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The Torture Of Swim Suit Shopping

I got slapped in the face with a harsh realization this weekend. I had to go swimsuit shopping. It was an ugly, ugly day. Ugly. I had the unfortunate experience of having to take the family with me to Kohl’s while I shopped for a swim suit. Just for reference- this is a bad idea.

The swimsuit aisles were filled with women who shuffled around, muttering to themselves and shaking their head in disbelief at the tiny scraps of material that qualify as swim suits. One lady particular caught my eye as she muttered and scoffed at the choices. Dressed head to toe in black, she looked seriously depressed. I heard the words ‘Damn vacation’ more than once. I understood exactly how she felt.

Matt even took it upon himself to help me pick out a swimsuit. Now I love him but he just has no idea. The first one he picked up was a string bikini in a size 2. I stared at him, stupefied and bewildered. There is not enough string in the world, my friends. And a size 2? Great, that will cover one butt cheek. I’ll have to buy another one to cover the other butt cheek and sew them together. The second one he picked out included a teensy weensy bikini top and a thong. Really? I stared at him for a moment. Just long enough for him to realize that he was skating on thin ice. I had to ask ‘Are you new?’ I sent him off with the kids to the toy department while I shopped alone.

Thirty minutes later, I was whimpering and curled up in the fetal position narrowing down my choices.  Then came the hard part. The dressing room. With the floor to ceiling mirrors and the fluorescent lighting. Who designs these little chambers of horror anyway? Probably a sadistic man. I shuffled along to the dressing room and chose a room at the very back where it was less likely for the whole store to hear the naughty words and screams of horror.

I tried on 16 bottoms and 22 tops. I found 2 bottoms that will work, and believe me, work is a very broad statement here folks. I found one top that adequately covered the girls. So I have complete swim suit and then a pair of bottoms. The second top that I wanted was sold out in my size. I could have squeezed, and I mean squeezed, myself in a smaller size or let it all hang out in one size larger. Why does this happen? The universe hates me, that’s why. I cannot face another day of swimsuit shopping. I cannot do it. Cannot do it. The day would end with the news reporter saying ‘Before hanging herself with a swim top, the crazed madwoman took out the entire swim suit display….’

Therefore, in an attempt to avoid a repeat of this horror, I will be ordering the top online. I will find a top that works without setting foot in another swim suit section. My ego can’t take it. The only thing better would be a full body wet suit, but I’d need one that wasn’t too tight. And it can’t be shiny, who needs the sun reflecting off the dimples on their butt?

Things I Never Thought I’d Say

Until I had kids I never realized the absurdly insane things that would one day come out of my mouth. Sometimes I look around for the hidden camera and assume I’m on some low-rated cable prank show. Seriously. It’s the only plausible explanation for some of the things I find myself saying. Especially since sometimes I have to say them more than once.


10 Things I Never Thought I’d Say

1. Please don’t put your finger in the dog’s butt.
I mean, really? This needs to be said? Gross.


2. Do not use your toothbrush and toothpaste on the dog’s teeth.
The poor dog. He walked around foaming at the mouth like he had rabies. But his breath was minty fresh.


3. The toilet is not an appropriate place to wash your hands.
Again, really? I don’t care how many bubbles you can make when you flush.


4. Your poop is not an acceptable alternative for Play-Doh.
Although it was a very lifelike replica of a snake. Still…


5. Please do not stick your hand down my shirt in public.
Especially when you grab my boob and say “honk honk”. Really kid?


6. It is not okay to show strangers at Target your new panties.
It’s really not ok to ask to see theirs in return.


7. Please do not ask ladies at the grocery store if they have a “bagina”.
And why do they target older ladies who lost their sense of humor when menopause started?


8. Well what did you think would happen if you stuck a jelly bean up your nose?
At least it came out with a good nose blow this time instead of an ER visit. You can only go to the ER so many times before a social worker pays a home visit.


9. You did not puke up blood, it’s red food dye from the supersize slurpie.
You know, the supersize slurpie that you should never have been allowed to have. Thanks grandma.


10. You understand you are not the boss in this house, right?
No really, you are not the boss. Why are you laughing?


Do you see what I’m working with here people? It’s maddening. This is why I day drink.





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How a Bird Rescue Goes Wrong

We came home one afternoon last week and found something I didn’t expect. A little bird was stuck in our outside light fixture. I’m not sure how or why this bird decided to climb on in there but once inside the little idiot couldn’t figure out a way to get back out. Sigh. Mase and Zoey were watching so I had to get the bird out. I would have anyway but having those two standing there watching me ensured that I did it with a minimum of naughty words.




I frantically looked around for a man on our street. Any man. I’m all for equality and stuff but the light fixture is high up, surrounded by spider webs, and protected by a very large spider. A trifecta of things I’m scared of. Yay me. Of course, there’s a never a man around when you actually need one. Yet I’m surrounded by them whenever I even think about turning on HGTV. Irony. It always bites me in the ass.


So I pulled out a barstool that was sitting in the garage and screamed like a girl as I wiped off the spider web  attached to it. Once I climbed on top of the barstool I realized that I had absolutely no idea how to get the top off of the light fixture so I could let the bird out. After using some very creative naughty word combinations I finally resigned myself that I was going to have to stand all the way up on the barstool so I could figure it out. Which meant standing almost eye to eye with that big spider. I swear that thing was staring me down. Just waiting until I got close enough so it could eat me. Every time my hand got close to the top of the light fixture, the spider moved. And I screamed. It moved more. I screamed more. It was a vicious cycle.


It took me 15 minutes to figure out how to get the top off. It involved a screw driver and sticking my hand directly through the middle of that spider web. I almost decided the bird could just stay in the light fixture…like a pet. But my kids gave me those sad puppy eyes and I couldn’t do it. Damn kids.


My mind has blocked out the majority of sticking my hand through a spider web and risking the wrath of a large angry spider. I remember the screaming and the naughty words and the kids laughter. That’s about it.


I finally got the top off of the light fixture and the idiot bird didn’t want to fly away. By this point I was ready to kill the thing myself so I poked at it until it decided to fly away. As it was flying away, guess what happened? It took a crap on my shoulder. I know. Ungrateful. That would be about the point I lost my mind.


The whole street saw me chase a little bird down the driveway yelling, “Get back in there you ungrateful little bastard” while waving a screwdriver like a samurai sword. Not my finest moment but in my defense, I was covered in bird crap. With the way our luck has been this winter, this will be the one bird in our state that has been infected with bird flu. If you hear of an outbreak in the South….I am patient zero.


And to top it all off, no less than 3 men walked past our driveway immediately following the bird rescue. I’m going to assume they were all watching from around the corner until I was done so they didn’t have to participate. I’m basing that assumption on the fact that none of them would look me in the eye. Bastards.


I hate birds.



Top Mom Invention: The Decontaminator

I have an invention idea that someone needs to get right on please. It’s called The Decontaminator and it’s made for moms! The idea was born out of necessity in our house of illness over the past few weeks. First, it was the stomach plague. Then came the pink eye outbreak. Which was followed by the flu. I’ve started called my children The Outbreak Monkey’s. Because seriously, we’ve been sick for over a month straight now. No amount of healthy eating, vitamins, juices, hand washing, sanitizing, and cleaning has been able to kill whatever the heck these kids are bringing home with them from school every day.

So I have an idea.

I want someone to build me a decontamination chamber to fit my foyer. It was must be completely enclosed. As soon as you enter the front door you are inside the chamber. You will immediately undress and your clothing will be bagged for further decontamination. Then you will be sprayed with some kind of industrial strength germ killing probably illegal in 20 countries disinfectant. Head to toe. Kind of like a spray tanner works. The chamber does not unlock and allow you out until you are dry and disinfected. Good, right?

I even thought about some kind of early detection system too. Maybe a built in thermometer that detects the beginnings of a fever. Or something that can detect germs…that would be even better. I wonder if the CDC has any such tool in development? Huh. Then if the chamber shows any kind of germs you can be immediately quarantined to avoid the spreading of said germs. Pretty smart idea, right? Matt says the fever is making me delusional but motherhood did that long ago.

Who wants to start the development with me? I can’t take any more sickness in this house. My immune system has just given up- really, it packed up its stuff and moved on out. The kids are bringing home some kind of mutant super germs from school and I can’t fight them off anymore. Schools really should be considered the breeding grounds for the new plague. Really.