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We Interrupt This Programming To Announce

that I, who admittedly hates any and all forms of exercise, ran a quarter of a mile today. And nobody was chasing me.

Granted I was chasing the ice cream truck down the street as it zoomed past my house going a speedy 15 miles per hour. That’s neither here nor there. And let’s not talk about the 2 ice cream sandwiches that I snarfed down as I trucked back up the street to her house. Those calories surely don’t count, in light of the whole running down the street thing.

And let’s really not talk about the fact that this all took place at 10am, in my pajamas while wearing flip flops.

No really. Let’s not talk about that.


It’s Monday….again. Sigh. Time for Not Me! Monday, hosted by MckMama at my charming kids. Head on over to participate!
I get so tired of trying to clean up all the crumbs that Mase likes to make while in his highchair. This week, I absolutely did not just plop him down on the floor and let the dog eat the crumbs right off his butt. And I surely did not do it more than one time in a day. That would be unsanitary. Nope. Not me!

While celebrating the 4th up at my parents house, I certainly did not mix up the real Pina Colada pitcher with the virgin pitcher. And I most definitely did not proceed to drink 4 large margarita glasses full of the yummy concoction. That would be irresponsible for a nursing mom. Not me!

After consuming enough alcoholic Pina Coladas to get Lindsay Lohan plastered, I most assuredly did not participate in karaoke. And I absolutely did not do a fantastic rendition of Baby Got Back….complete with the dancing. That would be humiliating, especially considering the amount of video cameras present. Nope. Not me!

Later that night when I had to pump and dump so I could feed Mase, I surely did not have to hand express milk for the first time ever when I realized that I had no breastpump available. And I really did not make mooing noises the entire time I expressed, sending the children into hysterical laughter and thereby setting myself up to be called a cow in public by one of the little cherubs at some point in the future. That would be immature. Not me!

While playing the rapid creek behind my parents house, I absolutely did not attempt to ride the innertube down the rapids resulting in two rather large holes in two very, ahem, noticeable spots in my shorts. And I definitely did not have to walk all the way back up to the house with my buttcheeks blowing in the breeze. That would be the proverbial cherry on the sundae. Not me!

I guess you can see that we had a rip roaring good time at my parents BBQ this 4th of July. I’m off to buy some new shorts….and some Neosporin cuz those rocks hurt when they hit delicate skin. Ahem.

Postcards From The Beach

Dear Really Fat Lady,
A white string bikini is not a good idea for anybody at the beach. Period. And that little strip of lining that was made to hide your nether areas? It’s not hiding enough. Please, for the love of everything decent, put on a moo-moo.
The bitch who ran away screaming ‘my eyes, my eyes’ while dragging small children behind her

Dear Dumb Ass with the kite,
If you want to fly your kite, take it somewhere away from small children and bitchy mothers. If you dive bomb my kid again with that thing, I will shove it up your ass and pull it out through your nose. Thank you for prompt attention to this matter.
The bitch who yelled out ‘Hey jackass’ more than one time and then threw sand at you after stomping the shit out of your ugly kite

Dear Old Dude in the Speedo,
Dude. Really? Do we even need to have this conversation? Nobody looks good in a speedo but wearing a bright orange leopard print one at the age of 75 is borderline criminal. If you insist on wearing it, at least make sure you tuck all that shit inside cause nobody wants to see old wrinkly balls hanging out the side. For the love of Pete!
The chick who threw up a little bit in her mouth everytime you walked by with one of your boys flapping in the breeze

Dear Melodramatic Martha,
It’s the beach. There is sand. If you don’t like sand, stay home. Nobody wants to hear you shrieking every five seconds about the sand touching you. Next time leave your weave at home if you don’t want it to get sand in it. Or at least super glue that shit to your head so it won’t fly away.
The bitch who accidentally stepped on your weave for the tenth time after it blew off your head

Dear Queen of Attitude,
I’m terribly sorry that my children’s excitement upon seeing the pirate during dinner disturbed you, but I would be remiss not to mention that you chose to eat dinner at an establishment known for it’s huge kids bar. Huffing, puffing and rolling your eyes at the children was incredibly tacky and unnecessary. If you didn’t want to eat dinner near children, perhaps you should have thought more carefully about your choice of restaurant. The next time I catch you huffing and rolling your eyes at my kids I will be throwing something a lot harder than a dinner roll at your head.
The bitch that beaned you in the back of the head with the dinner roll and then laughed out loud when it got stuck in all that hairspray

Dear Mother Nature,
63 degrees outside, windy and rainy? Really? Was it not enough that you had to send my monthly gift a whole five days early so I could enjoy it while on vacation at the beach? You also had to send the sandstorms, the thunderstorms and the flu? Really? Step off bitch, you’re testing the limits of my patience.
The cranky, cold bitch wearing the cashmere sweater at the beach in May while cursing your name

Dear Clueless Ass Crack Monkey,
In case you didn’t notice, we were trying to take a picture of our four children on the beach. I’m not sure why you thought that we would like your gigantic ass smack in the middle of our family picture. I feel perfectly justified in telling you that the next time you bend over and give me a crack shot when I’m taking a picture of my four babies, I will plant my foot in the middle of your ass and knock you face first into the ocean. I’m just sayin‘. Don’t say you weren’t warned.
The bitch who yelled ‘For the love of Pete, move your ass’ at the top of her lungs and then kicked sand in your direction

Dear Elderly Honeymooners,
I understand that you are newly married and enjoying your honeymoon. I’m just not sure why the rest of us must hear you enjoying your honeymoon. I’m betting that you don’t know just how thin these walls really are. If you did, you might be a little more careful about what you’re yelling out in the heat of the moment. ‘Go Daddy go, bring me on home Big boy’ is not something I need to hear when I’m nursing my child. Actually it’s not something I need to hear ever. I should probably also address the headboard banging on the wall. Repeatedly. What are you people? Rabbits? Give it a rest, will you? Tell ‘Daddy’ to put down the Viagra and go hit the beach for awhile. We couldn’t even look you in the eye when we passed you in the hallway today. Awkward, isn’t it?
The totally skeeved out people in the next room who don’t like to think about their parents having that much sex, let alone their grandparents


This is my first Monday participating in MckMama’s blog carnival. Her Not Me! Monday posts always make me giggle so I thought I’d give it a shot.

When talking to a school psychologist this week, I most certainly did not use the word dick and I certainly did not imply that I would encourage my son to use that word in school. That would be bad parenting. Not Me!

When taking photographs for Kelly’s Show Us Where You Live tour, I definitely did not transfer the clutter from one room into another room just for the pictures and I really did not move it all back when I was done instead of just putting it away. Because that would be lazy. Not Me!

When out in public with people Matt knows from his work, I most certainly did not slip up and call him by his blog name instead of his real name. And I absolutely did not do it three times in one conversation. That would be embarrassing. Nope. Not Me!

When we got home late one evening from a school function, I did not send Ty to bed without a desperately needed shower. And I definitely did not tell him to just spray on some of his dad’s TAG the next morning before school. No way. That would be bad hygiene. Not Me!

When Mase woke up with a high fever and was unable to go back to sleep, I definitely did not just bring him in bed with us and pop a boob in his mouth. And I certainly did not allow him to just remain latched on, thus becoming a human pacifier for the remaining four hours of the night so I could get a few more hours of sleep. That would be creating a really bad habit. Not Me!

When in the midst of a May Monsoon this week, I absolutely did not lay down a puppy pad on the floor for Bailey so I didn’t have to go outside in the rain to walk him. And I definitely did not do it four more times that day. And I certainly would never hide the evidence from Matt and then giggle when he took Bailey out in the Monsoon, muttering obscenities under his breath. That would be mean. Nope. Not Me!

I hope you enjoyed my Not Me! Monday confessions. Believe me, there were more but I think stopping at six is a good idea. No need for everyone to know how dysfunctional I really am, let’s keep some of the mystique shall we?

Have a few confessions of your own? Head on over to MckMama’s and join in on the fun. Come on, we’re all friends here. I promise not to think any less of you. And coming from the person who used dick in school conversation and then cackled at Matt in the rain, that’s saying something.

Dear Stage Mom

Dear Stage Mom,

I understand that you are excited about your daughter presence in Ballet class. I’m excited too. However, the other Ballet mom’s and I think that we need to have some guidelines for the behavior of the parents of the little Ballerinas. Today got a little out of hand. I’m sure that once the swelling goes down, you will agree.
The first issue that we need to address is your bitchiness sense of superiority. I understand that your husband has a great job. I understand that your oldest Ballerina is brilliant, wise beyond her years and will probably win the Nobel peace prize by the age of 10. I understand that your youngest child is uber talented in all things and is most definitely a genius. I understand that you take full responsibility for molding your family into the genetically superior specimens that we saw before us today.

Really, I get it.

The constant chatter about what an amazing job your husband has is incredibly annoying insensitive to those who are not as fortunate these days. I’m sure we are all so happy that you just bought a brand new house and 2 brand new cars. Whoopee. Really. Equally annoying is the way you must work into Every. Single. Conversation. that your children are perfect. I have four of them. No child is perfect. So shut up already. The other Ballerina mothers are perfectly content to be raising our inferior children thankyouverymuch. Just refer to us as The Inferior Breeders from now on if that will help you to feel more superior in our presence.
The second issue that makes the inferior breeders want to kick your ass should be mentioned is your nasty habit of talking about children other than your own. It is not appropriate to ask another mother if her child has been tested for autism. It is equally inappropriate to insist that an energetic child must have ADHD. Have you no manners? Down here in The South, it is considered bad manners to suggest, imply or downright diagnose a child other than your own with a behavior or psychological condition. Doing so will get your ass kicked by a pack of angry mothers. Along the same line, we do not need to hear how your daughter skipped a grade and is now in the gifted program. Just a FYI, for the future, skipping Kindergarten and proceeding directly to first grade at the age of 6 is not considered skipping a grade. And when you force your child to skip Kindergarten because you decided that the teacher was unable to cope with your child’s intelligence and the other children in the class were not as bright as your child….well that’s just called parental denial. This does not make your child gifted. This makes your child a social pariah among her classmates. Just so you know.
The third, and perhaps most important, issue that needs to be rectified immediately is your behavior towards the children during Ballet class. The Inferior Breeders other mothers all understand that your child is particularly graceful and well suited to be a ballerina. In case we missed the All Points Bulletin that you issued about this, it would be totally obvious by the beautiful leap your child executed during class. Don’t let the fact that she slammed into the wall with her face stop you from singing praises about her talent. Really. Now let me be very clear about this next point. THE ONLY CHILD YOU ARE ALLOWED TO TALK ABOUT IN BALLET CLASS IS YOUR OWN. It is not okay to dissect the mistakes that the other ballerinas are making. It is not okay to call out suggestions to the other ballerinas. It is not okay to roll your eyes and make huffing noises at the other ballerinas. And it is most definitely not okay to yell out to your daughter that ‘she is so much better than the other ballerinas’. Not okay. Not even a little bit. Equally inappropriate would be telling the Inferior Breeders other mothers that they should spend a little time practicing with their children. They are 4 years old. Ballet class is supposed to be fun. Stop making it unfun. You’re a fun killer. I do have to admit that watching you sprain your ankle while trying to demonstrate the proper way to execute the leap was the high point of my day. For Real. I suppose I should apologize for the giggling fits disguised as coughing fits that the Inferior Breeders other mothers were suddenly struck with. I should but I won’t because let’s just be honest, it was karmic justice. And damn funny too.

In conclusion, stop bragging about your family, stop criticizing other people’s children and stop being the Ballerina Nazi. If I see you roll your eyes at my child again, I will shove that pretty pink tutu down your throat.

The Inferior Breeder that will kick your uppity ass if you so much as look at my kid sideways during Ballet Class again