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Wal-Mart reminds me to love Fat Costumes

By now I’m sure you along with every other pissed off plus sized woman has seen or read about the travesty of Wal-Mart. How dare they! How could they? Those assholes. I’m no size 2, 6, 8 or even 10 – but what I am is not concerned with bashing Wal-Mart along with the rest of you.

Maybe in your head it plays out something like this; Corporate Wal-Mart purposely and maliciously enacts a team skinny initiative. It will launch at 12:01 a.m. and be viral within hours. Prior to the live launch Headquarters and Stores nationwide held conferences on how this will piss off millions, how sales will drastically decrease, and plus sized people everywhere will be humiliated and outraged. We will rule the world one skinny person at a time.  Muahahaha! Initiate team skinny domination in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Or, some asshole idiot that updates their website, who is probably pissed off over the fact that he/she like many other employees work their ass off, with little pay or recognition decides to type “Fat Girl Costumes” into the code matrix, pops some popcorn, then sits back waiting for the show to start. And, their final check.

Weight is a hefty issue, pun intended, and I don’t think fat or skinny is at all relevant anymore. Pitch perfect’s most loved character was FAT AMY for god’s sake! I wanted to be Rebel Wilson for Halloween last year, so if I made myself heavier looking I am horrible person? Are you freaking kidding me?


What about MADEA, Tyler Perry plays her in all the Madea movies, he wears a fat suit, with big ole floppy boobies and a house coat! I love her, and have thought of being her. Is that making fun of old African-American heavyset women? Or appreciating a hilarious character that isn’t afraid to speak her mind and using a hyster to dump a car on its roof, when a lady steals her parking spot!? I.loved.that.part!

In fact some of the greatest movies include fat suits. Here are just a few: Robin Williams, as Mrs. DoubtfireMartin Lawrence in Big Momma’s House, Eddie Murphy in The Nutty Professor, Mike Meyer’s as Fat Bastard in Austin Powers!

In other words, we are able to appreciate the humor until someone unknowingly pisses us off? Oh my, did you see, Wal-Mart offers a Fat Tinkerbell costume for men, and a fat suit in general? Who cares? If my guy dressed up as Fat Tinkerbell, it would be funny. And, the fat suit, would totally help me pull off being Madea, and most likely cheaper than going to other costume shops who will no doubt have the same type of costumes.

It has nothing to do with being fat, or not being fat – it’s about having fun. And, if you are this sensitive over your weight, then I’m going to say what every other person is thinking, do something about it besides bitching and complaining online or on twitter.  Your issues with weight, and the worlds insensitivity to it, are yours. If you are thick and in charge, love it and rock it – more power to you! If you’re not happy, fix that, within yourself and finding healthy alternatives. Because waging wars with every person, site, publication and store that offends you in some way is a never ending battle, the will never be won.

And, because none of this really had anything to do with Wal-Mart anyway.


Not your typical sports physical…

This past week, I took my daughter Grace for a sports physical/well child exam. (apparently insurance providers are kinder to you if its simply a well child exam) I’m guessing a case of karma may have bitten Grace’s nerves since she had to wait in the hall during her brothers physical last year. Which she spent laughing and taunting him while the doctor was making him “cough.”  There was simply no reassuring her conscience that reassurance was nothing for the doctor to check down there, or to make her cough!


He did as any mother would expect, he checked her reflexes, her weight and height, breathing and bones, diet and exercise etc. he made her walk heel to toe, and to the other side of the room on her tiptoes – which resulted in my telling her that the shorts she was wearing are going in the garbage as soon as we got home! They were way too short for my liking.  After her doctor stopped laughing he then did something that shocked me.  He didn’t fill out our paper and send us on our way. Nope, instead he folded his arms, and started a conversation with Grace. How fantastic is that? Does your pediatrician do that?

He started asking some rather valid questions. Questions such as: Can you talk to your mother, and father? Are you ever sad, lonely or depressed? Do you have a best friend? Do you have the confidence to say “No” when you feel pressured to say yes? Do you like what you see when you look in the mirror? To say I was impressed, was a huge understatement. Then when she joined in on this conversational rally of sorts with him, I just sort of sat back and took it all in. Man, is she growing up I thought to myself.

She trusted him, and was open enough to answer any question honestly and humorously – which might I add, she totally gets from me! For a second, it did make me wonder though, how many parents sit and ask their children these same questions? Could they answer these questions about their children? A slight sadness came over me in the thought that not every child has the opportunity or the openness that Grace and I have. The sadness was met with the appreciation for this moment though, and the realization that one day, it may change.


Quickly my thoughts were interrupted by her answers to his questions which she met them with such poise, intellect and witty retorts. During their talk, I was careful only to chime in when necessary, or an unavoidable humorous answer was necessary. Like, when he asked her “Do you worry” Are you a worrier?” I couldn’t help but share the answer of “Yes! She worries! She is terrified that if she doesn’t re-post those forwards on Facebook that says your mother will die at midnight, that I’ll die! Yet, here I am, alive in the flesh!”  We all laughed, and he explained as I have numerous times – those aren’t real.

He talked to her about periods, which I did ask if he could rush along, because the hormonal pre-teen stuff is simply too dramatic at times, he said no, damn it! He talked to her about sex, birth control, drugs and alcohol – literally these two talked about everything. He mentioned teen pregnancy and she responded with the hand gesture of throwing a ball into a basket and said “ I’m not throwing my life in the trash!” Laughing he said “Okay, I think were good then.”

The best part of this appointment, besides her overall good physical and mental health, was what he said as was left. He looked at me and said “You are doing a good job Mom, you have a really special girl here.” And, while I fought back the desire to dodge the compliment with a hilarious remark of “Yes, the helmet kind of special” I instead simply thanked him, and agreed.

Sure there is the possibility he says that to every mom, but I took it as the truth. It’s truth and validation come from the fact that I know she is a phenomenal little girl. As well as knowing, that I am a phenomenal mother to her. We as parents owe it to our children to know our worth as parents. Our worth in ourselves as individuals and parents translates them as their own worth. Take the time to be that parent who takes the time. The parent who makes the effort, who has the strength and maturity to answer those questions, remember when you yourself were a child, think of what you needed, desired and wished your parents would have done. And, by that I don’t mean letting you sneak out and drink at fifteen!

Look at yourself in the mirror, right into your eyes and say this “You are doing a good job!” Your kids will thank you for it.

Okay, you be the Mom and I will be the kid!

I’m willing to venture a guess that almost any adult would choose to go back to being a child in a heartbeat. No bills, less stress, maybe do better in school the second time around and ENJOY those naps! I mean, life for our kids these days is just so hard, they get bored, they need instant gratification, video games, cell phones, bedazzled jeans, and so on. Have you ever asked your child what is it about being a kid that is so hard? Well, I did! And then, I took it a step further – what if our roles switched? What would our kids make us do if they could be our parents for a day? And, what would we do to them, if we were the kids? Read below for the hilarious switch.

The hardest part about being a kid:

Allison, 5: Umm, working and working out – I have to do that at NaeNaes. My favorite part was when I asked how she spelled her name, and she said A, L, L, I, S,O,N – but I do my “S” backwards!

Pierce, 5: Dumpster diving! The look on moms face, and the adamant denial that she does not make her children dumpster dive, may have been funnier! She swears its from Sponge Bob!

Coleton, 9: That sometimes kids really don’t understand

Gracie, 11: That we makes mistakes, and parents don’t always get that!

Kaiden, 8: That we can’t play all the time, because of chores and homework.

Emma, 8: That I can’t spend the whole day with my mom – cause I have to go to school.

Nick, 15: Having to listen. You have to try to remember to listen!

So, just for the fun of it, lets switch. If you as a parent could be your child, what is the first thing you would do? Would it be enjoy a nap? Maybe sleep in, play with your friends all day? Or, would you have a little fun with some get backs?? The answers were 50/50!

Telia Fogle: Yell “I’m hungry, fix me food” and destroy the house

Jami Fernandes: Get in a bathing suit and run through the sprinkler!!

Dina Fentiman: TRASH MY ROOOOM!!!

Amber Martin: Pick my nose and wipe it on the seat of the new car. Ask them to make something special for dinner, then say I don’t like it anymore. Say I cleaned my room but really I shoved it all under my bed.

Tiffany McIntosh: Eat whatever I want & not gain a pound… & then take a nap!

Desiree Rafferty: Leave socks ALL over the house!

Kathleen Winfrey: I would eat a million lunchables and then actually enjoy a nap instead of fighting it!

Sherri Tucker Tunnell: I’d yell “Mom mom mom mom” that is what I would do.

Now your kids are your parents, what would they make you do? What rule would they change? Would they have ice cream for dinner, or buy you whatever you want? Would they have a case of the “getbacks” also? Let’s see!

Allison, 5
“ umm laundry, washing the counters, cleaning the dishes, make my bed and clean my room … pretty much everything, I’ll make you do all my house work!”

Kaiden, 8
Allow ice cream BEFORE dinner, and set bedtime to 8pm.

Riley, 8
I’d make you massage my feet, do my chores and go to school for me!

Jacoby, 15
I wouldn’t make my parents do anything, I would do everything AND buy them whatever they want.

Josh, 9
I would make my parents do everyone’s chores!

Make you clean your room, and if it’s already clean then give you a treat!! Then take us to Rogue Air!

As for me, if I could swap places – I wouldn’t. My daughter would have way too much fun with that – but then again I could always get her back by slamming my door, flipping my hair, stomping off with attitude and knowing every thing about everything and bossing everyone around! Wait, that is kind of me now? Hey! Well played Karma, well played!

Dads are kind-of Awesome!

Dad verses mom appears to be an easy win for Moms, right? You’d think it would be a slam dunk because we are natural multi-taskers, nurturers, nurses, teachers, homemakers, maids, etc. I mean, come on, we literally do it all! Or, do we? We can tease them and share random facts which are absolutely true and humorous like these things…

Dads never sleep, they are simply resting their eyes. Even if they are snoring – they are resting their eyes damn it!

Dads can’t change diapers, they will throw up! It is a scientific fact – proven by the obnoxious, melodramatic gagging met my our mere thought of even asking for help.

Dads can’t go grocery shopping. Cheap, coupons, budget and list are not words that exist in his vocabulary.

Dads have a whole different time frame. In a minute – can literally be in a minute or the minute they see you actually doing what you asked.

Dads clean house without being asked for three reasons. 1. Sex 2. They want something 3. They did something already.

However, the truth is dads are kind-of AWESOME!   Yes, there are single parents who fulfill the role of both parents, and this isn’t meant to negate that in any way… but there are some things I think dads just do better than moms. 

First, dads know sports. They are the first to teach competition, the desire and drive to win, to be #1, the absolute best at anything and everything. They teach dedication, practice makes perfect and its okay to fall down as long as you get back up again. And, it’s a bonus for Moms because there is nothing more sexier than seeing your spouse out playing sports with the kids!

Second, dads understand that “mom doesn’t understand”. I mean, who better to understand being misunderstood than dad, right? You can tell him everything, and he can completely sympathize.

Third, dads are a sons best friend. They know everything boys. Video games, sports, fishing, ball games, hunting, you name it they can do it together!  They also know all about those “changes”, why your son is still in the shower, why mom may not want to clean up those dirty socks on the floor, or lift up the mattress at a certain age. Needless to say anything further.

Fourth, dads are natural conquerors. Whatever you need, they have an idea of what they can construct to do it! They can also get anything down from the ceiling, the roof, the top shelf etc. They know just how to fix, or repair whatever a child needs especially if it creates a project! (Extra kudos if said project supersedes mom’s honey do list) Same with lessons on cars, car repairs, etc. They are great at teaching with their hands, those are their best tools.

Fifth, dads are a daughters first love. A simple bat of the eyes, and daddy you are my favorite teaches little girls and grown women how to get exactly what they want! They are natural protectors and create that first sense of safety for a little girl. Daddy’s are everything to a little girl. They don’t care that she doesn’t wear a skirt, or that she has dirt on her face, they love that she can bait a hook, and loves to play with worms – they love little girls who can be boys when the time calls for it. (Now, boys that want to be girls…that’s a whole different ballgame)

Sixth, dads are calm. They diffuse situations and make sense out things, they are a natural peacemaker between mom and her children. You can call dad and even if he is pissed, disappointed or hurt, he will remedy what he can. He will also let you fall on your face, if it proposes to teach a good lesson.

The final thing I think dads do best, is teaching their children how to be a good husband, father, wife and mother. They watch the relationship between mom and dad, they see the way dads are supposed to be, how dad treats mom, and it sets forth an example and expectations for both sons and daughters. It is best said in this quote “The best thing a father can do for his children, is love their mother” and it is quite true.



The truth is…we lie.

I think I speak for most parents when I say we are pretty damn near perfect! I mean, who are we kidding here? If we do lie, it is completely for your own good and protection… or is it?


Okay, so the truth is we do tell white lies to our children in hopes to prolong the innocence they possess and to encourage make-believe and fairy-tales. White lies about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and that minions and oompa loompas totally exist in a world of chocolate covered scientific laboratories. Or, that one day prince charming will ride up on a white horse (or black if you prefer), sweep you up and all your worries will wash drown the drain, along side some calgon…and maybe a glass of wine, when you are thirty and still living at home playing with barbies, because you will be mommy’s sweet baby princess forever...for-ev-er! Oh wait, I got swooped up in those white lies again, dang it!

The truth is we flat out tell “whoppers” and sometimes it is for our own humor and selfishness. What are we going to do when our children get old enough to know better? I am lucky in that my daughter being two years older than her brother – helps with cover-ups. Wait, that sounds bad…but it is true.

In my jewelry box you will find an assortment of items, not just jewelry. In this particular case, my son was looking for something, and pulled out a small plastic baggy filled with baby teeth. As soon as I saw him holding them, I couldn’t move…and when I heard him ask “Mom are these my teeth?” I couldn’t mutter a sound. I just stood there thinking to myself, CRAP! Now, what? and looked at him. Then, my daughter swoops in and saves the day with a whopper all of her own “No, Gage, those are moms teeth from when she was little, but she probably has yours somewhere, cause you can buy them back from the tooth fairy – for memories!” Breathing now and able to speak again, I laughed and completely lied through my teeth and the bag of the teeth she was holding, and said “Yep, what your sister said!” Should I be worried or proud that she came up with that on her own? I don’t know, but while I ponder that thought here are some whoppers, white lies and fibs that parents use to get us through, and the truths that lie behind them.

Lie: When you get grounded it hurts us more.
Truth: We enjoy the quiet, and getting to watch what we want on tv.

Lie: The ice cream is all gone.
Truth: It is just cleverly hidden in another container in the freezer.

Lie: You can get pregnant from kissing or sitting in the hot tub with a boy.
Truth: We’re not stupid!

Lie: Eating veggies will put hair on your chest.
Truth: We have no idea if you will ever get hair on your chest.

Lie: The tooth fairy is off on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Truth: Mom or Dad either forgot, didn’t have ones or they get paid on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Lie: God emails me every day, I can just go check my inbox.
Truth: I am digging for answers and hope you still fear God and will tell me the truth.

Lie: If you keep making that face it will freeze like that.
Truth: It won’t.

Lie: Boy have cooties
Truth: Scientifically, girls actually have cooties.

Lie: The park is closed
Truth: We’re tired.

Lie: “Mom, what are you eating?” Answer “diet chocolate”
Truth: It’s not diet and I am not sharing.

Lie: Maybe, We will see.
Truth: I mean no, but I’m avoiding a melt down wherever we’re at currently!

Lie: If you swallow Watermelon seeds, they will grow in your tummy.
Truth: You are gonna poop watermelons. Oh wait, that’s another lie.

The truth is, that most of these are harmless and funny – which is good because I get in enough hot water for the amount of honesty and over indulging information I do share with my children. A good white lie, may be just what the kids may need these days. What are some whoppers you tell your children?

For more stories from Jessica, check out her blog at

KIDS…down right hilarious!

eathen heartEathen, age 7

Some of the best parts about being a parent is witnessing the honesty, the innocence and the down right hilarious statements that come from our children’s mouths. They often happen in times that may leave us a tad embarrassed, or in moments when we as parents really needed to laugh…or at quiet moments when they are just sharing their day.

We get so busy in our days of working, shuttling kids back and forth, and the normal craziness of day to day life, that we don’t always realize how much these little sponges soak things up, even from us. My grandfather always knew when I, or my brothers were eavesdropping and he would say ” little ears have BIG mouths” and boy was he right! And, what comes out of those mouths can be great stories all of their own. Take the picture above for instance, in response to receiving a valentine from Eathen, who is seven, the little girl sends a thank you along with ” I don’t love you. Love, Stella.” Priceless.

We often take for granted small minds, and what those may contain. A friend of mine caught her sons Cooper 5, and Logan 4, saying butt hole, and told them very sternly that it was no longer allowed to be said. They understood, and then she overheard them say “butt circle” instead! In all fairness, she didn’t say they couldn’t modify the name or shape.

The first time I let my daughter sit on my lap, and help me drive from the mailbox to the driveway she was about two. I am still in shock by what happened that day. She messed with the rear-view mirror, then blurted “Um hello, drive or get out of the way” while waving her hand and bobbing her head. And, where did she learn that? Me. I knew I was in trouble that day, but it did make me laugh…hopefully the rest of these will make you laugh too.

Coleton, age 8:
Me: “Why don’t you want to go to the football camp?”
Coleton: “I can’t run, I have liver problems.”
Us: How do you know it’s a liver problem?
Coleton: Points to his chest and says “It hurts here”
Us: “That is not your liver”
Coleton: “Well, I don’t know I am not a body-i-ologist”

Gracie, age 11:
Driving through the BestBuy parking lot, I see a man entering the store wearing pajama pants, and slippers and make notice of it to Gracie who promptly says: “He best buy himself some new clothes!”

Ethan, age 3
Me: “Honey you can call me whatever you want. Jess, Mom, whatever”
Ethan: “Anything?”
Me: “Yes, anything”
Ethan: “Sweet, I will call you Five Finger Death Punch – I love them!”

Sophia, age 2:
When asked by her mom “what does mommy say” and she would respond, “I love you”When asked “what does daddy say?” she would respond “what the hell?”

Gage, age 6:
Upon finding Gage’s fish dead, we break the news to him gently and he looks at the hard bloated obviously dead fish and says “No, he is just shy like me, he’s fine!!!”

Tia, age 5:
While eating dinner she loudly proclaimed, “God talks to me when I’m drinking”. When asked what God says to her when she’s drinking, she responded, “I don’t know, He’s speaking in Spanish!”

3 or 4 year old boy:
While working at a daycare, the worker overheard a little boy who kept saying a certain four letter F word, and when they pulled him aside and asked him why he kept saying it, he responded with “my dad keeps saying it, its tax time.” His dad was a tax accountant.

Gage, age 8:
On a family trip to Six Flags Gage says from the backseat:
“Since we are in California does that mean there are a lot of Cows?”
He thought it was “Cowafornia”

Gracie, age 10:
“Mom if the dishes taste soapy, it wouldn’t be because we were out of dishwasher detergent and I used your shampoo! But, hey, at least they smell like coconut! And, yes the kitchen filled up with bubbles too.”

Wyatt, age 4:
From Mom (Christina): My son would sit on my lap and when he got up he would always jab his elbow in my boob and I would say ouch my boob! He called his elbow his boob all the way into kindergarten. If he would scrape his elbow when he was young, he would ask me to kiss his boob!

Gage, age 7:
Me: “Are you getting sick honey?”
Gage: “No, its just my voice changing!”

Gracie, age 9:
Gracie: “Mom, I can’t watch the Justin Bieber movie before bed, because its too sad.”
Me: “What is sad?”
Gracie: “Mom, he loses his voice and can’t sing for a week, it was horrible!!!!”

What about you, what are some humorous things your children have said?

Two hours, my over-thinking and a clean house later.

Glancing at the clock on the computer I see it is 12:30 – holy crap, the kids will be out of school at 1:45 today – its Wednesday and early release – and I haven’t cleaned the house. Setting the computer down on the floor in front of me, I jump up in a mad rush! Looking around I realized that I had already cleaned the house for the most part – which was odd that I had forgot that – but then again the morning was pretty different considering I even worked out this morning – and I just don’t do that! Like, EVER.

Photo from Think Green while cleaning

Walking into the kitchen the sink is full of dirty dishes, the one chore that takes no time really, yet I procrastinate in doing them.  Dishes are now loaded and dishwasher is running, so I begin sweeping. Next to the refrigerator, there is a towel that catches the water, our freezer leaks – for whatever reason we can’t figure it out. Grabbing the huge shower towel, I toss it in the laundry and head into my room to find a more appropriate sized towel.  Standing in my bathroom – I stare blankly thinking what in the hell did I just come in here for? Seriously, I must be losing it – only to focus on the laundry basket full of clean towels in front of me. Ah ha! That’s what I came in here for.  Searching for a washcloth – I recall, bitching at my husband yesterday for doing the load of towels for me ( yes, I know…) because I was on a women empowerment trip and retorted with some smart ass remark like “ I don’t need your help, I can handle that all by myself – thank you very much”.  Apparently, I was wrong – since they are not yet folded.

While placing the washcloth at the bottom of the freezer I notice the kitchen rug needs to be taken outside to really shake it out good and not make sweeping the kitchen a complete fail.  Leaving the rug hanging over the edge of the porch, I think “Man this porch needs to be swept” and head into the kitchen for the broom.  Next to my feet on the porch, is my sons football stuff, which I grab to take back to his room (as he apparently lost the ability to do so himself).  Opening this door to his room, I see poop – dog poop – and do now recall him saying “We need to train the dog to poop in Gracie’s room – he always poops in mine” apparently he lost the ability to pick up dog poop also! Irritated, I head into the bathroom to get some toilet paper to pick up the poop with – and start cleaning the bathroom.

Boys’ toilets are just gross – until witnessing my stepson who is three, literally pee on his head and all up and down a wall in a restaurant bathroom, I never understood how exactly pee got to the back of the toilet. We managed to learn a pretty good tuck and weave – to avoid anymore (pee-pee /face moments). However, it seems we have not perfected it yet, because there is pee again behind the toilet.  Thinking to myself – “I need bleach” I head into the kitchen – only to find the pile of dirt I had left there from my previous attempt at sweeping, before I took the rug outside.  Tip-toeing around the pile, balanced on one foot, teetering, I open the cupboard and grab the bleach.  Happily and almost villainous,  I dump half the bottle into their toilet – there you evil pesky boy pee germs – die you suckers! Pleased with myself, and confident that this should do the trick, I move to my next task, sweeping the bathroom.  Now where did I leave the broom??

Out of the corner of my eye, on the floor next to the kitchen counter – I see the boxes from yesterday’s shopping trip to Costco.  I gather them up and head outside to take them to the carport– only to realize that the whole reason I came back in from the porch in the first place was to get the flipping broom to sweep the flipping porch! SO – I set the boxes by the front door and head back inside to find the now elusive stupid-stinking, broom – which I find in the kitchen, exactly where I left it! Damn –it, I now force myself to stay put and sweep the freaking kitchen and the now the stupid-stinking bathroom. The toilet still needs to soak, because the pee germs haven’t died to my liking yet – so I head to the kitchen to put the bleach back.  It’s then that I notice the front door is wide open, the front porch is still un-swept, the boxes are still sitting by the door and damn-it if I still haven’t picked up the poop in the boys bedroom. AHHH! That’s it – I’m sweeping this porch NOW!!

My ninja powers are of epic proportions as I sweep not only the porch but every cob web from the house. Feeling the possibilities of spiders crawling all over me, my arms are flailing wildly and I am now getting pissed – I’m mean, how dare the freaking crap I just brushed off the house, fall on me. Never mind the fact that I was the idiot that stood under it in the first place – but why would that matter, really? “Whoa, okay stay calm, ignore the fact that you just brushed down a beehive – and nope, that was not a bee that flew right at me” I’m going to pretend that never happened.

As I continue sweeping down the stairs of the front porch, I can hear Justin Bieber on the stereo, “If I was your boyfriend – I’d never let you go” and think – what does the world really have against this kid, anyway – I think he rocks! Somehow, my mind wanders to if I had his money, I wouldn’t be sweeping this stupid-stinking crappy porch of my un-owned manufactured home, that we we’re originally going to buy – but now I’m thinking not-so-much.  As, I move from sweeping the porch to sweeping the walkway – I think about whether I am considered white-trash or trailer trash, and if so I choose classy-white-trash as my title. Quickly, I realize I can’t be white trash because I have all my teeth, well, all but one – but it is in the back and you wouldn’t even know, had I not told you. Furthermore, I don’t live in a trailer, it is not metal – not that, that would matter anyhow – HELLO – Eminem grew up in 8-mile and look at him now, in his mansion, looking all sexy.  I bet someone sweeps his porch, in more ways than one!

Almost done sweeping – when I realize that I’ve yet to take a shower, the bleach in the toilet is still soaking, the boxes are still by the front door and the stupid-stinking poop is STILL in the boys’ room. How many times have I walked in and out of this house today – and forgotten how many things – seriously?  Grabbing the boxes, as if I have a personal bone to pick with them, I make my way to the carport, see a 2X4 in the grass –( I’m not even gonna ask) I grab it and both the boxes and the 2X4 get tossed against the wall in the carport.  On my way back to the porch, my daughters’ bike catches my eye and I wonder why in the hell she didn’t roll the bike the extra twenty feet to where it actually goes?? If the Hubs found this, he would take it, hide it and tell her it was stolen to teach her a lesson.  Leaving the bike there, I consider doing the same thing.

The walkway is swept clear to the street; I move the garbage can to the acceptable, unnoticeable side of the house – finding crap along the way throughout the yard. Apparently, the kids were enthralled in some project and forgot again how to clean up after themselves. On one side of my car there is a screw driver, I pick it up, then around the other side of the car I find a pair of socks – seriously – WTF? Placing all the crap I have picked up inside the garbage can, I see my beautiful daughters’ bike taunting me, and with the power THOR used to grab his hammer, I swoop the bike up in my one free hand, walk twenty or so feet – and chuck it beside the other bikes, scooters and skateboards. Such an incredibly hard task – I totally can see why the kids fail to manage it. NOT!!!

Looking back before I head inside, the yard looks nice – the porch is swept, no spider webs, I feel good about my work. Walking in the door, the entry way needs to be swept since I brushed the house off with the front door open and it has now fallen inside. With the broom in my hand, I sweep it up quickly – realizing that I have no clue where the dust pan is.  In my attempt to locate said dust pan, I walk through the living room, where it is obvious it needs to be vacuumed. Depositing the screwdriver where it goes, toss the socks in the laundry basket – then force myself to drink something because I have been parched for over an hour.

Opening the fridge, with every intention of drinking out of carton – because I can, after all this is my carton of peach juice – which the kids are not allowed to touch. So, if they decide to sneak it, then I guess that’s their bad luck! Damn – that juice is good – definitely hits the spot. Heading over to the bathroom to see if the dust pan was left in there, I see that the bleach is still killing boy pee germs. Scrubbing as best I can, I realize that there is no amount of bleach that is fully going to clean this toilet – so I better just accept this – as clean. Stepping back, looking around I see that I have officially finished a room in the house – woofreakinghoo! Hallelujah!

Walking by the boys’ room, I see the poop, and I keep walking. Still can’t find the dust pan – CRAP, did I throw it away outside in the garbage can on accident, I ask myself.  On my way out to check the garbage, peeking at the time on the phone, I notice is 1:15 pm, shit – it’s only been forty-five minutes, really??  As I hit the porch, I see the dustpan sitting there, where I flipping left it – sweep up the entryway and put the broom back beside the fridge where it belongs.  While checking the time on the phone, I noticed a TMNT – Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles coffee mug on the coffee table, with the coffee that I forgot to drink inside it. Rinsing it out in the sink, and leaving it there, I realize the kitchen is done now too! Yes!

Now – do I vacuum or clean up the poop in the boys’ room?  Vacuum, of course.

            What is with the word vacuum anyway, how the hell do you spell it – two c’s or two u’s – two of each? I mean, really, who thought up that word, and why not just call it the sucker-up-thing? Moving the sucker-up-thing to the front room, I notice my laptop is open on the floor in front of the couch where I left it; I close it – place it on the coffee table and move both the couches back so the sucker-up-thing can do its job.  Which where the couches are concerned , its job is to clean up all the crumbs of the food, my wonderful children are not supposed to be eating on the furniture in the first place, but whatever. Behind the couch, I see two paper airplanes, my son’s newest infatuation – holding them I question whether they would be missed if I tossed them, and decide to keep them just in case. Seeing my phone on the coffee table, I decide to plug it in, since I hate my phone dying –

Just as I am about to push the button to the sucker-up-thing, I hear the dogs bark and wonder why I can hear them when they are outside, realizing the window is open, I walk back to close it – since the A/C is on and all! Walking by the washer & dryer, I notice its silent and decide to swap the load since I am back there now – lord knows I will forget if I don’t do it now. Cleaning out the lint trap, I subconsciously reach for the plastic bag that is clothes pinned to a basket, realizing it is not there, and is now on the ground. Picking it up – I head to the garbage to throw it away – get to the front door just as a loud knock comes from outside. “Oh shit, who is that?  I can’t open the door looking like this”. Giving in, I open the door to see it is my son’s friends, mom – holding his football practice stuff, since he is walking home with my son today after school. We spend a couple minutes chatting mom talk – verify there isn’t any allergies I need to know about and then I walk her out on my way to the garbage can.

Back inside I am sucker-upping away, and pull up the corner of the large floor rug to ensure I get whatever it was that was under the corner of it, a little excitedly I guess, because I pulled it back further than I had expected. While it’s cleaning up all crap under the rug – I notice a baseball card – I maneuver around it, then flipped the carpet right back over it – I’m not even gonna lie – it’s still there.  Now that this is all done, I put the sucker-up-thing away.

Checking the phone again to see what time it is, I see a text  from my son’s, friends mom from earlier, saying she is on her way  to drop off her sons football stuff – little late for that now. The time on the clock says 1:45, which means the kids are now out of school – and holy crap I haven’t taken a shower yet, Gage’s friend will be here and I can’t embarrass him – and SHIT – I forgot about the shit in the boys’ room – ughhhh! Running into their room, clean up the poop, look around and realize this room is a lost cause for today, so I just close the door. Looking across the hall into my daughters’ room – I just pull that door closed as well.

Thirsty again, I sneak one more drink from the carton in the fridge before the kids come home. As I tip the carton back for a gloriously de-lish gulp, I notice the dryer door is open and must have been in the middle of doing something there at some point, though I have no clue what it was. Clothes are hanging out of it, and the wash has since been started and completed. Dumping the dirty clothes in the basket beside me on the ground, I fill the basket with the clothes from dryer. The amount this dryer is packed with my husband’s idea of a load is insane – so I stop to get the camera – in order to document and share this with Facebook! While grabbing my phone to use the camera, I see I missed my daughters’ call to let me know she is walking home – I call her back. Take the picture of the dryer load – make two trips in order to empty the dryer and add the clothes to the towels I tossed on the bed earlier in order to not forget again – since I have a point to prove to the Hubs!

Returning to the washer & dryer, I reach up to clean out the lint trap – only to realize that I had taken the bag out to the garbage. Oh ya! That’s why the dryer was open – I obviously forgot to come back after I took the bag out to the garbage while talking to my sons’ friends’ mom.  Geez, I am really losing it! I finish swapping the loads, get a new one ready but don’t start it – so I can jump in the shower.

While starting the shower, I notice my daughters’ clothes on the floor of my bathroom – ughhh! Gathering it all up, I toss it all in the dirty laundry basket. On the floor beside it I see my neck massager – “NO” it is an actual neck massager – whatever – it really is! Anyhow, I toss it under the bed, only to see my husband’s shorts and underwear that were left there this morning from our “encounter” which brings a smile to my face as I gather them up and toss them into the basket as well.  Undressing, I add my clothes to the same basket, which everyone else in our house seems to be unable to – and then check the time to see how close the kids are to being home. Its 2:02 – and I jump into the shower.

Twenty-five minutes, and three mild interruptions later, I exit a relaxing shower, with shaven legs, smelling of coconut-milk body wash and a clean house. Not bad for being only 2:27 pm on a Wednesday.

I’m a sexy jerk and I know it

Last week, Blogger Idol’s -following at home blog entry- was about traditions, and I thought that was easy enough. This week, we are to write about a day in the life of  ourselves as the opposite sex. Man – should this day be easy – literally. 


Rolling over and smacking the snooze button on my phone, I silence the excruciating loud alarm that refuses to affect my eyes which remain glued shut. My body will begin working just enough, to snooze the alarm, three more times. For the next thirty minutes, being split into three increments of ten minutes each, this alarm will cause just enough havoc to piss my wife off for the morning.  She will endure three, yes three – mini heart attacks, at which point she will violently shake the bed in the attempt to knock me out if it – or at least get me turn the alarm off.  Approximately ten minutes till seven in the morning,  I will give into the earthquake that is ranked a seven on a Richter Scale, and clumsily stumble to the bathroom.  Starting the shower, the need to pee will become overwhelming,  and looking at the toilet, I will not decide to not use it.  The entire bathroom will be filled by a white-hot sticky steam – because I refuse to turn on the fan, because I am a man and I don’t have to. Stepping into the shower, happily like an excited puppy I will pee in the shower – most likely on myself, because my eyes aren’t fully open at this point.

For about thirty-five minutes I will enjoy an uninterrupted and relaxing shower, allowing the scalding hot water to massage my body as I stand there and think about absolutely nothing.  Getting out of the shower, I will barely dry by body, as I stand in front of the mirror checking out my twenty-something abs and lack of any fat, along with my boyishly handsome good looks, thinking to myself  “I’m sexy and know it!”  After staring in anything that has a reflection for a couple more seconds, I will enter our bedroom and slip on my same old work shirt and a pair of Dickie shorts – because I can only wear Dickie. Making sure that the top of my boxers are hanging just a little above my shorts – not gangster low – but low enough.  After getting dressed, resuming checking myself out in the mirror and now placing the final touch of a flat-billed cap on my head slightly off kilter – I will say to myself “I’m sexy and I know it”!

My wife is still pretend-sleeping or wishful-sleeping if you will. The kind where –  her eyes are closed yet she is still yelling at the kids to brush their teeth, or refereeing a fight that she can hear while still sleeping, kind of sleeping. The kids are up getting ready and my daughter is telling my son how exactly he can breathe and when, and he is telling her she is not his boss and I am not saying a word – because honestly I have tuned them out. Walking back in to the bathroom, I spray myself head to toe obnoxiously with Axe body spray – because I’m sexy and the world should know it .  My wife is gagging and choking on the excess amounts of spray that has traveled through the air when she opened her mouth to simply breathe – muttering that I’m an insensitive jerk and to spray myself somewhere else. Maybe tomorrow I will do that, but too late for today.

As I kiss the wife goodbye , tell the kids I love them, its time to head off to work. For the next twenty minutes or so, I will re-join my roots (because I from LA – Santa Monica, but saying L.A, makes me more of a vanilla gangster) by blowing my wife’s speakers in her car. Bumping the bass to the point of where the mirrors are all vibrating to some Eminem – because he is my idol (even though he locks his pregnant wife in the trunk in one of his songs) but you know he is sexy and he knows it – so were cool. My music is so loud in fact that I miss repeated calls from my wife who needs to ask something or check and see if possibly I have the car-seat or her makeup bag that she left in the car – and although it is her car – I am going to tell her she needs to stop leaving her stuff in the car – and then she wouldn’t have to worry about whether she has it or not. She will snap back with “your such a jerk” or my all-time favorite (not!) way of ending a conversation with me – hanging up on me.

At some point on my way to work, I’ll pull into either a Dutch Bros Coffee or Human Bean, turning down my music only slightly – because I am sexy and know it – and the girls at the coffee stand – will know it. Flirting only because its natural and I don’t realize I do it, I may leave with a free coffee – or at the very least a few extra stamps on my punch card. Returning to the road and my beats  – I will create my own rendition of Dance, Dance USA, where I am able to dance with my hands, bobbing my head to the beat and still manage to drive the car and not wreck – because I’m invincible and I know it. Upon arriving at work about twenty minutes to eight I will shut of the car – leaving the volume just as high as it was and the keys in the ignition.

For the next 6-8 hours I will deliver mattress, breakdown and set up bed-sets dealing with a variety of customers and streaming the internet during the time in between deliveries, while riding in the truck. Occasionally a hot girl will come up beside us and my co-worker and I will make some crass remark about how we could see ourselves behind that – but then deny to my wife that I ever talk like that.  When work is over – I will return to the car – my dance dance – Eminem-bumping ride home to my sons football practice. Pulling into the fields where he is practicing, embarrassing my wife by my loud music, at which time I will actually turn it down some, because the parents heads are all turned – but that’s because I’m sexy and they know it.

Collapsing into a chair that my wife has waiting for me, my wife will ask how my day was.  Followed by her suffering from diarrhea of the mouth and fill me in about all the goings on of the day – all the while,  I will be on my phone spinning in hopes of some huge jackpot on slotomania. Watching my son’s practice I will get on him for not being tough enough or fast enough and my wife will get on me for being too hard on him – and again call me a jerk. At that point I may or may not retort with “So, have you written your book yet?” knowing this irritates her and I apparently do this purposefully all the time, and I would hate to let her down by not obliging, so I let it fly.  Again – she will call me a jerk and I will laugh – making her even more pissed. The noise coming from my unfed stomach will be the driving force behind my tactics of using husband-baby-talk, telling my wife “you are so pretty, quit being such an angry bird” and then ask whats for dinner.

Hearing the kids on the field yell “Eagles” my stomach is happy that practice is over and I can now go home.  Relaxing in my recliner, my wife will bring me dinner – something I could easily have prepared for myself but don’t because, well because, she does.  Incoherently, I become entranced by the most interesting repeat of an episode of Family Guy, soaking it in as if I have never seen this particular one before – although I have – twenty times. Then, just as the kids are getting ready to settle down, I will begin a UFC showdown in the living room, my wife will get on her laptop typing something or on Facebook – as usual. Throwing the kids, one after the other,  across the living room onto our massive bean bag chair – my wife will tell me to stop and tell the kids to settle down. Neither of us are going to acknowledge that we heard her, not this time or the next three warnings that follow. We will stop however, once she says “Really, are you serious right now?” to me, and we know she means business. However, as the kids walk by, most likely I will trip them playfully, causing them to land on the bean bag giggling in hysterics,  thinking my wife won’t see – but of course she does and of course she will call me a jerk – again.

Before calling it a night, once again I get to enjoy a scalding hot shower for more than 40 minutes,  steaming up the bathroom and again avoiding the use of the fan. Getting out of the shower, my wife in now in our bed, on her laptop, again.  To get her attention, I will show her my god given, male talent of  “helicopter, helicopter” or the “knocker” where I twist and whack my wiener from one side to the other smiling at my wife – because I am sexy and I know it. She is going to look at me as she always does, thinking why the hell does he do that? – and I’ll say the words that sometimes are magic – I’m gonna get lucky tonight- words “Gettin’ it” – making her blush and laugh – telling me “you can’t say that – don’t say that”  slowly crawling into bed next to her, I will repeat it over and over.

Depending on how big of a jerk I actually was today she will decide if my attempt of touching her will in-fact, pay off. If her back is to me, I will spoon her and purposely push my man-junk against her – knocking at the door – if you will,  to see  if she will allow a visit from the evening wood-fairy. Sometimes she lets him in for a quick visit, sometimes a little longer and sometimes she has a headache – of course!  Following either option I will fall asleep on my wife, weighing her body down by my muscular studly body – because I am sexy and I know it – and she will repeatedly beg me to move over and quit taking over the entire bed. For five minutes I will oblige, only to assume my previous position drifting off into a deep sleep.

I have a hard life, don’t you think?

See you next blog – Jess(e)

(This of course is my rendition – my husband says he is nothing like this)

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