52 Weeks Of Photos ~2016~ Week 23

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‘Zen’ Self-Portrait

The theme for this weeks photo is ‘Minimalism’.

I’ve heard that doing yoga, and meditation, can enhance your sex life. Now, I’m not sure if that’s because you become more in tune with yourself, or if it’s because you get into all those sexy poses, either way….it’s worth a try. Let me know if I’m doing it right.

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I am feeling a bit more in tune with myself. For example, I now know that I have zero flexibility.  I also have no doubt that once my hubby sees me in these super sexy poses he will be all over me. Rawr!

I think it’s working.

bow chicka wow wow’….

‘brown chicken brown cow’…

“Type hard, like you mean it”

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52 Weeks Of Photos ~2016~ Week 22

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“Shut up and dance with me!” Self-Portrait

The theme for this weeks photo is ‘Sound’.

It’s Friday, so I decided to dance around like a fool in celebration. What about the weekend am I celebrating you ask? Oh, you didn’t ask. That’s okay, because I really don’t celebrate the weekends anyways. It was a lie, all lies!!!

I’m a mom, I don’t get weekends you silly dork!

I do like to dance around the house in the morning when everyone is asleep though. I  celebrate the silence, because silence is golden, like a nice warm golden shower. Um…erm anyways… that got awkward, but hey, speaking of being pee’d on. Don’t do it! Stop it!

No, I really don’t care if you’re into that, unless you are randomly peeing on people that are not into it, that just makes you a douche. Don’t be a douche. Although a douche would be better than pee.

Oh dear, sometimes I should plan out what I’m going to say before I start typing.

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…and no, jelly fish stings are not an exception, just a myth. So stop looking for excuses to pee on people! Geez! :p

If anything, we learned:

I don’t celebrate the weekends.

I don’t want to be pee’d on.

I’d rather be douched?

Only pee on people that consent to it.

Jelly fish stings are not the exception.

Not having a plan, keeps it real!

 

Now come on, SHUT UP AND DANCE with me!

 

“Type hard, like you mean it!”

 

 

 

You need to stop watering dead plants.

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~ Fragile ~

Doesn’t matter how beautiful and lovely they once were.

We  have a hard time giving up, or letting  go of things, even when we know they are dead. I think we hold onto that hope that if we just keep adding water, maybe we can bring them back to life, salvage them in some way. Usually getting so caught up in the beauty they once held,  forgetting what caused them to die in the first place. If it’s dead, bury it! Get a new plant, water the hell out of it, but not too much, don’t want it to drown… which let’s face it…. is probably how you killed the first plant. Oh wow, that is not where I wanted to go with this. I’m sure it wasn’t you, that plant was probably a stubborn fuck that needed too much attention, impossible for you to tend to each and every selfish need it had. Stupid asshole plant!

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

52 Weeks Of Photos ~2016~ Week 16

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Cravings ~ Self-Portrait

The theme for this weeks photo is ‘Leading Lines’.

I like all the angles and how there are many lines created from the windows, curtains, bed, and sheets. What I don’t like is that the corner of my room isn’t centered between those two windows, it throws it off. Granted, that window on the right side is centered on the wall it is on, and the window on the left side is balanced out with another window on the wall that it is on. I suppose it would bother me if they weren’t balanced there, even if that meant the corner lined up behind the bed. Hmmmm…. Maybe it’s OCD? Maybe I need a square room instead of a rectangle one, maybe with no windows….and padded walls, because I’m clearly going fucking crazy. :p

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

52 Weeks Of Photos ~2016~ Week 15

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Quiet Lullaby ~ Self Portrait

The theme for this weeks photo is ‘moody’.  Occasionally, I’ll pair a song with my images, for this one I’m using ‘Christina Perri ~ The Lonely’. I love her music, her songs have a way of making me sad, angry, and emotional….even when I’m extremely happy. Being a woman is confusing. lol

Anyway….. Completely unrelated, but related. I bought this little white slip, nightgown thingy I’m wearing the other day at a thrift store while looking for props. I went hoping to find an old, white, frumpy, cotton nightgown to use for a couple of other photo ideas I have. I ultimately couldn’t find what I needed, but I snagged this for $2.00 as a backup, it was good enough for this photo,  it’s not something I would ever wear otherwise, it makes me feel old. I mean…it’s comfortable, but not very flattering, and if I’m going to dress in something that’s not flattering, but comfortable, I’m going to go all out and invest in a muumuu! Go big or go home, right?  Yeah… that’s not going to happen either. I still want to look in the mirror and like what I see, a muumuu just doesn’t scream “take me to bed, or lose me forever.”

That being said, I’m also not a fan of getting all dolled up in lingerie to prepare for a wild night with the hubby. I know some women, and their men enjoy that experience, but for me, I think it’s such a waste of effort!    Which is odd, because I have a shit ton of lingerie. These days I buy it to use as ‘props’ for my photos.  In real life I feel like it’s so contrived, so I don’t wear it unless it’s something subtle…like garters and stockings under a dress so that when my hubby puts his hand on my leg, he can feel it. I like that it can elicit a response.

I’m starting to wonder if this is a ‘now that I’m older’ thing?  Maybe a bit about comfort and convenience too? Like when my husband wanted to buy sneakers that didn’t tie, but had Velcro instead, no… just no!

This is such a change from my younger days. When I was in my 20’s (I’m 41 now) I would go full out with lingerie, including the corset tops, stockings, garters, matching thong, and let’s not forget…. gloves. Yeah… I found these gems today while I was cleaning my closet. Mind you, I had the head to toe ensemble for each of these, and each piece was the same color. Not sure why I decided to keep just the gloves. They are fucking hot though! I’m wearing them as I type this.  My husband is going to have a hard time refusing me when he comes home. I just know it!

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To quote Jennifer Lopez from ‘The Wedding Planner’….”Teal, the color of gangrene.”

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I kind of wish I had the rest of the outfits now that I have the boobs to fill them.

What do you all prefer? Lingerie, no lingerie, ball gag, muumuu’s, all of the above?

As for me…I’m off to search for sexy muumuu’s. Two birds with one stone. Wish me luck!

“Type hard, like you mean it!”

 

 

 

I worry it’s drooling, my vagina.

 

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This is me, trying to look all bad-ass.

This morning started out like most mornings.  I woke up, put on some active wear, and hit the weights. One of my favorite days, leg day. I do legs twice a week.  Since my workout on Tuesday I’ve barely been able to walk. My legs reached that jello stage.

Convincing myself that I’m invincible I carried on with my plan to shape my ass into something that doesn’t look…um…what’s a good word for, “I had three kids, gained a ton of weight, cottage cheesy”? Yeah, that.

I blasted some music, got myself into this apparent ‘beast mode’ that most people claim to be in when they work out, got under the bar, and started doing some split-squats. They are not new to me, I’ve done them plenty of times. We have a love hate relationship, really… they suck, but in a good for you kind of way. I fucking hate them!

I got my left leg done, moved to the right side, and as soon as I started to squat I could feel something tear, pull, cramp, hurt, try to break free from beneath my skin. Okay, I might be exaggerating a little, but it hurt like fucking hell. Enough so that I had to call it quits, skipping the rest of my workout.

My only option at that point was to crawl upstairs from out of my basement and ice it.  I sat down, made myself comfortable, and got the ice under me. The muscle that hurt was near my inner thigh/hamstring/ass. After sitting there for a good amount of time, I got up and noticed that the ice went ahead and numbed my damn vagina. Don’t worry though, it was just the right side. :/ Like a shot of Novocaine to the mouth, I couldn’t feel it. Trust me, I touched it… you know, just to be sure. It’s odd, standing there with only partial feeling in your vagina. Like when your cheek goes numb at the dentist. You start to wonder if you’re drooling. Is my vagina drooling? Is it leaking? Hanging lower on that side? Did I just pee? Sigh…

“Type hard, like you mean it!”

 

 

 

Happy Bunny Day!

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Just wanted to wish everyone a happy Sunday, whether you celebrate Easter or not.  I haven’t been the best at blogging but wanted to at least spread some cheer.  I’ve been taking a lot of self portraits lately and figured I could at least share some of those if nothing else.  Yes, that’s me.  I’m fucking hot, I know. Hahaha!  Yeah, yeah… I don’t think I’m ugly but I’m really not that over confident either. You’d never know it, but I fake it, I mean my confidence of course.  We know that I would never fake anything else!

My sister-in-law had a few lollipops made for me and I took some photos to show her how much I enjoyed them.  Hope you can get a chuckle out of them too.  They were naughty and delicious, just a couple of my favorite things.

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“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

Only send photos of your junk if………

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If?….. Yes, only if…..

Because guidelines need to be put in place for some of you people out there. Because asking yourself ahead of time, “Does this person want to see my junk?” takes a lot of effort….apparently way more effort than pulling out the camera, uploading the photo, typing in an address and hitting send.

And when I say “junk”……..I’m talking to some of you women too, because no one wants to see this without being warned.

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Okay….I am mostly talking to the men, but that photo above was just too good to not share. That’s what you find when you Google “angry vagina” by the way.

Here are some things that men need to know.

Unless a woman is fantasizing about fucking you, she probably doesn’t want a photo of your dick.

Now brace yourself for this……

Dicks are kinda ugly. Don’t get me wrong, there are some good looking dicks out there, not all dicks are ugly. But nothing is uglier than an unsolicited closeup of your wrinkly dick and hairy balls.

Not cool!

Not cool!

Don’t be that guy. You know the guy I mean, the one that goes, “Yeah….that girl is hot, I bet she would love a picture of my dick.”

No! No we wont! Stop yourself right there! Don’t do it!

If you know me at all then you know that I’m not a prude by any means. I don’t mind seeing tasteful nude photos, that goes for photos of men or women. I don’t even mind watching porn. But sending me a direct message of you holding your junk is a no-no.

So here are the rules, my rules anyway. Only send pictures of your junk if……

1. I ask for them.
2. You ask me if I want them and I say yes.
3. You have awesome abs or that sexy V thing going on. (Hey! I’m not perfect, there are loopholes to every rule. Isn’t there?)
4. I am having an actual dick measuring contest.
5. I mention needing a good laugh.
6. You have an odd growth and need my help identifying it. (I’m not a doctor, but I play one at home)
7. You don’t mind me showing my husband,
8. Or my mother.
9. Or the police.
10. You have awesome abs or that sexy V thing going on.

Yes, I said those two already, but I just want to reiterate that if you have abs and that V thing……then go ahead and send me photos of your junk.

Awesome abs and that sexy V thing.

Awesome abs and that sexy V thing.

Soooooo………. My husband is shaking his head saying “no”, apparently reasons 1,2,3 & 10 are still not good enough reasons to send me photos of your junk……so don’t send them. He ruins everything! Stupid dick!

 

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

 

 

Vagina, Vagina, Vagina – It’s just a word!

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Unless you work at an OBGYN office I’m pretty sure you don’t say vagina enough during the course of the day. Me? I say vagina all day, everyday. I say it mostly to irritate my 11 year old daughter. Why? Because I’m a jerk like that, that’s why.  Did I mention she hates the word vagina? (hence the me being a jerk part).

See….I’ve been in the process of teaching my toddler that this thing is called a vagina.  Because as a parent, you need to teach your children things and spend time with them every so often so that they think you really care.

I thought about teaching her other names for it, but I think that would really confuse the kid.  Like “wipe your flower”, sounds like you should smell it, or “that’s your pee-pee”– if that’s your “pee-pee” then what do you call the actual pee?  or “that’s your privates”– sounds like it’s that thing we don’t speak of— like Voldemort, Candyman, or how I devoured 10 boxes of Girl Scout cookies on my own over the course of 3 days. So yeah, I think it’s easier to stick with the actual name…..vagina!

Wait….I went off on a tangent there.  Anyway, for some reason my 11 year old thinks that it is completely inappropriate to say vagina, which is strange because she tells me that she looks forward to swearing.  Go figure.  Kids are dumb! Her repulsion to the word and her constant protest, “stop staying that!” is just encouragement for me to say it more, I already told you that I’m a jerk like that. I’m trying to help her get over her disgust with the word vagina and be immune to hearing it. It’s just a word for crying out loud. Right?

During the course of the holidays I had my in-laws over at my home. With the exception of a couple of them, they are far more conservative than I will ever be. By the end of the night however I had everyone saying vagina like it was a common household greeting. It’s stuff like this that makes me feel like I’m winning at life…..pathetic I know. It’s the little things.

I was really making progress with my daughter though, she was starting to see that there really was no big deal with the word vagina.  I mean even her grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles were saying it. But I think my next conversation might have ruined any progress I made with her and I’m pretty sure she lost all respect for me at the same time.

I was in a room with my mother, husband, and my three daughters (my step-daughter was not there):

Me: “Hey! Guess what we all have in common?”
11 year old: “What?”
Me: “We’ve all touched my vagina at one point.”

Aaaannnnnnddd……..that’s where I lost her.

Every once in a while she seems comfortable with me saying vagina, that’s when I take the opportunity to ask her how she feels about the word “penis.”

Muhahahaha……..

It’s a vicious cycle, but I have to entertain myself.

Vagina, Vagina, Vagina! As Dora the Explorer would say, “Say it with me.”

I’ve obviously been watching a lot of Nick Jr. lately. Sigh……

If you could use a good laugh and are curious about what other vagina names there are then just follow the link below for some alternative suggestions. But read all of my shit first….then go there….then come back and read more. Okay? Good. Here you go:

Sloppy list of vagina names (because the list isn’t that neat, not to be confused with sloppy vagina– two totally different things.)

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

A Nod to the Little Rod…..I’m Talking D!ck

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So I was thinking about dick like I usually do and that got me thinking about all dicks in general and what difference does size really make.

I think people tend to overlook the little dick.  It doesn’t get the credit it deserves.

Now before I go on, it’s important for you to know that my husband has a huge dick, larger than life, can use that thing to pound in nails sized dick. I forget what else he wanted me to type here so let’s just call him Lord Thunder Cock, that should make him happy.

Now that that’s out of the way….which of course it’s never out of the way because it’s soooo big…..

Seriously?…..I should just let him type this fucking thing, since he has so much to add to it.

So…..little dick…..

Times you should be grateful for a little dick…..Anal Sex!

Yes, I said it!

I’m not saying I have or have not had anal sex, but if I did or didn’t then I can tell you that size does matter…..probably…..but how would I know?

Especially if it’s your first time…..from what I’ve heard.

So to all the men out there with less than average sized dicks…..three cheers for you, maybe just two cheers! Let’s not be greedy little man.

So women need to stop complaining, give the men a break— maybe you are just loose– have you thought about that? Hmmm…..have you? Slut!

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Another good thing about the little rod, tiny schlong and tic-tac prick can be summed up in two words…..Gag Reflex!

No choking hazard.

And let’s not forget about the classic hand job. Just one hand needed, so you can still work a TV remote, enjoy a drink, play Candy Crush or just text a friend at the same time.

To the men with cute, little, tiny dicks, there is someone out there for you. Not me, and maybe not that other girl, or most women…..but someone out there…..maybe with no feeling from the waist down…..but someone would appreciate you and all you don’t have to offer.

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

From ‘Inverted’ to ‘I wear them like jewelry’ How cold are you on the Nipple Scale?

Baby….It’s cold outside!

It’s so cold outside I swear my nipples will shatter at the slightest touch. Breaking into little shards of ice, I could use them to chill my drink – “Nipple cubes”.  Harder than diamonds. I can cut through glass quicker than Batman can say Robin.

“Dog locked in a car? Let me pierce that window for you.”
“Bag won’t open? I’ll just use my nipples to cut it.”
“Tomato on your sandwich? I’ll slice that shit up.”

Better yet, I’ll just replace my diamonds.

“Hey check out my new ring.”
“Oh my goodness! Those nipples are gorgeous. Are they real?”
“Yes! I went to Jared’s and it’s below fucking zero there.”

I guess this would be my ‘nipple’ ring. That’s the new meaning. All in favor? Change Approved.

So this got me thinking. On the ‘Nipple Scale’ from inverted because it’s hot as hell to I wear them like jewelry.

How cold are you?

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Stay warm people. I’m off to sweep up my nipple dust.

“Type hard! Like you mean it.”

“I want to kick your puppy while I wear a banana-hammock”. Sexting is hard…..Tips for Dummies.

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I once heard that if you want to talk dirty and not sound like a complete idiot, that you should just say what you are doing at the time. So if you are kissing someone, you would say, “I love the way your lips taste,” etc. This sounds easier said than done. I mean you really could go a hundred different directions with this if you just say what you are thinking or doing.

“I feel your cold sore.”

“I love the smell of garlic.”

“I’m about to put my lips on yours and try not to think about you spitting in my mouth.”

Even with a simple thing like someone reaching into your pants, if you say the wrong thing the mood can quickly turn.

“Say hello to my little friend.” Men should not say this……neither should a woman, if a lady says this, you might want to look for an Adams apple.

Talking dirty is difficult enough, but sexting adds an entirely new element. But at least it gives you time to plan out what you want to say, so take your time. I figured out a way to sext and not be entirely awkward about it. I follow the same concept as talking dirty, but you text about your day instead, with a little creative editing of course.

Here’s are some helpful editing tips and sext suggestions.

“I’m on my knees thinking of you.”

Edited from.

“I’m on my knees thinking of you while I clean the piss off the toilet.”

 

“I’m so wet!”

Edited from.

“I’m so wet because I’m busy washing a sink full of dishes.”

 

“My nipples are hard.”

Edited from.

“My nipples are hard because it’s fucking freezing outside and you forgot to take out the trash.”

 

“Tea-bagging sounds like a good idea.”

Edited from.

“Tea-bagging sounds like a good idea, those warm bags will feel good on my puffy eye, seeing how I didn’t sleep…again…because you fucking snore”

 

“I’m going to suck you off.”

Edited from.

“I’m going to suck you off the couch with this vacuum, damn popcorn! dropped while watching the game.”

And remember that auto-correct is a bitch, so double check your sext before you hit send.

“I want to kick your puppy” <—- is an actual text I received from my husband. I was like, “What the fuck does that mean?”. It should have read, “I want to lick your pussy.”  Anyway, it turned out to be pretty funny thanks to a combination of not paying attention and auto-correct*.  My husband has been kicking the puppy ever since, I’m now a firm believer in animal abuse.

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My husband never did say anything about a banana-hammock like my title implies though, but I just love that word. Banana-hammock, banana-hammock, banana-hammock.

Anyways….. If all else fails, send a picture of your boobies, men like boobies.

Then again, if you’ve been doing chores all day. You deserve a full body massage, or an uninterrupted nap, and some alone time…. after an orgasm from having your puppy kicked of course. Maybe a new husband, one that’s less of a slob and not such and inconsiderate fuck.

*Before you go typing “lick your pussy” into your iPhone to see if that would auto-correct. My hubby sent that message to me on an old cell phone using T9word, before iPhones–remember those days?….way back when.

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

“We don’t put crayons in our vagina”……and other things I’ve said to my kids.

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In case you were wondering, we don’t put crayons in our vagina. Not in my house anyway.

Some days I’m surprised by what I have to tell my kids and other days I’m so immune to the shit that comes out of my mouth it’s not even funny. I don’t remember being taught some of these lessons as a child, but I must have been…..right? I mean—-I’m not shoving crayons up my hoo-ha now that I’m an adult. I just assumed that some things went without saying. I’ve compiled a list of things I have had to say to my kids. Most of them seem like no brainers. Keep in mind that my kids are 7 months old, 20 months old, 11 years old and 14 years old, and all girls. You’d be surprised at which kid had to be told what, not as obvious as one might think. But I’ll leave that to you to draw your own conclusions.

“We don’t put crayons in our vagina.”

“Don’t touch your poop.”

“Don’t repeat that at school.”

“When I said don’t write on the walls……of course I meant the ceiling too.”

Seriously!!  Those are marks left behind from trying to erase all the little drawings and outlines of feet. Ugh!

Seriously!! Those are marks left behind from trying to erase all the little drawings and outlines of feet. Ugh!

“Mumma was just being silly when I said, “eat the baby”. We don’t really eat the baby.”

“Don’t touch the cat’s butt!”

“I don’t want to stare at your poop. Flush the toilet.”

“Did you remember to wipe?”

“We don’t leave used tampons on the sink! I don’t care if it’s wrapped in toilet paper.”

“No- you can’t play with a piece of raw chicken.”

“Don’t lick ______.” The cat, the table, my leg, my feet.

“Don’t smell ______.” The Garbage, the cat’s butt, my feet.

“Fingers out of ______.” Your diaper, your nose, my nose, your sisters nose, the outlet, the cat’s bowl, the cats puke, my face, my ear, my mouth, my hair, the peanut butter, the jelly.

“No- Silly—-you are not a “pot head”, you just have a pan on your head.”

“Oh. No-no. “Douche bag” is a bad word, not a real bag– don’t use that word.”

“Don’t smell that.”

“Don’t touch that.”

“Don’t eat that.”

“Don’t lick that.”

“What is that?”

 

 

“Type hard! Like you mean it.”

Par-ent-hood: a sexually transmitted disease

 

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Definition: Par-ent-hood  noun

A sexually transmitted disease caused by the inability to think straight during throes of passion.  An infection of sorts, causing lifelong trauma to the human psyche.

While there is no immediate cure, studies have found that Parenthood will often come to a halt after years of pain and suffering, finally ending with ones own sweet, sweet death.  The journey to this recovery is a long drawn out process, one to which you will experience the following symptoms:

Bleeding from ears

Constant ringing sounds

Heightened sensitivity to clutter

Claustrophobia

Lack of personal space

Loss of breathe

Bouts of fury and rage

Heart palpitations

Elevated stress levels

Migraine headaches

Hair loss

Bleeding tongue

Monetary limitations

While some symptoms are more severe than others, be cautioned.  Moments of euphoria will occur from time to time, giving the illusion and false pretense that contracting the disease was well worth it.  One might notice moments of euphoria in the lives of others with this disease and be led to believe that Parenthood is in fact not as severe as it sounds.  Don’t be blinded by the hype.  For every euphoric moment, a double dose of what the fuck will immediately follow.

Please be informed and make educated decisions to prevent contracting this life debilitating disease.  Precautions that one could take to help keep Parenthood at bay, include but are not limited to:

Abstinence

Removal of libido

Masturbation as the only form of pleasure

Double bagging it

Suicide

Examples:

Sally was an active member of society until she contracted Parenthood and died a miserable death.

You seem so happy not being able to do everything you wanted to do in life, way to control your Parenthood!

PARENTHOOD:

Some days I am faced with two choices : Laugh or Cry, today I chose laugh.  I truly do love being a mother.  Believe it or not, my kids were all planned pregnancies.  That’s right, I did this to myself (well, my hubby helped), but I do question why some days.  Not in a serious “why” way, but more of a joking, ha ha, I’m losing my fucking mind kind of way.

Being a mom was my big goal, my aspiration in life.  Some people might think that’s crazy, let’s face it, just about any woman can get knocked up.  I didn’t dream of going to college and working my way up some corporate ladder though.  I had dreams of being home with kids.  Of course the home in my dreams had unicorn riding fairies that would come in and keep things neat and tidy, while the little leprechauns, wait, not leprechauns- those fuckers creep me out.  While little trolls, wizards, magicians, elves filled the house with laughter and joy.  That’s the type of stupid shit you dream of before you have kids.  I know now that it’s not fairies and elves, but more like a tutu wearing, PMS suffering Satan on a mission to reek havoc by creating loud constant shrieking.  Like the “most annoying sound in the world” from ‘Dumb and Dumber’, only more annoying and less funny.  Even with all that said, I do love being a mom.  Parenthood is one of the best things to have happened in my life.  Without it, I would probably be somewhere sipping Mimosas poolside while mute men rub me down and feed me grapes, who the fuck wants that? or I could have ended up in a dead end job, doing the same thing day in and day out, wishing for more out of life.  That would more likely have been the case.  Either way– I love my job!  I love my job! I love my job!  If you say it enough, you start to believe it.

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

My “Princess” Washed a Pan Today. With Her Own Two Hands!

SPONGELOWRES

My “Princess” is 11 years old and one would think that washing a pan at that age would be an easy task. Watching my daughter’s expression at the mere mention of having to actually wash a pan to make herself breakfast was funny enough, but then she went on to do what seemed like a dramatic reading of the bible.  I’m not sure, but there were a lot of Why me’s and Oh My God’s getting tossed around, followed by tears and praying for me to help.  I felt like I was in church, and it was just as painful to sit through.

I don’t ask a lot of my kids and maybe this is part of the problem.  No…..I’m sure this is part of the problem. I’m working on it.  That and some gene which clearly got passed down from my Ex-husband (her father).dig

Princess: “Can I make an egg for breakfast?”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Yes, don’t burn the house down.”

Princess: “The pans are in the sink.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Thanks for letting me know.”

Princess: “You need to wash them.”

Worst Mother Ever!: Brows raised with an expression that says, “I dare you to say that again.” “Excuse me?”

Princess: “What am I supposed to do?”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Seriously? You’re 11, you don’t know what you should do?”

Princess: “I’m not washing a pan.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “It will be hard to cook an egg without one.”

Now at this point in the conversation, eyes start rolling– her’s and mine.  While she opens the cabinet that we store the pans in and continues to pull out a pot, you know……the kind you boil water in…..for pasta and shit.

Princess: “I’ll just use this then.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “No.”

Princess: “Errrrrrr. Oh my god, you are being so mean.”

The pan gets put away and she turns the water on. I’m shocked because I figure at this point she’s just going to pour cereal instead, but she must really want this fucking egg.  Between huffs and puffs, sighs and errrrs.

Princess: “This is so gross, I don’t want to touch the sponge. This one has stuff on it. We need a new sponge. Why me?”

For the record, the sponge is about a week old. See above photo. I watch in pure amusement as my daughter grabs the sponge with her thumb and forefinger in a dainty effort to pick it up while grumbling the entire time. It’s hilarious. Cruel to watch? No.  I always help my kids do everything, and that’s the problem.

My kid has “Princess Syndrome” and believes that everything should be done for her.

I would have helped if the conversation didn’t start with an expectation that I would do it. My kid knows how to cook an egg.  But wash a dish? Well that’s just disgusting and servant’s work.

Princess: “I’m never washing dishes when I get older.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “I guess I won’t be eating at your place.”

Princess: “I’m going to make my husband wash them!”

Worst Mother Ever!: “I’m sure you’ll make someone very miserable.”

Princess: “Stop it!”

Worst Mother Ever!:  Calmly  “Stop acting like a brat, it’s a fucking pan.  Grab the sponge, put soap and water on it.  Stop touching it like you are going to catch the plague and scrub.” Yes, I swear.

Followed by a loud sigh, she washes the pan, with her own two hands! Un-fucking-believable! It’s a modern day miracle people.

Princess: “What do I do now?” Holding the wet pan.

Worst Mother Ever!: “If you were wet, what would you use to get the water off?”

Princess: “Errrrrrrrr” Reaches for towel.

At this point she carries on while still grunting, turns on the stove and gets the egg in the pan.  I leave the room, because I don’t want to go to jail. Moments later the sound of drawers opening and closing, getting louder and louder with each slam.

Princess: “I CAN’T FIND A SPATULA.”

Me to self: Deep breath, deep breath. Eye Roll.

Worst Mother Ever!: “Look in the sink.”

Princess: “No! No! I’m not washing that too!”

Worst Mother Ever!: ——–

A few more minutes pass and she enters the room with an egg sandwich. I never did hear her wash anything else or turn the water on.

Worst Mother Ever!: “Did you find a spatula?”

Princess: “No, I used a spoon.”

I decide to just let it go, what’s done is done.

Worst Mother Ever!: Being calm and compassionate, I explain why I didn’t help. “I know you are frustrated, I would have helped you if you just asked nicely, instead of expecting me to do it.”

Princess: Eye-roll “It’s your job to take care of me and do the dishes.”

I’m currently writing from jail. :/

“Type hard! Like you mean it!”