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Top 10: Things I flippin’ love about Ireland

18 Mar

I’m not Irish but wish I were. I could use a free pass to drink beer for breakfast and wine in church. Also? Freckles are cute. Need more reasons to love Ireland? You’re welcome…

1) Green beer. I wouldn’t touch this shit with a 10 foot pole but everyone else looks so festive drinking it, and can count each pint glass as a full serving of vegetables. I may add some to my next batch of meatloaf.

2) Limericks. I love rhyming. Here’s one for ya’, from me. I wanted to put either the word vagina or goatee in it, but couldn’t figure that shit out so…

There once was a mom from LA
Who wrote crappy poems all day.
Before long lack of rain
Began shrinking her brain
So she drank to find good shit to say.

3) Freckles. You already know I think they’re cute, but for us creative types, freckles also provide hours of entertainment. Waiting for a pool table? Play connect the dots on your Irish buddy’s forehead. Bored of darts? Pull down your pants, Reilly McIrish, those ass moles make for an arduous drunk target. In a springtime slump? Throw your freckled friend on a lawn chair and watch him turn pink. I’m an endless fountain of creativity here, folks. Continue reading

Join me in my head, why don’t ya’

25 Jan

It’s Friday, and we’re headed up to a mountainous town for the weekend which means winding roads and drowsy kiddos. Time for me to think. Because I’m super deep and inspiring I thought I’d just let that ol’ stream of consciousness flow and, you know, change your life with all of my insight. Let’s hope I live up to the pressure I’ve just created for myself…and now, “Things I Thought About On The Way Up The Mountain: Uncensored”.

Fawnskin. As in the town. Say it fast 3 times and you’ll know why I smirk every time we make this drive. Apparently I have the brain of a 12 year old boy.

Squatting in turnouts. Time for a math lesson, kids! Let’s count all the places mommy has tinkled on the side of the road because she thought cold weather “necessitated” a cup of hot coffee and then “OMG, why do I always forget coffee goes right through me…no, we aren’t almost there, so pull over, NOW. No, I can’t hold it, and yes, I went before we left. Do you really want the kids to see me piss myself…no I’m guessing you don’t, so  PULL THE F OVER!”. This ends with me making yellow snow. Fun for the whole family, and all of the families driving by mommy with her pants down.

Video games. I ❤ Sega. Or whoever the hell it is that makes the DS. It’s educational and has a full day’s dose of Omega 3’s, right? Win win. Continue reading

Kicking my own (bad)ass

23 Jan

Hey all, any of you noticed it’s 2013? Whenever the hell did that happen?! I’m wondering if you feel like I do at the beginning of the year. Maybe like you need to poop out a 5 pound turkey/pie/alcohol baby? Or like you have ten thousand things you would like to commit yourself to but those darned 2 weeks the kids were out of school really mucked up your to-do list so now you’ll be playing catch-up until Spring Break? Or like this new year has so much gorgeous promise to fulfill that you might just burst from excitement before anyone can say “resolution”? I thought so, me too.

Here’s how this worked out for me this year. Continue reading

A recipe, and the most awesome post script ever (and by awesome I mean horrifying)

26 Jul

I’m cooking and drinking wine, which means that the fire alarm is going off but I don’t give a shit. It’s one of those days that can only be solved by alcohol and a good family meal. Wait, that’s every day. Welcome to my world.

This is me, knife (that look says don’t cross me), and wine. Off camera my longtime BFF The Joy of Cooking. It holds the secrets to our universe, for real.

Sadly this is the only picture I can provide for tonight’s meal. I tried snapping some non-iPhone photos and set the simmering pan of wine on fire. And right before that when I tried shooting the lamb chops browning I set off both fire alarms. Simultaneously. Talent, folks.

Okay, so lemme rewind a sec here and recap the last few weeks thus explaining the need to ingest half a bottle of wine and drown our dinner in the other half. Continue reading

The kid’s gone crazy

30 Apr

So I know we all feel like our kids are heathens sometimes; unruly, disobedient, the worst of the worst. And when, through some inexplicable turn of events, you find yourself to be the parent of the worst of the worst, well, there’s truly nothing worse. Unfortunately for the adult contingent, there are no rules when it comes to the parent-child standoff. No three steps in the opposite direction before turning to fire. No rules of engagement to reduce operational risk, or define appropriate constraints and stuff (thank-you Wikipedia).

Anyway, I’ve felt this way periodically since my first son was born, initially when he was screaming his infant lungs out at Target because I’d miscalculated his feeding time, then at the park when I pulled the “I’m pretending to walk to the car without you” move, and many times over in various parking lots, frozen food sections, and notoriously in the middle of a school assembly.

The only saving grace is that with my first son the operative word has always been “periodically”. There was always that “oh crap I forgot to change your diaper so that’s why you’re screaming” moment, or “oh right, you skipped your nap three days in a row so I’ll forgive your delirious headbutting” allowance. With number two, however, all rules have changed. His tantrums are chronic, decisive, and unwelcome accessories to our daily routine.

Take today, for instance. When I picked the little dude up from school all seemed well and good. He even reported that one of his teachers was out sick so he had to be Ms. Gina’s “assistant” in the classroom (Ms. Gina is apparently a saint). He ate a hearty snack in the car on the way to art class, and sat through the hour like a champ. He was proud of his finished picture and didn’t hit his brother or friend in the back seat on the way to hip hop. And for the first ten minutes of big bro’s dance class he even sat on my lap and watched like a benign and obedient four year old. I was seriously dewy eyed – and judiciously deceived.

We all know when our children are teetering on the brink of a breakdown. Today I made the mistake of ignoring the warning signs. The restless pulling of my sweater, twitchy inability to sit still, high pitched whining over the sub-par volume of the Fart app. These were all warning signs; ones that I know, but carelessly ignored. Until he headbutted me. And, as outlined above, all rules were out the window.

There’s more to the story, but it’s not really relevant except to say that we oscillated between peace and power struggle for the next few minutes until little dude was overcome by the apparent urge to sock me in the kneecap. For that he landed some hard “thinking time” in the car while I pretended not to hear him breathing fire at me from outside. And though he fell asleep on the drive home, I can’t justify the kid’s behavior because he was tired; he’s four years old and does this every-single-day between 3 and 6 pm. We call it witching hour, and it’s grating on my already over-taxed mom nerves.

So tonight I’ll do what I always do: pour a glass of wine and turn to the parenting books. You should see my bedside table. Really, it’s a wealth of psychological insight…and vampire romance. Both essential for effective parenting. At times like this I wonder if I’ve got it right, if my I’ll-show-you-by-trapping-you-in-the-car parenting is whittling my son into one of those teenage cat slayers. If all of his spitting, hitting, scratching, and biting are a sign that I didn’t hug him enough as a baby (he’s really snuggly…maybe he needed more?). Or maybe today he really was just…tired?

What I do know is that for all of his challenges that little bugger is worth the fuss. Contrary to how it seems at the moment (to both you and me, I assure you) the kiddo is overwhelmingly loving, he’s audacious, he’s 100% boy (except for that whole pink cake and puppy party thing). And although his brand of tantrum is twice the storm of his brother’s, I guess I kinda’ can’t blame him. After all, I know perfectly well who he gets it from 😉