Mommyhood vs. He who shall not be named

I suppose it's about time I bring you a blog about my marriage.  It really helps explain yet another facet of my sarcasm and cynicism.

He who shall not be named was not a manly husband.  Husbands are suppose to keep on top of home maintenance, car maintenance, etc.  Let me be frank.  My entire marriage consisted of me being not so much a wife but a mommy he slept with.  I took care of all the cars, home, etc.  I remember when he who shall not be named was unemployed.  I said to him " hey, since you're not working, do you think you could help me out by loading the dishwasher?"  And his response was the ridiculous "no. You only love me for what I can do for you, not for who I am."

Well. At that point he wasn't completely wring.  Who is gonna love a lazy sack of crap?

Anyway.  During the marriage, we had more than one time when his wallet got left at home, when he forgot to pay his registration, etc.  Adhering to adult responsibilities was simply not something, and still is not something, he is capable of doing,  One particular time, he dropped me off at work and left his wallet for some reason in the roof of his car.  Within about an hour his name was broadcast all over the call center for which I was working and I went and reclaimed said wallet.

Our divorce has taken forever.  We made it to the mediation phase and the big hang up was our parenting plan. You see, he who shall not be named does not feel he should pay child support so he has been fighting the process for almost a year.  What do you think happened after court clinic? He who shall not be named locked his keys in his car.  Not a lost wallet I grant you but still.

I helped him.

God is very merciful.  He gently reminds you why things are as they are.  In my case, I am now with a man who doesn't lose his wallet and is happy to help out around the house because he loves me.

When my children were born my mother expressed concern that he who shall not be named might actually lose them.

I told Captain Handsome that he who shall not be named (or capitalized) locked his keys in his car at court and I thought he would have a mini stroke laughing.  Then he kindly says "you know baby, some people are just absent minded like that."  My sweet pilot.

Thank you God for small favors.

Mommyhood vs. the traveling pilot

Captain Handsome has been gone this week.  Tomorrow is 8 days and I am beginning to jones.

Things I miss due to having a boyfriend pilot (he's gone a lot!)

1. Good food.  When Captain Handsome is home, we eat well.  When he is gone, I make sandwiches.

2. Random suitcases.  Living with a pilot means an ever packed suitcase ready to go out the door.

3. Blog material.  Lets be honest.  Captain Handsome is a never ending supply if hilarity and I, quite frankly, couldn't even try to come up with some of the shit he says and does.

4.  It's quiet.  And I mean, really quiet.  CH never stops moving and fiddling about which gamer boy, scooter girl, the Barkfart, and myself, do not do.  We hit the couch like potatoes after a long day and CH just keeps on going.

5. Pilot time. 'Nuff said.

6. Toiletries.  When he is gone, the bathroom is empty and it doesn't have that sweet Captain Handsome shower gel smell that you cannot duplicate.

Things you must master due to having a boyfriend pilot

1. Patience.  Pilots are a very different but amazing breed.

2. Flexibility.  Captain Handsome's schedule changes on a dime.  Romantic date? Important celebration? He will get a call and you will be celebrating alone.

3. TRUST.  You have to know your partner is totally faithful and rely on them to maintain contact. Tonight I got a phone message from CH, who I thought was in one city, but turns out, he was in another, and loved and missed us.

4. Time zones. Zomg.

I could go on but you get the gist.

Mommy hood vs. Captain Handsome

Captain Handsome is a very good pilot.  That being said, my darling love is still a pilot.  They are like little engineers in the sky.  They are very type A and painfully organized with regards to flying.  Most pilots are devilishly sexy.  I know mine is...in addition to being incomprehensibly smart.  There doesn't seem to be anything my pilot can't do.

Except exist in the same time continuum in which myself and the kids exist.

Don't get me wrong.  My love for Captain Handsome far outweighs any weirdness but there is one unique caveat to this.

I call it Pilot Time.

Because my beloved is always on call, he exists by no clock.  When he is tired he sleeps. When he is hungry he eats.  There are no actual clocks or schedules on pilot time.  The 8-5 world simply does not exist.

We cope pretty well despite our schedule differences but CH many times isn't ready to eat at 5pm because he has just woken up!

I know other pilot partners go through this same thing.  The crazy schedule, the perpetually packed overnight bag always ready for a call....it's comforting to know there is a non 8-5 subculture that quietly exists with me.

Fly safe, baby.  Remember to wear your watch.

Mommyhood vs. the asthma attack

Fair readers...I've been absent from 

You a few days.

You see, Mommyhood has a special set of ailments. Arthritis, t2 diabetes, and this year the cream on top of my autoimmune Sunday? Asthma.

I always expected to get arthritis. Genetics determined that one so when it happened I was  mentally prepared to deal with it.  Two gestational diabetic pregnancies from gamer boy and scooter girl sealed my diabetic fate. Imagine three shots of fast acting insulin and one slow acting at bedtime for six months.  That's four shots a day for you higher math junkies. Never question why I am such a cynic folks.  Without this humor I would simply die.

Fast forward to 2013.  In mid 2012, he who shall not be named was caught by Mommyhood texting his home wrecker....what to call her? She is almost not deserving of a nickname.  I caught these texts and researched. He who shall not be named was sending over 7000 text messages per month to the home wrecker and not even answering mine. The point I am trying to make here is that my asthmatic status and onset directly coincide with he who shall not be named leaving the picture and becoming the thorn in my proverbial lung. Asthmatic humor. Gotta love it.

I admit the stress was overwhelming and I started smoking again in late February 2013.  I wasn't smoking a ton but for my already exhausted and stressed body it was definitely not what I needed but it seemed to take the edge off so I was all for it.

I met Captain Handsome by fluke a month after he who shall not be named bailed. Now make no mistake. I tried to get he who shall not be named to come home eight times and one more before my relationship with CH was sealed.  Every time he told me no.  Every time he told me I had to change my materialistic ways.  He who shall not be named caused me severe stress I blew off...but obviously it was inside, festering.

Captain Handsome was by my side immediately and knew I was very broken.  He was with me nearly nightly though retained his own residence until about six months later when he moved in.  He has told me he knew he was in love with me within about two weeks. He was flying in Peru for about five days and I thought I would die missing him. He came home and we exchanged I love yous and he has been my devoted love ever since.

And devoted he must've been because within a few weeks of being together I had my first full blown asthma attack.

It was like 2am and CH was sleeping quietly next to me. I woke up choking and very disoriented. Captain was on it fast- running for my albuterol and helping me take a few puffs.  I slept fine that night.

The second attack I had I awoke about the same time in the morning. I was nearly unconscious and severly oxygen depleted. My limbs burned and my chest was closed.  I remember struggling to reach over to alert my pilot and when I did he literally had to force the albuterol into me.  It was unrelentingly painful being that oxygen starved and had he not been there I literally might've died.

The third attack I had involved symptoms from the first two attacks. I became cognizant that I was in the bathroom though I have no memory of going there. Captain was again on me like flint and got me breathing.

After spring allergy season it seemed to abate. Emergency albuterol was only used sporadically.

Fast forward then to now. November. My stressors are high. He who shall not be named has deadbeat status and has paid nothing toward the support of the kids for 11 months.  Court clinic is looming. Captain handsome has gone to fly the Vegas hub for a week....add into it my store is coming up on Black Friday, I'm almost out of pto...times are tight....

And kaflooey.  330 am on 11-14 I start to feel tight. My breathing is shallow and erratic. Captain handsome and gamer boy have both had head colds and coughs and so I figured that's what was up with me. I was pissed but didn't feel entirely sick. It was strange.  I labored all day, unable to sleep or rest due to the lack of deep breaths and finally around six pm I said to my children "get your shoes on, now. Mommy needs a doctor."

We were in the car within moments and on our way to urgent care. I texted Captain Handsome and told him I'd gone to urgent care and was having breathing problems. "Where? Location?" He texted back. And within about 30 minutes he was by my side.

My oxygen level was 81. 3 nebulizer treatments later and with oxygen not improving, I was loaded embarrassingly into an ambulance and taken to the ER.  I was on oxygen and two more nebulizer treatments and by now I was shaking out of my skin because as many of you know, albuterol gives quite the buzz. They gave me adivan to bring my happy, wheezing ass, back down.  My family arrived for moral support and Captain Handsome never left my side.

Five hours later I was released.

This experience was horrible and I now have an at home nebulizer. My breathing continues to be terribly strained.

Moral of this blog? Stress can eat you alive, even when you don't think it is.  Find some positive outlets or just do yourself this one big favor.  Make sure your betrothed isn't a scum sucking soul eater BEFORE you marry them.  The repercussions from the stress of escaping your prison are serious and can be life threatening. This whole year I've felt relatively strong.  According to my body, holding onto the fallacy of that strength is causing bronchial stress.  

Be honest and be with your pain. I no longer have a choice.

And yes, for inquiring minds, I have escaped my prison.  

Captain Handsome vs. the Well Chewed Bubble Gum

Never a shortage of blog worthy events in the life of Mommyhood.

Captain Handsome noticed today that I had a brake light out.  Now in my marriage, he would shall not be named never would have helped me. I am not very vehicle smart and I would have been that woman at pep boys begging for assistance.  Captain Handsome, however, is adamant that myself, Gamer Boy, and Scooter Girl, have a safe and reliable vehicle to drive.

I had an appointment and CH didn't want me driving my vehicle with a brake light out so I took his truck.  I love driving his truck. It smells deliciously like his cologne and reminds me blissfully of our first date. Annnnyway......

I got home from my appointment.  Not only had my love fixed my brake light, but he changed my oil and took care of my other car fluids.  Here's the kicker. My angel vacuumed and detailed my car.  This man is my rock!

Due to Captain Handsome's diligence, however, you can imagine some humorous event had to occur.  After I cried and gushed over my vehicle, because my gentle readers, it was like the end days in there. French fries, trash,crumbs, and as I came to learn....gum.

"Can we talk about something?" Says Captain Handsome.

"Of course", I say. "What's up?"

"Gum." Says my love. 

"Gum?" I ask.

"Do Gamer Boy and Scooter Girl...do they know where to put gum after they chew it?"

I looked at him puzzled and amused.  "I would assume so."

"I found 21 pieces of chewed gum in the car." Captain Handsome says, visibly irritated.

"21?" I say, now amused.

"21." Says he. " I found it in the ashtray, stuck between the seats, in the backseat cup holders, in the carpet....." He finishes. Still visibly irritated.

"Uhm.  Do you want to talk to the kids or do you want me to?" I ask.

He immediately replies..."no, I've got this one."

My poor children.

Fast forward twenty minutes as we get home from school. Gamer boy is given a scraper and is scraping gum off the carpet, and Scooter girl is scrubbing out drink holders. Captain Handsome tells the children, "this is your moms car and she uses it to get to work and to pick you up from school. I want it to be nice for her."

Nice for me. The concept of a man loving me enough to do anything like this for me and providing my children (now also his by default) a life lesson in respect, it is just unfathomable.  At this point, I would literally jump off a cliff to make this man happy as he has done for me.

The moral of this blog, dear readers? The moral of this blog is that genetics do not a daddy make. Being a father is about boundaries, teaching moments, respect and trust.  Captain Handsome may not realize the influence and respect he has from my, now definitively our, children.  He may not realize that now, nearly a year later, he is a Daddy.  He has gone from single, freewheeling bachelor, to totally devoted family man in a years time.  His love and devotion to me has caused him to operate outside his comfort zone, to put himself in a father role with compassion and a gentle firmness that my children have absolutely accepted.

I asked Gamer Boy what he thought about Captain Handsome's daddy style and he said,

"Sometimes he really pisses me off, but I really love him."

Out of the mouths of babes.  Captain Handsome has become a parent.

Mommyhood vs. the caffeine withdrawal

Oh gentle readers.

I have learned one thing in my brief hiatus from you.

We could bring down the worlds super powers simply by withholding caffeine.

Captain Handsome accidentally bought me caffeine free diet Pepsi this week.  My free fall through withdrawal hell until I realized what I was drinking has been interesting.

Two days into this I began to experience headaches and a general disdain for life.  I know why you're thinking.  You're thinking, Mommyhood, you always have headaches and a disdain for life.  Yes, but I don't usually have a disdain for ALL life.  See?

Three days into it and I cannot keep my eyes open and have dizziness that would rock any sinus activated vertigo I have ever experienced.

So today I realize, Holy Hell, Captain Handsome, caffeine free!

Let me tell you something about my pilot.  This man does everything with me and the kids in mind, He is the most selfless and loving man and he would literally die for all of us, no joke.  When he purchased said caffeine free beverage, he did it because I have type two diabetes and he wanted it to be good for me.  This is the very same man who bought me a multivitamin (because I am severly immune compromised) handed it to me this morning and said, "here, take this, I love you."

This man is my world.

So now that I have downed an extra strength five hour energy, berry flavor, equivalent of 12 oz of coffee in caffeine content, I am seeing the humor in my caffeine addiction.  This is an addiction I do not plan to quit.

But as most blogging mamas, it got me to thinking.

Yeah, I was thinking.  What of it.

Anyway, it got me to thinking about the worlds super powers, as naturally caffeine withdrawal would. 

What it.....what if, tomorrow, there was no more caffeine.

The interwebs sight caffeine withdrawal symptoms as:

-headache

-fatigue

- dizziness

- lack of concentration

- depression

- flu like symptoms

As a side note- dizziness was my favorite, literally rendering me non functional.

Anyway, with our currently nuclear armed world, take my assumption that suddenly the world has no caffeine.

Apply above symptoms to:

Obama, Putin, Ahmadinejad, Kim Jong II.

How long before someone pushes the button?

How long before someone misplaces the cancellation codes?

How long before we reeeeaaallly fuck up as a society and get rid of term limits and reelect Obama?

This blog was meant to be funny but in actuality, our caffeine dependence is anything but.

Now pass me my damn diet Pepsi.

My drugs of choice.

Mommyhood vs. The Shoplifters

I've been a retail manager since 1993.  I have worked for some large corporations and some small corporations but one thing will always remain the same.

People.

When I say people however, I do not mean regular joe average peeps who PAY for their purchases, I mean shoplifters.

Back in the day, approaching a shoplifter was actually sort of entertaining.  There was no threat of violence, no threat of prosecution.  My various teams and I found it quite amusing and I ended up throwing more than one oversized, machismo male, out of my store.  I should also mention I have had merchandise thrown at my face and have been called every name in the book.  While managing for a large animal supplies retailer I even had a gang banger with a tear drop tattoo pick up a shopping cart and lob it at me.  Yes, the trailing of shoplifters has gotten to be less fun.

Laws protect these leeches on society you see and every retailer I've ever worked for has had rules in place to protect not only the employee but the shoplifter.  Larger retailers have in house loss prevention and these people are insured so they can tackle the ever lovin out of a thief and the ramifications are not great.

In my particular volume size however, the general rule is kill em with kindness.  Or as I like to say, get up in their shit!

The first shoplifter I ever encountered has forever remained etched in my mind and now, some 20 years later, I can still see him as clear as day.  This was a middle aged man shopping with about a four year old little boy.  To illustrate how long ago this happened I will tell you he was stuffing Disney movies in clamshell boxes into his jacket.  DVDs did not even exist.

I came around the corner to witness this man doing just as I said.  He had already stuffed like four or five clamshells in his jacket.  A clamshell, for those wondering, in the industry was an oversized plastic case for VHS with illustrative cover art.  Many of you probably still have these in your collections.  They didn't fit on the shelf with your regular VHS movies and in general just made your collection look really put of sorts.

But I digress.

So this guy is stuffing these movies into his jacket as I venture around the corner, and here is what my badass, tough as nails retail manager, clear headed, leadership in action, brain could muster:

"Hey! Put those back!"

Now I recognize in the scheme of things, a little more discretion and I could've nailed the bastard, and I further realize I could've been shot, but that wouldn't be the last time I'd be in that situation and I'm not dead so I'd say it went off rather well,

Again, digressing.

"Hey, put those back!" I say.

And do you know what he said? Can you even fathom what this scum of the earth shoplifter from the underbelly of humanity did?

He turns to the innocent, four year old little boy in his charge.  Turns to him and looks right at him and says.....wait for it.....

"Now I can't get that for you."

He says this and I am guessing puts a horrifying and unjustifiable sense of shame into this sweet, innocent four year old.  He then begrudgingly puts the movies back on the shelf and storms away with his child.

Not for nothin but that was the day I broke my own jaw as it hit the ground.

It was also notably, one of the Mommyhood defining moments of my life.  I realized that people suck. Hardcore.  And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

Here endeth the lesson.

Mommyhood vs. the Aging

I'm getting old.

I recently turned 40.

Things on the inside are changing...hair has stopped healthily growing out of my head and taken up residence on my chin.

My skin is itchy and starting to really be covered in aging spots from my beloved desert sun.

I have gray hair everywhere! Most recently, my eyebrows.  My eyebrows! Pluck them and three more appear.

I haven't had a zit in years and I've started using age defying makeup.  As a kid sunscreen didn't really exist and I am starting to count the crows feet.

All of these fun things and the one thing that makes me feel the oldest?

My revulsion of babies and pregnant women.

Today I heard a baby in my store screaming as loud as a Lord of the Rings Ringwraith.  I honestly FELT my ovaries shrivel.  My tolerance for kid related chaos is very low now that Gamer Boy and Scooter Girl are a bit older.  It's crazy to me that babies are so cute but such a exhausting nightmare.

I have never been so tired as since I had kids,  Gamer Boy came along in 2004 people!  I've been exhausted ever since.  If there is a God, his divine plan is to help us gradually along within the game of life to naturally move through phases and growing at our own rate.

This would be why small babies repulse me.  Not my own mind you,  They were perfect in everyday and even wonderful when they pooped up their own backs or puked on my favorite blouse.  It's other people's babies.  Making sounds.  Stinking. Gurgling.

This is why 40 year old women are really not suppose to have babies in my opinion.

When it comes to pregnant women I sway between feeling happy for them and sorry for them. Ahh the creation of life....but do they know they will never sleep a good and solid full night sleep again?

So here's to the hot flashes, itchy skin, and memory loss.  Here's to my hairy chin and gray haired eyebrows.

I've done my baby time and earned my badge.  Now I get to move into the grumpy old woman phase of my life with class.

Memory loss in perimenopause is a blast!

Gamer boy vs. Stumpy the Parrot

In my home we have the ever fabulous me, the captivating Captain Handsome, whom you've met, my son Gamer Boy, and my daughter Scooter Girl.  Of course, there is also Barkfart the Beagle.

But oh, I have yet to mention the other three precious, feathery souls who reside here.  My incredible parrots!

Being a parront has its challenges, though mostly for my other family members.  In the beginning, Captain Handsome was determined to be friends with Miss Sassy Pants, who is an African grey with an extremely foul mouth but a warm heart.  For me. No one else.  After several nasty bites, Captain Handsome resigned himself to the fact that Miss Sassy Pants is an intellectual and not a kitty cat, and now he simply engages her through her cage bars so as not to get tagged.  The most unfortunate skill of Miss Sassy Pants is that she can perfectly inflect the vocal sounds of he who shall not be named.  I find that desperately annoying.

Stumpy is my other African Grey.  She is a handicapped parrot with no feet who stands and maneuvers on her wrists.  Due to the nature of her disability, her greatest strength is her vocabulary which boasts at least 80 words.  With Stumpy, she still channels her former owner who had a voice like a porn star,so several times a day it sounds like a low budget Cinemax movie in the bird room.

My last parrot is a blue and gold macaw I shall refer to as LL Macaw. Laundry loving macaw, or L Mac, is obsessed with my laundry room.  She has had inappropriate relations with my dryer and enjoys destroying any feet that get in her way while she is loving on said appliance.  I will never understand L Mac....my greys are smart and inquisitive, while L Mac is a trouble maker, ever testing her limits and scaring the crap out of Barkfart, the kids, and Captain Handsome.  She is a complete terror.

On the day in question, Gamer Boy was in his room and I was in my bedroom folding the familial laundry, matching up Captain Handsome's socks, and in general just being at home.

Gamer Boy: Mooooom!

Stumpy the grey: What!?

Gamer Boy: Can you come here for a minute?

Stumpy the grey: What!?

Gamer Boy: Can you come here?

Silence.........

Gamer Boy: (still in his room) Mom! 

Stumpy the grey: What?

About this time I pick up on what has been going on and I walk across the hall laughing my ass off and say to Gamer Boy:

"You've been having a conversation with the parrot for the last five minutes."

Gamer boy, exasperated, tears around the corner into the bird room and says "Stumpy!" To which stumpy the grey bobs her head up and down and says "pffffffft."

We about died.

Life with parrots.

Mommyhood vs. the Generation Gap

Gentle readers, there are things in my life that I love and adore, but they are few and far between.  Your gentle blogger , aka, Dark Mommy, is a cynic, and generally unimpressed by, well, everything ever.

Amongst the things I love, Captain Handsome, whom I obviously worship and adore.  Gamer Boy and Scooter Girl, my beloved spawn, and of course Barkfart the beagle.

And then there is my undying, all consuming, cult like worship of........wait for it....wait for it.....

Depeche Mode.

Yeah, I said it,  I worship Dave and Mart, Andy, and Peter.  I love Depeche Mode.

When Gamer Boy was in the womb, I went to see Dave Gahan, Depeche Mode's God-like lead singer, on his solo venture, Paper Monsters.  He was enigmatic and lovely, and Gamer Boy, then only about ten weeks alive, gave me the worst in-utero cramps known to man with every bit of sound coming off the stage in Dodge Theater, Phoenix, Az.

I was determined to convince larger than a zygote GamerBoy in utero that Depeche were the sounds of angels and I use to put headphones on my belly for zygote Gamer Boy to partake in their hypnotic sounds, thinking if I exposed him enough to the beautiful and melodic rhythms that he would be born crying the sounds of "Enjoy the Silence", "Personal Jesus", and the amazing ballad of Martin L. Gore, "Home."

In short. I was wrong,

I tried the same in vain with Scooter girl.  She was equally unimpressed.

I simply do not understand how anyone of any age can shirk any of the English bands of the 80s for likes of One Direction, Justin Beiber, or dippy Lady GaGa. Depeche Mode sings are anthems to my soul and dammit, my spawn would agree with me or I would die trying.

During my recent mall trip with GamerBoy, Scootergirl, and Scooter girl's bestie from next door, I put Depeche Mode, Violator, in the CD player and proudly announced,

"Time to introduce your friend to the lyrical fabulousness that is Depeche Mode!"

Not a sound out of the backseat as I began to groove and rock.....but Gamer boy, sitting next to me, began to roll his eyes,  He is nine and I am starting to not be cool anymore.  I am nothing but an embarrassing loser to my son, a badge I proudly bear.

At this moment however, I realized in one moment that all my Depeche Mode indoctrination in utero had failed miserably, and in fact, my music, as well as myself, had become old and lame in the eyes of my firstborn.

GamerBoy turned to me, eye rolling, exasperated.

"Really mom?"
I continue drive dancing and getting my groove on until he utters the most horrible words I ever heard.

"Really, mom? You do know Depeche Mode is Sooooooo old they belong in a retirement community, right?"



I sadly looked at my firstborn realizing that we will never share that amazing bond that is Depeche Mode, and that no matter how cool and hip I still think I am, to Gamer Boy, I am old and lame.

I turn up the radio and keep singing.

Please pass me my leg Warmer's and aqua net.....and where did I put my copy of Teen Beat?

Addendum: as I read this blog to Captain Handsome he kindly reminded me to save a copy of this blog to 8" floppy disk.

Depeche Mode then

Depeche Mode Now....13 studio albums later!

Mommyhood vs. the Magic Spell

 So my cousin posted a bit strip photo of us being sinister on Facebook today and it got me to thinking.

If I could cast a spell on he who shall not be named....what type of spell would I cast?  In this scenario, btw, I am all powerful and can cast any damn spell I please.  No genie nod, no wiggling my nose like bewitched, just the power of my thoughty thoughts in all their glory.

It could be anything! I could cast something cruel like a bad itchy rash on his butt or pustules of cheese coming out of his face....or something comical.  Something comical like a penis growing out of his forehead or women sized breasts appearing on his chest.

Instead I began to think. What would torment he who shall not be named?

What would cause he who shall not be named such terror, such immobilizing fear that he simply could not function?

And then it dawned on me.

The perfect spell for he who shall not be named would actually be more of a curse.

A HYGIENE SPELL!

I would curse he who shall not be named with toenail clippers and a bar of soap!  I will require him to brush and floss and swish and spit.

It would be terrible for him.

The ultimate curse for my ex.  Showering.

Dark Mommy vs. the Mall

Today I took two little giggling girls and my son to Claire’s at the mall. This store is like the greatest hell on earth for me, but my daughter loves it. Usually she is very frugal in her spending (she did not get that from me) but today with her little friend, her swag bag overfillith with made in china crap. We’ve been home less than two hours and both girls ha e broken 8.50 a pair clip on earrings they want me to fix and are at each others throats. Thanks Claire’s.
Anyway, this is my blog. Yeah me. Whatever. I’m a hard working mom if my kids who are six and nine. I work my ass off. I want more sleep. I have over 30 employees, which means that I now have 32 kids for those that can do higher math. At home it’s mom mommy mom mommy and at work it is my name repeatedly….someday I will get a nap.
I have an insanely perfect boyfriend who is, by profession, a pilot. A captain in fact who is the love of my life. Does this mean he makes me crazy? Yes.
I have an insanely imperfect ex husband who puts a spin in things daily with his off the grid perceptions of life and all it’s wonders. Someday I won’t have to deal with him anymore. Of course by then I will probably be dead.
I am owned by three perfectly imperfect parrots and one very fat beagle with terrible gas. Between the cussing parrots and my dogs farts, it’s a zoo.
This is my life. I’m cynical and I always seem somewhat irritated, but I laugh all the time ( mostly at everyone I deal with who are stupid) and I am a snarky, snarky mofo. But I love my life. I love my pilot. I worship my kids.
And I’m still waiting for my nap.

Dark mommy vs. the too tight pants

In my existence there is a certain level of FML.  I'm not gonna lie.  I do idiotic and insanely off putting things all the time.  Today is such a moment.

It was conference call time at work and at the same time one of my employees was going home for the day and needed a bag check.  I was planning to come home and take my conference call on my phone in the car.  I had planned so my assistant would get her lunch break before I left.  She was eating her sandwich when the call for the bag check came in and I had just logged into my cell phone to do my conference call.  Dialed the number, put in the pass code, and, over the radio, "I need a manager to do a bag check please."

What's a girl who has had two kids and no memory or coordination left to do?

I say to my assistant, "here's my phone, I'm gonna do the bag check.  When she (my boss) logs in, just hit mute."

And I run out to the sales floor to do the bag check.

I run back to the break room to pick up my phone and sit down at the table exclaiming to my assistant, " dang, this zipper is stabbing my fat roll!"

I sit down and only then to I realize, I am in total conference and every one of my manager peers has heard me exclaim that my zipper is stabbing my fat roll.  My assistant is cracking up laughing.

Epic fail.

Typical me.

Now I am at home, on the couch, in my fat pants.

Store managers that openly exclaim their zippers are stabbing their fat rolls deserve to spend time on the couch in their fat pants.

Now hand me a cookie.

Captain Handsome and the fortune cookie

Last night my sweet pilot took me to dinner, he was exhausted as was I.

We went to a Chinese restaurant and ate in near silence. He was so fried.

Typical of a Chinese meal, we received two fortune cookies at the end of the meal,

Yay! Fortune cookies! I say, and I grab one and unwrap it.

I look at Captain Handsome and read him my fortune.

"That's my cookie, " he says.  " that fortune was meant for me."

"You can't steal fortunes" I say, "I call no stealing fortunes!"

Being that he was tired and crankyish I just glared at my fortune stealing pilot.  He was methodically opening "his" fortune cookie.  I hear it crack between his fingers and he looks down to read the tiny paper within the cookie.

"Never mind", he grins.  "You're right, that's you're fortune."

"Let me see that cookie, captain handsome."

Seriously?  There are no takesies backsies,

"Too bad it's a community property state.  Now I have to share my pleasant surprise and you ave to give me some of your inheritance,"

He sulked.

Captain Handsome vs. Barkfart

My pilot and I have a dog.  Not just any dog.  A fat, stinky, adorable beagle, Barkfart.

Why Barkfart?  Her single most amazing talent is barking and following it up with a huge and ominous sounding fart.

Captain Handsome had an early morning flight today and I was off at work.  Gamer boy and Scooter girl are with he who shall not be named for the weekend.

I hate when CH gets home before I do because Barkfart leaves gifts.

Today went like this:

Me: (arriving home exhausted from dealing with the sheeple) hi baby how was your day?
CH: grumble
Me: did you have a bad day?
CH: well it wasn't bad til I got home
Me: oh no, what happened?
CH: well we had a little problem with Barkfart.
Me: oh lord what'd she do now?
CH: she's outside being punished.
Me: (grinning) why?
CH: she got into the trash and ate all last weeks leftovers and trash. She's grounded.
Me: I'm so sorry you had to come home to that. She's such a bad dog! Always thinking with her stomach.
CH: yeah, we had words!
Me: (grinning)

So I come inside and on the back porch sits my timid Barkfart.  She's looking incredibly guilty.

I wander back out to the garage

Me: what'd you do to Barkfart? She's really upset!
CH: because I told her I was gonna tell you!

And yes, gentle readers, this is my life.

Captain Handsome vs. the 5pm Sugar Decree

My boyfriend, Captain Handsome, is a silent party on the subject of my ex (aka he who shall not be named). That being said he picks our kids up recently on his Saturday night.  Let it also be said that my bf and I do not let the kids have sugar after 5 pm.  I know The Captain has been less than thrilled with many of my interactions with the ex. (He who shall not be named). So last night here is what went down:

I see #1 son eating a peanut butter cup.  I say:
"Hey, what are you doing eating that, it's after 5pm"

#1 son smiles at me with a chocolate grin and says:
"captain says I'm going to my dads and I'm gonna need this."

I look over at #1 daughter who is hastily stuffing a mini Hershey bar into her face giggling.

I find Captain Handsome in the garage where I say to him, "are you sugaring up our kids before the go to he who shall not be named for the weekend?"

He grins a toothy grin at me and says, "busted."

I smile and shake my head.  "More like well played, darling, well played."