in silence while I debate my next issue.  The birthday party Madison was invited to.  She is turning 5 in ten days.  Do you stay and supervise the party?  Do you drop and run?  I already just bought a new dress to try to appear at least on the outside as a good, decent mother.   In this case, I truly need to be judged by my cover because my chapters are 50 shades of effed up but just with good writing and a better story plot.  I prefer to look nice, rather than the hot mess I realistically am.  I get home, change into my gonna-fool-you dress...touch up hair and make up..throw on some heels.  Oh yea, I got Madison dressed too.  Luckily since I was fashionably late there was already several little girls there at the party...without parents.  Which meant I could follow suit without looking like the bearing overprotective mother hovering over her child's social situation or on the other end of the spectrum, the parent dumping the child and running for the horizon.  I did offer to stay and help, but she said she had it under control...ugh so jealous.  I don't even know what that means!  So here I am, typing away in a silent house, in my dress and heels.  A nice looking hot mess of a woman enjoying some golden silence.  And maybe now I can crack a smile and giggle about the FML moment...

Cake Boss

Hi, my name is Erica and I have society anxiety.  Not so much about going out in public to go shopping or go out to dinner but to social gatherings such as, but most definitely not limited to, baby showers, birthday parties, bridal showers, weddings, calling hours, funerals, etc.  The main reason is I suck at small talk.  I hate awkward conversations, trying to think of something to say, working the crowd, making sure my kids don't set something on fire.  For the most part, I like being home.  I like the comfort of home, I like no pressure to behave in a way that is socially acceptable.  I like Facebook.  I can comment on what I want, ignore what I want, interact with who I want....and in my underwear if I choose to (and I do quite often).  I like texting because I can have conversations while also carrying out other tasks and the small talk is eliminated.  You get right to the point.  In public you are expected to behave a certain way, look a certain way, think a certain way.  It's just awkward for me to try to conform to the social norms.  Then you have to worry about where you will sit, who you will sit with, will anyone even talk to you, what kind of food there will be and how bad it will stain your clothes when, not if, you drop a forkful on your shirt...uggghhh...I hate social situations. 

I used to love it, usually it was fueled by a few shots of Southern Comfort chased with Midori Sours or Smirnoff.  Funny how alcohol makes you braver, bolder, less aware of inhibitions.  Actually alcohol robs me of any inhibition.  **Shudder at awkward flashbacks**  I mean I remember bits of one time that I vomited all over myself and then proceeded to go back on the dance floor to shake it like a pro.  Oh the class.  I am pretty sure I am featured in a few videos on why not to drink alcohol as bad examples of how you can act when intoxicated.  This kids is Sober Sally crocheting while cooking a pot roast in the oven.  Good Sober Sally.  Oooohhh and this kids is Enebriated Erica falling down the steps at the Strand.  Bad Enebriated Erica. 

So now that I have turned into Sober Sally, social settings are just awkward for me.  Sure, 8 times out of 10 they turn out to be not so hideous and maybe even fun.  But usually I start dreading the events as soon as I am invited.  Take tomorrow.  Brian's family reunion at the beach.  After six years, I pretty much know all his family and they are all very kind to me.  My bestest friend of over 20 years is married to his cousin. It's at the beach so there are things to do.  Yet I am having a mini panic attack over it.  I have so much to do at home.  I will spend the entire time making sure Madison isn't drowning or throwing sand in her sister's eyes.  What do I wear? 

The one thing that turns a social setting into something that I look forward to is a little friendly competition.  I am one competitive bitch.  I like a challenge and I like to win.  It's why I like running.  I can race myself all the time.  I don't think it is a bad thing to be competitive.  Just because when I didn't win the Weather Word contest after playing faithfully every day I wished I was Carrie and could set the television station building on fire telepathically does not mean I am a sore loser.  Bastards. 

Off point, again, with this blog.  Soo to make this social gathering something to look forward to instead of be anxious about I decided to partake in the annual dessert contest.  This gave me something to focus on, rather than fret over the what if's.  Times like this I wish I had a Pinterest obsession like the rest of the world, but afraid to take away from my blogging & Facebook obsession I steer clear of Pinterest so I couldn't snag a nifty dessert idea from there.  I tried to Google ideas, but they are either Mission Impossible or just blah.  So brainstorm it was....and it came to me suddenly.  A beach themed cake.  No just a cake is boring and he has a bajillion family members so a regular cake would never cut it.  No, this had to be more than just a cake.  A double cake.  Layered.  With Cool Whip in between the layers?  No, too bland.  With frosting?  No, too predictable.  How about crushed fruit in between?  Perfect.  And a beach scene on top of the cake since it is at the beach.  Yeah with the sun and sand and water.  Use a lemon for the cake.  Eww...lemon will be too sour.  Okay...peaches?  Mmm.  And marshmallow clouds.  Blueberry water.  I should spell out something too...Fun in the Sun with the Perry Clan.  Perfect!  (Sorry about the dialogue between the voices in my head but I am giving you a glimpse of how my mind works)

So hours later, the cake is ready to go and in the fridge.  I am very excited about the family reunion and dessert contest and all is well in Erica land.  Moral of this long rambling blog?  Always find a way to make the best of everything, even things that give you anxiety, otherwise life will just leave you in a cloud of dust!

The Chore War

It's nice to know in this world that you are not alone.  So many of my readers have admitted that they too struggle with organization and all of life's obstacles.  I am sure I am not alone in feeling the imbalance in the responsibilities at home.  I have made a chart to compare "Man Chores"  versus "Woman Chores" at least how they apply to our home.

He-Man                                         She-Woman
1.  Lawn Care                                1.  Laundry
2.  Garden Care                             2.  Grocery Shopping
3.  Pool Maintenance                    3.  Dusting/ Windexing
4. Snow Removal                          4. Vacuuming & Mopping
5. Garbage Removal                      5. Picking up stray items
6. Grill Master                               6. Dishes
7. House Upkeep/Repairs              7. Toilet & shower scrubbing
8. Feed the animals                        8. Feed the human animals
9. Anything involving basement    9. Anything involving planning (Gifts, bills, travel)
10. Vehicle Upkeep                      10.  Cleaning out the fridge

At quick glance, this hormone driven chart may seem fair and balanced but it is far too deceiving.  Let's take a comparison of task # 1.  He gets to sit on a mower, driving around with the sun kissing his skin as he rocks out to AC/DC.  The most difficult aspect of this may be the once a week weed eating that he does maybe five months out of a year.  So maybe 20 times a year.  I do laundry pretty much 365 days a year.  It involves loading the washer, changing loads over to the dryer or hanging out the laundry, taking it down, folding, putting away.  If anyone else does it I can guarantee 9 times out of 10 it will be a mix of clothes and towels all covered in lint.  If my husband does it, it's usually loads of his clothes only.  Let's skip to # 4.  Once again, he sits on his rump.  In a heated truck.  Forward, reverse, forward, reverse.  Five months a year.  How about my # 4?  It involves bending, twisting and reaching into positions that would make a gymnast jealous.  And just as I put all the needed supplies away I guarantee the kids are going to drop a bowl of chips or the dog will roll around on the carpet, leaving behind his hair. 

Can we take a moment to take a break and also reflect on the fact that it was I who manufactured and produced minature human beings?  Once again, I got the unfair end of the deal.  Oh sure, he will try to insist that he had a part in this product, but the only thing he did was place the order.  It would be compared to going to the drive thru window at McDonalds, placing your order and then claiming that you slaved over the Big Mac.  Oh hell no, you may have wanted the Big Mac.  You may have placed the order for the Big Mac but it was me who put the blood, sweat and tears into our little Big Macs. 

So I definitely am feeling just a bit overwhelmed by the list of the Womanly Chores.  Brian can complete his chores in an afternoon and they stay completed for a week.  I leave the room after completing mine and within five seconds it is destroyed.  Sooo I think I am going to do a chores chart.  Spread the love.  I will still scrub the toilets and showers solo...I will continue being the planner and doing the grocery shopping.  There is no reason that I should be doing dishes every night that I cook dinner.  Especially with August and cheerleading approaching, I need to distribute some of this load.  Delegate.  I need time for *gasp* me.  Using Excel I managed to come up with this chore chart....
Hopefully the end to the Chore War...

	MONDAY	TUESDAY	WEDNESDAY	THURSDAY	FRIDAY	SATURDAY	SUNDAY
BRIAN	DISHES	DINNER	DINNER	TRAP SHOOT	DINNER	YARD WORK	DISHES
	MEAL CLEANUP	LAUNDRY	VACUUM	LAUNDRY		MEAL CLEANUP	YARD WORK
ERICA	DINNER	MEAL CLEANUP	DISHES	DINNER	DISHES	DINNER	DINNER
	LAUNDRY	BATHROOM		MEAL CLEANUP		LAUNDRY	LAUNDRY
		CHEER		CHEER		DISHES
PAIGE	CHEER	DISHES	MEAL CLEANUP	DISHES	MEAL CLEANUP	VACUUM	MEAL CLEANUP
	VACUUM		LAUNDRY		LAUNDRY	HELP W/ DINNER	HELP W/ LAUNDRY
MADISON	DOG	DOG	DOG	DOG	DOG	DOG	DOG
		CHEER		CHEER

Women are from Venus, Men are pains in Uranus...

It was a Wednesday.  4:30ish.  Just completed 8 hours of work and was arriving home.  The husband aka Brian had taken the day off to go fishing with his friend.  Slightly already irritated by the fact that he uses his vacation time for fishing and hunting with friends and I save mine for puking and fever ridden children, my irritation was only catapulted as I walked through the door to a still messy house.  Really, Brian, really?  You have the entire day off and don't lift a friggan finger around the house?  I shouldn't be suprised really...this is the typical man move.  I forget that dish detergent is testosterone's kryptonite.  My choices are A) Fly off the handle, dropping F bombs like Hiroshima and leave no ass unchewed or B) The icy cold shoulder smoldering in silence.  I choose the latter.  Which means I am really pissed. 
Despite having a dishwasher, I have to hand wash the dishes piled high.  Why you ask?  Because my husband refuses to do anything to fix the dishwasher.  Now I am okay with him not being Handy Manny, however pick up your damn telephone and make a call to the repair man.  Maybe if he was rocking dishpan hands, he just might be compelled to do so, but when it is just as easy to ignore the dishes in the sink, why would you?  It will end up being me, sounding ignorant on the phone as I attempt to speak repair guy lingo.  Clearly repairs and scheduling repairs all fall under the Manly Obligations Clause in the marriage contract.  He has much more tolerance for dirty dishes in the sink than I do, so I can't play chicken with him over the dirty dishes because I will always cave first.  Plus Child Protective Services might frown upon the children being in the crossfire of a dirty dishes war.  So I am hand washing all the dishes, stewing in my icy silence, my mind racing.
How do people keep their homes immaculate?  It amazes me.  I want to be them.  I want to hear a knock on the door and be like oh come in to my completely spotless house instead of being like FUCCCCKKKKK the house is a giant mess!  I want every single item in the house to have it's perfect place that it belongs.  I want life to flow smoothly and happily along.  I don't want 3 cups of ground up granola on the bottom of my car floor and I don't want to have anxiety when checking my online banking.  I am no longer sure if I am mad at my spouse or myself for lacking organization.  So over a sinkful of sudsy water, a light bulb went off in my brilliant mind.  Operation Life Organization.  I need to pull it together.  In order to do so, I HAVE to be accountable.  Which is where this blog aka online therapist comes into play.  I LOVE to blog and think I might have a talent for writing, based on the boatloads of comments I get from readers of my pieces.  So join me on my journey to Supermom-dom...I am sure there will be lots of "detours" along the way that will be amusing and hey, I just may inspire as well. 
So first things first...where do I start??  Naturally as a woman (and the one who spends the most time in this room) I choose the kitchen.  Plus I have already done a backsplash and a pegboard for my utensils and am halfway thru refinishing my cabinets.  So one room at a time, and the kitchen is where it's at.  I have decided baby steps as well.  I need to find something to organize my rolls of vacuum sealer bags, aluminum foil, ziploc baggies, parchment paper, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Also my husband has serious hoarder tendencies and he has a junk basket by the front door.  He has outgrown the junk basket and I bet 90% of it could be just tossed.  I need to tackle these two tasks. 
Dishes are now done.  Ice is starting to melt just a tad, I might speak to my husband before the night is over.  Blog started.  I leave this question with my readers and hope for some great feedback...Is every home capable of being organized and transformed into a tidy home?  How do you keep up with the tornados we lovingly call children and husbands?  What is your biggest obstacle?