The Lost Little Dish

We all know that men are very visual. And I like to make things very easy for big daddy, so I created a little tutorial for him. How in the world someone can get a dirty dish to the sink....right above the dishwasher, but not actually INTO the dishwasher defies all logic to me.


I figured I would give mah man a tutorial. Men like pictures and stories, so I combined the two. Feel free to share this with the men in your lives, including any children of the XY chromosome variety as well.

This is a dirty dish. He looks sad. He is lost.

He needs to find his way home. This is his home.

It is so easy to help this lost little dish. Look! You can open his door!

And help the little dirty dish home to his dirty dish family.

I love a story with a happy ending! Hooray!

Will let you know how this pans out. I am guessing my crazy silly hubby will probably respond with a smartass email....of which, of course, I will share. : )

Random Chaseisms

Overheard at a table in Applebee's (way too loud) .... "Can we stop talking about VAGINAS?"

This morning... "I dreamt of lemons. I wanted to buy them and you wouldn't let me. You should let me do things in my own dreams."

Also this morning... "Why don't you like sharks? Because they bite? I bet Daddy could beat up a shark if it bit you."

Recently.... "Why are you such a little mom? You can't be the boss when you are so little."

Yesterday... "You should not kiss Daddy. He is stinky. You should only love the little and cute ones in the house."

And my recent fave... "Mommy, you are beautiful as butter. Wait. I mean a butterfly."

Thrift Store Thursday!

Bet you thought I disappeared. Or maybe hoped I did?

But like Rachel from BB 12...

"I'm back, b*tches!"

OK, OK, I know that is not Rachel. But it is close, no?

Clearly, she is not my favorite on the show.

Speaking of these...

...how about some thrift store fun?

Cute little Amish kid?

Or homage to psycho freak Isaac from Children of the Corn? You decide.

Now, seriously, who is going to buy this?

Why, this lady right here.

She was seriously hovering over me as I was taking the picture and POUNCED on the Angel Soft, well, angel the minute I stepped away. I feel quite sure I overheard "score!" under her breath. Yeah, you sure snagged that from me, sister. You win. I have a feeling if I would have picked it up, she would have beat me about the head and neck with one of her filthy Crocs. I just wasn't willing to risk it, even for art such as that.

Even Jesus can't believe the heinousness of that painting.

And in conclusion...

I am happy to announce that I was finally able to complete my collection of "Urines of the World". You can't imagine how hard it was to find the rare "PA Rehab Ex-Con" specimen. Yesssssssssss!

Thrift Store Thursday...It's Baaaaaaaack!

Did ya miss me?

Ya missed me, ya missed me, now ya gotta kiss me!

OK, I am a little punchy. Blame it on the 100 degree plus weather and a day of Chuck E Cheese and Toy Story 3. I do be FRIED, friends.

But I also managed a thrift store trip. Woot!

Let me say that I scoured the NC thrift stores while vacay-ing in NC. My nieces were excited to help me search out the crap (Hi Kay-Kee and Bug!) but alas, no crap was found. I guess NC'ers either a. have no crap, or b. like their crap and keep it.

But I am back in Pennsyltucky, and (What? The hell you say...?) there are loads of crap here. Buttloads.

Witness...

It is an animal... type... thing....yeah. And it is made of....shells. Surely a one of a kind craptastic creation!

But as I walked along the back wall, lo and behold...

The OCD in me was tempted to walk it back across the store to pair it to its mate, but then I thought to myself, hey, self, nobody needs two of those. I mean, dang, that is too greedy. There are not enough shell animals to go around, people. Let's make it a limit of one per customer.

Now, I ask you, why the hell is this woman so happy? I can honestly say that in my 30-plus years of vacuuming experience, not once have I felt such joy when doing this task that I had to throw out my arm in a Broadway-esque pose and say "ta da!" She has such a look of pure bliss on her face as well. And to think, these were the days BEFORE Prozac. She has either been hitting the sauce, or is super-jazzed about cleaning her groovy sunken living room. My bet is on the consumption of many, many Harvey Wallbangers.

And while Betty Jean was busy tidying up before the Mister came home from a hard day at the office, little Lisa was busy whipping up brownies, courtesy of a powder packet, water, and a light bulb...

Note that the little pink box says "Child tested since 1965" and from the looks of this package, that would have been just one short year ago. Yes, they were actually selling this. But hey, a little botulism is a small, small price to pay for a nostalgic trip down memory lane.


This, I love. This, I almost bought. It is sort of the grouch's answer to a welcome sign. I like the no-nonsense approach. It is kind of like, "Hey, good to see you! Come in, sit a spell! And if you act like a bitch I will throw you right out!"

But I thought it might send the wrong message. Seeing as how my husband likes to tell me I can be abrasive, I guess I should go with a cheery Welcome! sign instead.

And, by the way, to said husband, when he calls me abrasive, I tell him to kiss my ass.

What...? Is that wrong?

He loves me, but...

There is nothing like the little kid climbing in bed with me in the morning for some cuddles.

This morning he slipped under my blanket and wrapped his arms around my neck. "Mom. Mommy. You 'wake?"

"Mmmmm..."

"You the most byootiful mommy. I'm always gon to stay with you."

"That is sweet, bud."

"I always gon hug and kiss you. I always gon love you."

Now I am good and awake. "I love you, too, baby boy."

"Mom. Never mind. You need to brush your teeth."

Fickle little brat.

Random Sundayisms

...and I think I shall speak of myself in Third Person, 'cause I am just feelin' sassy (obnoxious) today.

Tracy thinks:

1) ...that in her next life, she wants to be a cat. Not some random scagged out stray, but a pampered puss. The fatter they get, the cuter they get, and they do a lot of resting in the sun. Attitude is expected and tolerated. You also have help that brings you food and keeps your "bathroom" clean. Downside is that you lick yourself to bathe, but the tradeoff seems minor.

2) ...that a screening of "Fatal Attraction" should be required for any man applying for a marriage license. Just watched it again, and that is one scary bitch.

3) ...that it is damn funny when the four year old accidentally says something racy. Case in point, yesterday he exclaimed, "Now, where is that hooker?" while trying to find the latch hook-thingie on his bicycle helmet.

4) ...that she can do laundry all fah-reaking day long, and there is always something in the hamper to wash. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? It is like some sort of evil magic trickery.

5) ...that Junior High drama doesn't necessarily stay in Junior High. As some men seem to not mature past about 12 years old, neither do many women, I am finding.

6) ... that she loves her Kindle. And this confirms Book Nerdiness. And this is okay with her.

7) ... that people who leave the "t" sound out in words like "Martin" should be slapped. Hard. Same goes for those who insist on using the word "conversate".

8) ... that Red Bird candy sticks just might be the world's most perfect food. And that Jonathan Rhys-Meyers might also be the same.

9) ... that super-gluing the toilet seat in the down position is looking better and better every day.

10) ...that these would be perfect t-shirts to get Dave for Baby-Daddy Day. Only I would be afraid he would actually wear them.

And finally...

11) ... the oil gusher that is driving shrimp and crab prices up may cause us to cancel the 3rd Annual H Shrimp and Crab Feast. This will also cause cancellation of my annual drunken jackass picture that I take of me and Dave. But, but, but...it's TRADITION!

Because you know you want to see more of this.

Adventures in swimsuiting...

...or "How Not To Spend Your 41st Birthday".

Turning 41 is sort of like stubbing your toe. It is not tragic, like say, turning 40, but does make you want to yell out, "GAH! Son of a.....ugh....mother f....." You know, like when you kick the corner of your dresser in the night when you get up to pee in the dark. Hurts, but not life-altering.

So, what to do on your forty-first birthday?


First off, I annoyingly insisted to everyone that I was changing my name to "Tracy QuatroUno" for the day, and they must refer to me as such.


Now what? Hmmm.....mani, pedi, maybe a massage...? Oh, I KNOW!


Get a mammogram and then go try on swimsuits. Yesssssssssssss! *fistpump*


Or at least that is what I did. I mean, you can do something dull and boring like go to dinner, have drinks with friends, or go out clubbing. *Yawn.*

The mammy was a follow up appointment on my right girl so it was only a one-sided boob squish. Still, not all that fun.


The real fun followed when I had the BRILLIANT idea to go try on bathing suits. Oh, frolic and joy.


Let me say that the bikini days are probably over. Yeah, that. Just leave out the "probably". So I moved on to trying on one-piece ensembles. Sort of eeeeasing myself into the old lady one piece Hawaiian-print swimdress look.

The first one I tried was a cute little purple number:

And hell to the no, I am not posting a picture of myself in above-referenced suit. Suffice it to say, I looked somewhat like this:

After trying on a few (and throwing each one to the floor in disgust in toddler-tantrum fashion 'cause I can be really mature that way), I finally decided on a tankini. Yes, I am aware that horizontal stripes are pretty much a no-no, but this was a suit I didn't hate/want to shred/pour lighter fluid on/dance around fire, chanting, "I win, I win, I win!"

Maybe I ought to just join one of those religions where they only wear "modest" swimsuits.

Club Bebe

Apparently, there's a party goin' on up in hurr.

A new sign appeared on the boys' door this morning...

What do you mean you can't read it? Come on now, it is clear as mud. Let me help here.

This is apparently the entrance to "Club Deth" and if you are smart, you will heed the "Do Not Enter" warning, complete with several skulls and crossbones. Watch out, too, 'cause this joint is "gardid". Probably by a couple of sawed off "gards".

To which, I said, "Um, Hunter, say what?"

And he tells me, "Mom, it is not really a club of deth. That is just to scare off people we don't want in our room."

(Duh.)

"...and if someone wants to come in, they have to sign in on the paper. If we don't want them in there, we will just cross them off."

You will note that both Hunter's and Chase's names are at the top. Well, being owners and "gards" and all...

And my name is labeled "VIP" at the top left corner. (PS, Mom, really, you should have just spelled my name with an "e" in it ferpete'ssake. My 5 year old even thinks that is how it is spelled.)

So far, sadly, Dad has not made the cut.

I think they just let me in for the laundry and nightly turn down service. You don't want to piss off the help, after all.

My blog's carbon footprint? Really?

It never occurred to me that my blog could have a carbon footprint. But I got this email from a cool group and thought I would share it... Here are some excerpts:

I am part of a young team in Germany, working for an initiative called "Make it green!". Our goal is to contribute our part in reducing the carbon footprint by raising awareness of the severe environmental damage caused by carbon emissions . One of our activities is to raise awareness of the carbon emissions resulting from the use of the internet - specifically of blogs. A blog with 15,000 visits a month has a yearly carbon dioxide emissions of 8 lb.

(OK, I can only dream of 15,000 visits a month, but wowza. That is a staggering amount.)

How do we actually neutralize your blog's carbon footprint? We are planting trees in cooperation with the Arbor Day Foundation in Plumas National Forest in Northern California for our project to neutralize the carbon footprint of blogs. Thousands of wildfires burned down many national forests over the past ten years and 88.000 acres of Plumas' were destroyed by two fires in 2007. To help replanting we need the support of bloggers all over the world! For every participating blog we plant a tree. One blog - one tree.

So here is my post, and there is my new coolio button in that column over "thar" >>>>>>>

Scroll down....down...a little farther. Yep. That one.

I am totally a tree-huggin' mama, so plant a tree for me, my new German friends!

Danke schön !

Chase-isms

This morning while checking out the box of dinosaur fruit chews, the littlest kid tells me, "You know, dinosaurs are in-stinkt."

(Proud mom...) "That is right, buddy. Very good."

Wow, it actually sunk in when we talked about extinction! Score one for awesome me!

"And what does that mean?"

"It means you have to run from them because they smell bad."

Yeah. We may need to work on that some more.

So, maybe singing will be his forte.

Just heard him playing on the computer, singing songs along with some music on Sprout. He's got the B-I-N-G-O song. (Go, little kid, go!)

Now...Row, Row, Row your boat... And I hear...

"Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary...life is down the drain!"

There's always hope for a football scholarship I suppose.

Good Choices and Destruction

Ah, winter... Time for snow, cold, cabin fever, and hijinks.

My kids are officially stir crazy and getting into everything. Thereby making me stir crazy as well.

Remember way back...when I wrote about Destructo Baby? Well, leave him to his own devices, and he now has become Destructo Kid. Today I discovered a lovely smiley-faced stick figure kicking a ball drawn on the top of my leather-covered coffee table. When confronted with said picture, he made a grimace like "whoops" and said, "But I did it on purpose and I am sorry."

Um, say what?

Witness one of our laptop keyboards.

And this is after I had replaced the "s" key which he had removed and oh-so-slyly replaced. Only backward. The kid has no game.

Asked about this, you get the same response. I guess he should get some points for honesty. Then again, when asked who ate all of the whipped cream out of the fridge this morning, I was informed that we have a ghost in the house. And that is who did it, darn him.

The middle kid is also looking at creative ways to send me to the loony bin. This week, it is all about making bad choices and good choices. His bad choices take him off of the computer for the day (oh, the horror!) to which I am informed that I am no longer his "very best favorite friend." So, the future lawyer (or con artist, not sure which...) has proposed a little compromise. Ok, he will take the bump off of the computer, but maybe not for the whole day. Maybe if he makes good choices, then he can earn the privilege back? Hmmm... Sounded good to me, and I admired his problem-solving skills and initiative.

Until he then immediately started walking around the house, looking around, and saying things like this...

"Um, Mom, I was going to give the cat a haircut and then I thought I had better not. I made a good choice, right?"

"Yeah..."

(Pauses, walks, looks around...)

"Mom, I was going to give you a Karate chop, and then I stopped. I made a good choice, right?"

"Ummmm, well, yes, but..."

"Mom, you are the best mom from here to the moon. I told you that when I thought it, so that was a good choice, right?"

(Me, the dim bulb, figuring it out...) "Yes, and thank you, I love you, too, but that isn't how this works. This ain't my first rodeo, cowboy."

Deviant little turds. Gotta love 'em.

Thrift Store Thursday and the Littles' Dictionary

Thrift Store Thursday! Slim pickin's this week, sad to say... Guess I need to wait for yard sale season for the truly heinous and grotesque.

Remember when I said that there was nothing more icky to me than the thought of buying lingerie and underwear at the thrift store? I stand corrected and present to you, the following...

Oh yeah, I want to adhere some rubber boob covers to my skin. You know, ones that have already been attached to a stranger's shweddy hooters.

Rut roh, raggy.... Fido got into the catnip again.

Is this not the most scraggly jacked-up bird you have ever seen? Makes you wonder what the criteria is for the workers at the thrift store to actually throw something in the garbage. "So it has wires protruding at the wings...so the feathers are hanging off in chunks in places...so one of the feet only has two toes and one eye is hanging off... We can still SELL IT! YESSSS!"

Friends, I am a native Floridian, and I can tell you that we are not known for our owls. Note that they tried to tie in to something we actually ARE known for by throwing a couple of random oranges in the front. It would kind of be like going on vacation to Arizona and buying a kitschy little, oh, polar bear or something. Whooo Whooo Whoooo actually buys this sh*t? Why, tourists who stop at Stuckey's, that's whoooooo! (*rimshot* thank you, thank you...)

Yep, that's a butt. You know, on second thought, this is not such a bad thing. What better way to tell the world to kiss your ass before you have finished your coffee in the morning without having to actually verbalize it?

And to wrap things up, a couple of random entries from the Dictionary according to the Littles:

(Chase) Salt and Pepper Channel: the "snow" you see when it is not on a broadcasting channel. (As in "They're heeeeeeeeeeere...")

(Hunter) Vagina: A woman's penis.

Yeah, I know. I have some work to do.

I've come to realize...

(Special thanks to Bri for posting on her FB page. You helped me out with a long-overdue blog post until Thrift Store Thursday tomorrow!)

I’ve come to realize that my body. . . sure ain't what it used to be.

I’ve come to realize that my job. . . is the most rewarding thing I have ever done. The pay sucks, but the fringe benefits are awesome. Where else can you get peanut butter and jelly kisses and underarm farts?

I’ve come to realize that when I’m driving. . . I have less road rage than I used to. Maybe I just needed to get away from that South Florida traffic. I still have a way to go, as evidenced by a little voice coming from the back seat every so often when stopped at a light..."JEEZ! Come on lady! It doesn't get any greener!" Oops.

I’ve come to realize that I need. . . less than I ever thought I would. The love of a good man and being blessed with three kids makes me warm and fuzzy. Or maybe I just need to shave my legs.

I’ve come to realize that I have lost. . . my mind. But luckily the kids are too little to be embarrassed by it. So far, they think I am a hoot and a half. Yeah, give 'em time...

I’ve come to realize that I hate it when. . . I cannot use the bathroom alone. Seriously. How many people does it take to help Mommy pee? Apparently, three.

I’ve come to realize that if I’m drunk. . . I get ridiculous and hit on college-aged waiters. With my husband sitting right there. Laughing at me, to boot.

I’ve come to realize that money… doesn't buy happiness. But I seriously doubt it buys sadness either. I would love to test that out.

I’ve come to realize that certain people. . . just don't get it. Period.

I’ve come to realize that I’ll always. . . miss my dad. It doesn't matter how much time has passed, thinking of him and the night we lost him feels like a punch to the gut.

I’ve come to realize that my sister... is my very best friend and I would do anything in this world for her.

I’ve come to realize that my mom… is the reason I am the person I am today. She was a great role model and I know I am truly blessed to have her.

I’ve come to realize that my cell phone. . . will always have features I just can't quite figure out. Curse you, Blackberry.

I’ve come to realize that when I woke up this morning. . . I knew my day would be spent outside. First clue, Chase whispering, "Mom...Mom..." and dangling his snow boots in front of my face.

I’ve come to realize that right now I am thinking. . . about getting on to this transcription job. It calls me, but I need to wait until the heathens are in bed.

I’ve come to realize that my dad. . . was a rock star. I had the fun, cute, hilarious dad... the one your friends just love.

I’ve come to realize that today. . . was fun, despite the looming PMS. I feel it comin' y'all. Take cover.

I’ve come to realize that tonight. . . is going to be Transcription Mania.

I’ve come to realize that tomorrow. . . will be more of the same. My Morning of Solitude (aka both boys in school until 11:30) will not be spent with Regis and Kelly or Judge Judy. Damn.

I’ve come to realize that I really want to. . . get on the bathroom remodel project. Bye, bye fifties pink tile!

I’ve come to realize that life. . . is so blooming short. There are no rewind or pause buttons. Live it up, laugh it up, and love, love, love.

I’ve come to realize that this weekend. . . 's weather may booger up our Super Bowl party plans. Nuts.

I’ve realized the best music to listen to when I am upset. . . is anything on Kids Place Live. How can you stay upset or sad when you hear songs like "Squirrels in my Pants"?

I’ve come to realize that my friends. . . are true blue, whether my internet girls or real life peeps.

I’ve come to realize that this year. . . Dave will turn 40 and although I am already there, I find it hilarious for some reason.

I’ve come to realize that my husband. . . is one of the good guys. I thought they were a myth, not unlike mermaids or the Chupacabra. But, nope, the good guys really do exist. <3

I’ve come to realize that maybe I should. . . Um....I got nothin' here, people. I live with no regrets. If I think I should do something, I just do it.

I’ve come to realize that I love. . . living in my loungewear. Comfy clothes rock my socks.

I’ve come to realize my past. . . although sometimes ugly or painful, have shaped me into the person I am today. I wouldn't change a thing.

I’ve come to realize that parties. . . are fun, but I can't stay up much past 11. You can imagine the fun New Year's Eve party guest I am.

I’ve come to realize that my life. . . is like a roller coaster. Sometimes fast, sometimes with an unexpected curve or dip, but always an exciting ride.

It is 12:45 and...

...the little kid has eaten, so far, today...

2 bowls of oatmeal

An apple

2 bowls of Cocoa Puffs

2 pieces of cheese

and now is having a round meat sandwich. His name for a bologna sandwich.

The kid must be going through a growth spurt. Either that or he has developed a hollow leg or tapeworm. At this rate, he is going to eat us straight into the poorhouse. Anyone want to hire a super-cute 4 year old? It may be time for the kid to get a job. So far, his only real skills appear to be consuming mass amounts of food and taking gargantuan dumps. Oh, and hopping on one foot throughout the house as well as climbing on furniture. He should have a Doctorate in that.

You're welcome, Daddy

The middle kid and I were folding clothes in my bedroom the other day. OK, I was foldig clothes, and he was sort of balling things up in piles and calling it good. I won't split hairs on this one, since I think he gets an A for effort. My apologies to a future wife. I think he has mastered that man trick of doing something badly so that he will not be asked to do it again.

Anyway, he was doing a squat-hover sort of thing just over Dad's pillow, and as he gave a "folded" shirt a pitch into a pile, the ol' fanny came out with a phrrrrrrrrt. To which, of course, we laughed uncontrollably. I reiterate that I am a total 10 year old boy inside when it comes to farts and burping. The really great part of this, is that he suddenly stops, gives me the straightest face, and announces, "Well, there is a little something special for Dad when he goes to sleep tonight."

Warped kids...I gotz 'em.