I had a mind once. Now I have small children.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

All I Want for Christmas...

Dear Santa,

It's that time of year again.  I'm sure you are  up in the North Pole, loading up on cookies, exercising the reindeer, and packing up your gigantic bag of goodies to deliver across the world.  But, if you have just a moment to spare, I would like you to read my letter.  I have something I really need this year, and if you could help, that would really rock my world. 

Now, normally, I would ask you for a day off from my job as mom  Or for a never-ending supply of beer in my fridge.  I might ask for endless amounts of money so that I can PAY someone to clean this house of ours.  On a different year, I might request you to bring me some bling from Tiffany's.  I might even ask for a new mini-van, a week in the Bahamas--sans Goombas, complete with unlimited beverages, or a live-in chef/personal trainer to help me lose these last freakin' 10 pounds that just won't budge.  On a normal year.  But, Mr. Clause, this is not a normal year. 

And so I ask you this...

Please bring peace to Luigi and my family.  That is all I ask.  I want my darling Luigi to not feel scared, or anxious, or overwhelmed, or stressed, or too big for his skin anymore.  I want the real Luigi to shine through for all the world to see--the Luigi who asks me, quietly in his bed at night, if he was good enough to be on your "nice" list today.  The Luigi who stops in the middle of everything he is doing, to run over and give me a hug just to say "I love you."  I want Mario and Peach to understand that their brother might need just a little bit of extra help with some things.  I want Bowser and I to have the patience to give him that help.  I want the doctors he sees, to have the wisdom to know what he needs, without going overboard, or under-treating.  I want his teachers to continue to help and guide him with patience that I'm not sure I could ever possess.  I want him to sleep peacefully through the night, without a nightmare, or an unknown terror causing him to cry out. I want him to know, truly in his heart, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is mine and that I love him more than anything in the world.  Please, Santa, please.  Bring my Luigi peace. 


Thursday, November 29, 2012

Birthday Fun

At the request of Uncle Corelone--who you NEVER turn down a request from--here is a little tidbit about celebrating the Papa's 60th birthday...

A couple of weeks ago, I got to fly on an airplane, by myself, to see my dad, by myself, for his 60th birthday party, by myself.  Did I mention that there were no Goombas with me and that I was BY MYSELF???  Oh, ok then.  Just so we are clear on that. 

I arrived Friday afternoon and got to spend some awesome quality time with the Zaz and the Pop.  That doesn't happen very often anymore, so it was really very nice.  A bit later, Uncle Corleone came with my cousin Lil' Corleone.  As I am the oldest (by far, ugh) of all my cousins, it was so great to get to spend some time with a teenager and do all kinds of fun girlie stuff.  Also, with the Corleones, my brother, Don Juan and his new girlfriend came.  Just for the sake of keeping track of who belongs with whom, let's call her Ms. Juan. 

Since it was unseasonably warm for mid-November, we spent Friday evening sitting out on the deck, laughing and having drinks.  Ms. Juan and I bonded instantly over a bottle of vodka.  That we ended up mixing with old wine coolers.  Just for the record... That is NOT a good combination. 

The next morning, dear, sweet Uncle Corleone woke everyone up to the sound of a bullhorn at about 7 a.m.  But, since he doesn't scare me, I just gave him a dirty look, rolled back over and went back to sleep.  There were NO Goombas--I was not waking up at the crack of dawn! 

Later in the day, my other brother, Law-Man arrived in town, unfortunately without Mrs. Law-Man, but I guess we will take him anyway.  Even more exciting, around lunch time, Auntie Mets came and totally surprised the pants off of the Papa. 

It was loud, there was lots of food and there was even more beverage.  And the official party hadn't even started yet! 

That evening we went to a local restaurant and sat in a private area to celebrate 60 years of the Papa.  The booze flowed like wine and we all shared our favorite memories.  For some reason, most of the memories somehow came back around to Don Juan's childhood antics.... not sure how that happened, but ok.  Now, it could have been the rum talking, but I did get a little teary-eyed when I gave my toast to dad.  I mean, after all, Daddy, I really am so lucky to have turned out "just like you." 

By Sunday, everyone was stuffed full of food and trying to ease their hangovers with some "hair of the dog."  I hated to leave so soon, but alas, the Goombas and Bowser needed me.  I was so happy to have spent the weekend with family that I don't get to see very often.  Really, in short, I think the best way to describe it is simple:  A good time was had by all. 

Cheers!  Happy Birthday, Daddy! 

ps--there's your blog, Uncle Corelone!  And Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.  The end.  

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

He knows...

***WARNING***  This is a post about the big man in the red suit.  This is NOT intended for the eyes or ears of young believers!!!


He knows.  My baby knows.  He isn't a baby anymore, I realize, but he is still MY baby and now he KNOWS.  I had a feeling this was coming.  I mean, he is in fourth grade and I know how kids talk.  Bowser said he knew when he was nine years old.  I distinctly remember driving in the Papa's truck, Blackie, when I was in 4th grade when he dropped the bomb on me.  And now, my oldest is in on the secret, too.

Yesterday, Mario and I were on our way to his orthodontist appointment.  He was going on and on about how he wants a Wii U for Christmas.  (Sidenote:  Really?  When did gifts start having to be so expensive???)  I tried to gently tell him that Santa wants everything to be pretty equal and that would be a very expensive gift for just one of my Goombas to get.  I tried to tell him that there aren't very many Wii U's being released.  I tried...  I did...

Mario:  But, Santa MAKES the Wii U, so of course he can bring me one.

Me:  Well, there are some things that Santa can't make.  Sometimes he has to buy things.

Mario:  So, Santa can't afford a Wii U?

Me:  Well, he has a LOT of kids to deliver presents to.  What do you think?

Mario:  (silence)

Me:  What are you thinking about?

Mario:  Well, some of the kids at school say things about Santa.

Me:  (feeling the anxiety welling in my chest, knowing what is about to happen next)  And what do they say?

Mario:  They say that Santa is really your parents and that they wait till you are asleep and they put out all the presents and eat the cookies and then go back to bed.

Me:  And what do you think about that?

Mario:  (momentary pause)  I think that is the truth.

BAM!   There it is.  He knows.  With a small ache in my heart I told him that, yes, indeed, Santa is actually your parents.

He was mad at first.  "Why would parents lie like that to their kids???"  Then he was sad.  "Well, does this mean Santa won't come for me anymore?"  Then he was semi-excited to be "in" on the secret.  "So, I can help my brother and sister still believe?"

We drove around and talked for a few minutes.  I told him that of course Santa would still bring him stuff and about how Santa is really the spirit of Christmas and giving.  That there was once a man who became Saint Nicholas and eventually known as Santa Clause.  I told him how important it was to keep the spirit and secret alive with his brother and sister, because that is part of the magic of Christmas.  I think I said all the right stuff.  Maybe?  I've never really had to do this before.  But, he seems ok with it, so I guess I am, too.

And now he knows.  My baby is growing up.


PS--Uncle Corleone... The birthday blog is coming!  I promise!  I did not forget!  

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

The Potty Seat

So, I was using the potty tonight...  Yes.  I use the potty.  Sometimes I even lock myself in there for longer than necessary to escape the madness in my home.  Anyways, I was using the potty tonight when I noticed Peach's little step-stool.  She has one of those potty chair/potty-seat-that-fits-on-the-toilet/step-stool things.  And it is princess, of course.  So, I am looking at it, as I am potty-ing, and I notice the warning on the top of the cover.  It reads:

Warning:  Do not exceed 200 pounds on step stool. 

Which begs the question...  Ummmm... what?

Basically, this tells me that someone who weighed more than 200 pounds, stood on this particular type of potty at one point, obviously fell down in some sort of fashion, and sued the potty company because he/she was not able to logically come to the conclusion that someone of that body mass should not actually stand on a small, pink, plastic potty chair as a form of balance. 


Ok, then.  Also, this winter, I am putting a sign out on my front porch that reads:

Do not eat the yellow snow. 


Thursday, October 4, 2012

Random Thoughts...

Not counting last night's post about my sock breakdown, I haven't been on much lately.  I have a lot of thoughts rolling around in my mind, but I just can't seem to get any of them to come together into a coherent paragraph or two.  So, I figured I should just tell you what is going on in this semi-sane head of mine.

Here we go...

First of all, my house is totally ready for Halloween.  I didn't even have to get the decorations out.  My house is just such a disaster that it looks like the aftermath of a horror movie.  I would love to tell you that I care enough to do something about it...  Unfortunately, I can't do that at this point in time.  It's not that it is filthy in here, just messy.  There IS a difference, you know.  (It's not like I have mystery rocks rolling around anymore.)  Alas, I have company coming next weekend and I just don't think they will appreciate my creative perception of scary decor.

Speaking of company coming...  I am so happy that my cousin and her friend are coming from New York to visit!!!  And, as if that weren't enough glee for one weekend, the Zaz and the Pop are coming, too!!!  It's enough to make my head explode with happiness!  Donuts and beer for breakfast anyone?

My dear friend RB and I had a fantastic conversation about kids going off to school.  His daughter, Raven, started Kindergarten this year, as did my Luigi.  As a seasoned mom, let's just say our perceptions about leaving kiddos at the door of the school were a little bit different.  My dear RB, I hope to get to that story soon!

Part of the reason I haven't been writing much lately is because...  Wait for it...   I got a job!!!  What?  I know.  Like I don't already have enough on my plate, right?  But, it is perfect.  I will be doing office work 5 hours a week, while Peach is in preschool, for a friend's business.  I must say, getting back into the working world has me a little bit nervous.  I mean, when I went to the school to make copies for Mario's teacher last week, I just about had an anxiety attack over the copy machine.  Have you seen those things lately?  Sheesh!  Nine years out of the work force and copy machines can suddenly do everything!  So, I will be doing some office work and learning about all these crazy new-fangled gadgets that people now use in their offices.  Who knows, maybe I'll even learn to use one of those Internets things.  And, every girl needs some extra cash for manis and Starbucks, right? 

Our new Koopa Troopa is weird.  He is the sweetest kitty, but he has a wild streak.  Every morning he goes into Luigi's room and licks his cars.  I'm not even joking here.  KT3 (I just can't replace KT1, so we shall just keep the numbers going) goes into Luigi's room every morning and spends 10 minutes licking matchbox cars.  OooooKaaaayyyy...   He also eats paper.  Oh, and he stalks KT2.  KT2 can be sleeping on the bed, just minding her own kitty business, when all of a sudden, she gets pounced on as though she were a tiger's prey.  I'm pretty sure she doesn't appreciate it very much.

The Goombas are all getting into music.  But, not just any music.  They love the teeny-bopper, bouncy, peppy, Disney stuff.  Ugh.  Ok, so, I say ugh, but what I really mean is, "I will secretly act like I don't like it, but that stuff is so damn catchy that I can't stop singing it over and over in my head and I find myself playing it on the iPod even when the Goombas aren't with me."  ...sigh...  My only complaint is that I have to wonder who is writing these songs?  Taylor Swift for example.  Love her.  Great music.  But, in "Love Story," does she not realize that she is calling herself a whore?  "He was Romeo I was the Scarlet Letter..."  Has she read the Scarlet Letter?  Because, it isn't exactly a term I would use for myself.  I'm just saying...  Also, Selena Gomez sings about her man being "a centerfold, lyrical, beautiful..."  What on earth does a teenager know about centerfolds?  Really?  Still, I listen and sing right along with the Goombas, because apparently that is what a mama does.

Is there anything else?  Not really that I can think of.  I mean, there is a ton more, but as I said before, a lot of it doesn't come together as a cohesive thought.  So, for now, I will sign off and say Happy Thursday!  I'm going to enjoy the lovely, cool, fall weather that has finally arrived.


Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Pet Peeve - Socks

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am not the best housekeeper in the world.  I try, I really do.  But, there is just so much else I would rather do than clean.  I do, however, have my standards and my pet peeves.  I think my biggest household pet peeve is socks.  As in, dirty socks that are thrown all around my house.  I swear the Goombas put on socks, just so they can take them off and throw them willy-nilly all around our downstairs level.  I find them sticking out from under the refrigerator, in the pantry by the cereal, all over the entry way, in between couch cushions...  I mean everywhere.  And I hate it.  Toys on the floor, fine, whatever.  Crumbs here and there, I can sweep those up in an instant.  Socks on the floor.  Forget it.  It makes me insane. 

To be honest, I just really don't like socks at all.  They make your feet hot.  They get lost in the washing machine and/or dryer.  They get holes in them.  They are usually ugly.  There is nothing more annoying than having to pair them up and roll them into their stupid little sock balls.  Oh, and did I mention, they lie around all over the floor of my house?  I digress...

Tonight I had enough.  I came downstairs from putting the younger two Goombas to bed.  I was exhausted and I was ready to plop my butt down on the couch with my glass of wine and watch the debate.  (Really, I would rather watch something else, but I'm pretty sure it will be on every channel.)  Anyhow, I came downstairs, ready for quiet time, and when I walked into my living room there were socks scattered all over the room.  And I'm pretty sure that is when my head exploded.

Poor Mario.  He was innocently sitting at the kitchen table doing homework and since his brother and sister were in bed, he had to suffer the wrath.  (Side note:  It's not that he is innocent of the sock tossing, but really, I feel bad about what happened next...) 

It went a little something like this...

Me:  That is IT!!!!  Listen up Mario and Bowser.  And I will tell Luigi and Peach in the morning.  From now on, if I find one of your socks on the floor, I am going to make you EAT IT!!!!

Mario:  (voice shaky) What?

Me:  You heard me.  I am sick of socks on the floor.  From now on, if it is your sock that I find, I will be frying it up and you will be EATING IT!

Bowser:  blank stare from the kitchen.  blink, blink.

Me:  I am NOT EVEN KIDDING.  You all are going to get a lot of sock dinners around here. 

Mario:  sniffle, sniffle


Mario:  You are scaring me!  I don't wanna EAT MY SOCKS!!!!!

Me:  ...sigh...

Ok, ok.  So, maybe it was a little over the top.  But, come on kids!  I can't take it any more!  All I ask is that when you take off your socks, you toss them in the basket in the laundry room.  It's not that difficult! 

There you have it.  I made my 9-year-old cry by telling him I was going to force him to eat his own dirty socks.  Another not-so-proud parenting moment brought to you by Daisy. 


Sunday, August 26, 2012

Dinner Anyone?

Tonight's dinner menu:

2 Totino's frozen pizzas
1/2 bag of Tyson chicken nuggets
Spicy Nacho and Cool Ranch flavored Doritos
10 peeled clementines
Ketchup and BBQ sauce for dipping/smothering

Sometimes a mom just doesn't want to cook.  Oh, and by the way...  This is the most the Goombas have eaten in one sitting for weeks. Hey, at least I got a fruit in there!!  Go me!


Monday, August 13, 2012

Over Already?

Well, folks, summer is officially over as of tomorrow.  I must admit, it kind of snuck up on me this year.  I mean, I did have that calendar doing a countdown on my computer for the last month, but whatever.  It still seemed to surprise me when I woke up this morning and realized this is our last day of summer vacation.  Tomorrow is BACK TO SCHOOL!!! 

Now for all my moaning and complaining about how I couldn't WAIT for school to be back in session, I will admit that I am having some mixed feelings.  This year is bringing a lot of changes.  I can feel our family shifting from a "small children" routine, to a "school-aged children" routine.  And I'm just gonna say it... I sort of feel blind-sided.

Let me start by saying that we had a pretty nice summer.  Other than the insane heat index, that is.  Despite the 100+ degree temps for half of the season, we have done some fun things.  We visited the Zaz and the Pop.  We went swimming, and to parks, and to the zoo.  We did a stay-cation in the mountains.  And my favorite, we had lots of lazy days of sleeping in and wearing our pj's till noon.  We also had lots of bickering between Goombas, lots of "but, I'm soooooo bored!", and lots of Mommy needing a beer at 2 in the afternoon to get through til dinner time.  But, we won't focus on that part. 

I will admit that there were many days when I thought to myself, "Just go back to school and leave me alone!!!"  And now that we are back at the daily grind starting tomorrow, I am wishing we maybe had just a couple more days.  Of course, it is only 8:42 a.m.  Let's revisit this at 2:42 p.m. today and see if I am still feeling the same way. 

So, tomorrow we are back in the saddle.  Back to routine.  Back to school.  Mario is in 4th grade.  WTH?  Ummm, here is the thing....  I remember 4th grade.  Quite clearly, in fact.  So....  how is it humanly possible for my son to be old enough to be in a grade that I remember being in myself?  Doesn't that make me, like... old, or something????  I digress...  He will be in 4th grade.  Also, he will be a Webelo Scout, playing the drums in band, and participating in club soccer.  Whew.  I am tired already, and that is just Mario's stuff!

My sweet Luigi is starting Kindergarten tomorrow!!!  Wow.  I remember the day he came home from the hospital.  This tiny little 4 pound, 9 ounce baby burrito.  And now, he is a strapping young boy getting ready for Kindergarten!  Most of you know, at this point, that Luigi has been a little trying at times.  But, I am starting to get a little veclemped and I am really going to miss him all day!  He is my little lover man, always hugging me, telling me I am his best friend, and that he loves me forever.  Well, my baby bear, I love you forever too, and I know you are going to do great in school!!! 

Peach still has 2 weeks before she goes to preschool.  It will be nice to give her some undivided attention during the day.  She is going back to the same classroom as last year, and she is very excited to be one of the "big kids" in preschool this year.  She also has her purple, sparkly, tutu dress hanging in the closet, ready for her first day of school debut. 

Once Peach goes back, I will have 4 afternoons a week all to myself.  What will I do with all of my time???  I can assure you, the first day will be spent moping around, feeling a little lost, missing all of my babies.  Yeah, for about 5 minutes!  Then I will lie on the couch, enjoying the blissful silence, possibly eating bonbons and sipping a glass of champagne, patting myself on the back for surviving the summer.  My door will be unlocked if you care to join me in celebration. 

Happy Back to School, Moms!  And to my babies...  Good luck my darlings, although you won't need it.  I love you all so much and I wish you a wonderful year of school! 


Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Potty Mouth

Ok, I will just admit it.  My one and only flaw as a mother is that I have a potty mouth.  Ha!  Ok, I had a hard time even typing that with a straight face.  Let me start over.  One of my MANY flaws as a mother is that I have a potty mouth.  Bad.  Really bad.  I mean like really f$%@-ing bad.  I have tried to control it, I really have.  I am actually a fairly educated woman, with a vast knowledge of the English language, and yet, I still fall back on those naughty words.  Usually right in front of my children.  I know.  I'm totally f@$#-ing awesomely bad-a$$.

Sometimes, however, this totally comes back and bites me in the, ummm... butt.  Like, for instance this evening....

Allow me to set the scene.  We are having a lovely family dinner, sitting around the table, laughing and enjoying each other's company.  I decide afterwards that the kids can have popsicles for dessert.  I go to the garage, grab a handful, and tell the Goombas to pick their color.  "Orange!" says Mario.  "Red!" says Luigi.  "Pink!" says Peach.  I cut open the little plastic popsicle holders, and hand them to the kids.  Meanwhile, Peach's chair has been scooted too far away from the table, and none of us noticed.  I'm sure she probably asked  nicely 3 or 4 times, for us to push her in, but we were all absorbed in whatever other conversation we were having.  Finally, my darling little princess starts yelling, "Sh!t, Sh!t, Sh!t, Sh!t!!!!"  It took about 8 sh!ts before Bowser and I looked at each other like, "Wait, what is she saying?  No.  It can't be.  I think she is saying..."  "Sh!t!!!" Peach yells.  I could not even look my husband in the eyes.  Oh yes, she is her mother's daughter.

Alas, Peach is not the only child who has picked up on my nasty habit.  When Mario was about 3 years old, Bowser and I were having a small tiff.  When I am "tiff-ing" with someone, I like to use the f-bomb to solidify my points.  So, I dropped one here and one there.  The next thing I know, Mario is asking, with his sweet little toddler voice, for Mommy to "please make me a f-ing sandwich."  Bowser walked out of the room on that one and left me to deal with it all by myself.  What does a mom do?  I'll tell you what, I made him his f-ing sandwich and filed the moment into the "awesome forever memory" section of my brain.

Oh, and don't think that Luigi didn't follow suit.  Keep in mind that I found out I was expecting Peach when Luigi was a tender 6 months old.  I was pregnant, tired, very sick and annoyed with everything for nine months.  So, of course, when Luigi finally started speaking at about 2 years old, one of his first (and favorite) phrases was, "Oh, dammit!"  When he would drop something, "Oh, dammit!"  When he would fall, trip, or otherwise hurt himself, "Oh, dammit!"  When he didn't like what I made for dinner, "Oh, dammit!"


Hey, my pretty little @$$ never claimed to be f%&$-ing perfect, d@mn it!  But, I am freakin' working on it...

F-ing Cheers!

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Happiness Is...

Now, I know I have said this before.  But, really, there was a time in my life when I really, really, really couldn't wait to move as far away from my parents as possible.  Boy, was I STUPID!  When Bowser and I were married, I did, in fact, move far, far away from the Zaz and the Pop.  And now I miss them every single day. 

Today, however, I happy to announce that I am HOME!!!!  Home where my Mommy and Daddy can take good care of me and Bowser and the Goombas.  Everyone is so happy!  When we arrived yesterday afternoon, after a very LONG car trip across a very BORING state, Zaz had the pool waiting for the Goombas and Papa had cold beer in the cooler waiting for Bowser and me.  Does life get any better? 

The Goombas played, and then promptly passed out, with grins on their faces at bedtime.  Bowser and I hung out on the party patio with the 'rents and shared laughs.  It just feels so good to be home. 

This morning, I didn't even hear the Goombas wake up.  Would you like to know why?  Because my dear, sweet, kind parents let them snuggle in their bed and they left the door to our room closed.  I slept til 9:15!  9:15!!!!  When was the last time that actually happened???  I'll give you a clue.  It was sometime pre-Goomba. 

Ok, I will admit.  It is not absolutely perfect here.  The heat is crazy and the humidity feels a little bit like a sauna.  Bowser wanted to wrap his head in a towel and wear a short bathrobe outside to illustrate the point.  But, I don't care.  I'll take the sweat, the heat, the damp air.  Because I am home with my Mommy and Daddy!!!

There are just so many, many reasons to love being at Zaza and Papa's house.  Here are just a few...

1--The beer flows like wine.  Literally.  Well, ok, not "literally."  But, for real, the cooler is always, always full.  It. Is. Awesome.

2--As Mario put it this morning, "There is always meat here, and every day it gets better and better!"  Yes, there is always meat here.  Good meat.  Not the cheap crap I buy because of our budget.  Yum. 

3--As I have said before...  the Zaz and the Pop spend time with the kiddos.  Which, in turn, means that Bowser and I get help.  Which means instead of us being outnumbered 3-2, we now outnumber them, 4-3.  Really, the advantage is much in our favor. 

4--For some reason, there is magic in Zaza's world.  My Goombas become polite, helpful, normal children.  It's some kind of phenomenon that I can't really figure out.  She gives them a skittle every time they do something helpful or nice.  If I did that at home, they would attack me, one of them would grab the jar of skittles while the other two tied me up, and all I would hear is sugary laughter coming from some hidden place in the house.  I do not understand how she does it.  Can I just live here forever?

I would love to tell you more, but Zaza just announced that there is more delicious meat to eat and more beer to be drankin'.  Is that a word?  Do I care?  No way, 'cause we are the Land of the Zaz and the Pop, where it is sunshine and rainbows and happiness.

Have a wonderful 4th of July! 


Thursday, June 28, 2012

The Hangover: When Parents Party

Remember that wildly popular movie, The Hangover?  Hilarious.  Love that movie.  Now imagine that those guys were parents.  Well, I guess technically Mr. Hot Stuff's character (that would be Bradley Cooper) was a dad of one, but he was in Vegas, so it wasn't like he had to actually parent anyone in the movie.  I'm sure the entire 2 hours of debauchery would have been much more painful and most likely not nearly as funny.  But, it happens.  Sometimes parents decide they need a break and live it up like they are back in their college days.  Only, they don't get to sleep til noon and skip their one class of the day.  No.  Their children usually sense that Mommy or Daddy really need some rest, so they wake up at the crack of dawn using their outdoor voices.  Come on Moms and Dads.  You totally know what I'm talkin' about here.  

I was lucky enough this week to have two girl's nights out in a row.  This is a rare occasion and I was excited.  The first night was wine in the park.  Awesome.  The second night was a baseball game, which included beer and 2-for-1 margaritas.  Let's just say that two nights in a row of being out til midnight and having some beverages kinda did me in.  I was not doing well yesterday.  Which is funny because my good friend RB (yes, RB of the Way Too Deep Rudolf conversation) just so happened to pop up on my Facebook chat and wanted to talk Parenting Hangovers. 

Now, before you see our conversation, I want to point out that this is NOT an ordinary occurrence.  It's just that every once in a while, we just need to have one of those nights.  Also, we are not lushes.  We just like beer.  
RB: Hi.
Daisy: Hello.  Apparently no one gave my kids the memo about mommy's head pounding today. I am listening to them jump around on the couches and I don't even have the energy to care.
RB: woof - hurtin' today, mama?
Daisy: Yes. Two mom's nights out in a row. I ain't as young as I used to be. Depressing, huh?

RB:  Yes.  Amazing what we were capable of 15 years ago.

Daisy: I know, right?  How did we used to do this every single night?  Oh.  Right.  We didn't have kids.  Or real responsibilities.  So, when was your last parenting hangover day?  
RB: The most recent one was Father's Day - but one of the worst happened about a year ago.
Daisy: Let's hear it.
RB:  We were living with the in-laws while we were waiting for our house in the city to sell.  It was the wife, the kids, the dog and myself.  And my 25-year-old brother-in-law was living their, too.  He and I decide to go out and we end up at a bar where you drink extremely heavy beer out of a glass boot.  And it's not like you're sippin'.  The rule is that you drink from the boot then pass it to the next person.  Then they repeat and you continue until it's gone.

Daisy:  Wow.  Places like that really exist?

RB:  Oh yes.  So, there are five 25-26-year-olds and me.  And they are the Michael Phelps's of drinking from glass cowboy boots.  So, after 6-7 of those boots, things get a little out of control and my brother-in-law decides he is walking home.  In Omaha, in February, 127 blocks.

Daisy:  Sounds like he was making smart decisions that evening.  

RB:  I finally convince him to ride home in a cab with me.  On the way home we asked the driver to pull into taco bell.  Not only did he do that, but he turned off the meter while we were waiting in line!  I told him, "Junior, get yourself whatever you want."  So, he drops us off at home and we become CIA ninjas walking up the driveway, trying to be quiet so as not to wake up my in-laws or family.  It was 2:45 in the morning.  The SECOND we step onto the driveway, my father-in-law turns on teh porch light.  My brother-in-law tosses the Taco Bell bag into the bushes like it is a bag of weed for some unknown reason.  I try to play it straight with my father-in-law, but he knows.  Pretty sure my answer to "are you guys all right?" was "giraffe bathroom stapler turnstile."  

Daisy:  Busted!

RB:  I stumble into the bedroom and I am immediately reminded that my wife is leaving for work at 4:45 in the morning. Or, really, in just about 90 minutes.  My son, Bad News, bless his soul, woke up his daddy about 75 minutes later.  Then my daughter, Raven, comes in and asks, "Can we eat breakfast in bed with you?"  Ummm, YES! Turn on Dora!  Turn on Diego!  Take the keys and drive to Lego-Land.  Just leave Daddy alone.  So, the worst part is a few hours later.  My mother-in-law, who I love dearly, comes downstairs and gives me the most smug smile ever.  And asks at (approximately) 392 decibels, "HOW YA FEELIN' DAD?"  Kill me.  Hungover, single dad, and my mother-in-law is mocking me. 

Daisy:  Ouch.  My worst was when I had Mario.  He was about 4 years old.  I went out with a group of friends and there was much wine to be had.  Then cosmos.  Which I thought were shots, but that is beside the point.  I get home around 2:30 in the morning. Bowser gets up at 6 to go into work and of course Mario is up bright and early, too.  I stumbled downstairs, got a sippy full of milk for Mario and a giant bowl of dry cereal.  I turned on the tv and dozed off and on all day.  Lucky for me, Mario was a pretty mellow little guy and was just happy that I was letting him eat in my bed and watch tv.  I'm pretty sure I only left the bed to get food for Mario and to get sick.  I'm also pretty sure we were right there in the exact same place when Bowser got home from work that evening.

RB:  Wow.  There was also a time on Mother's Day, after a BBQ, that I had to take care of Raven.  Let's just say there was a lot of explosive poo involved.  And since she's the first baby, I still had "first time parents syndrome." OH MY GOD! THERE'S DIRT/POOP/SOME FOREIGN SUBSTANCE ON MY BABY.  This does not mix well with a hangover.  Of course, now I am experienced enough in parenting that she could be covered in bags of flaming poo and I wouldn't give it a second thought. 

Daisy:  I vaguely remember those first time parenting days.  And, no, they most certainly do not mix.  I think they should create some kind of Nanny website that parents can call when they have had a rough night.  You know, an emergency nanny that will take care of the kids and clean the house so you can sleep it off.  I'd pay good money for that.  

RB:  It's amazing what I am willing to concede when I am hungover.

Daisy:  Yeah.  My kids get to do pretty much whatever they want when mommy is "under the weather."
For instance, this morning I gave them popsicles for breakfast.  It just seemed easier that pouring them all bowls of cereal.  Now they are quiet and happy.  It's really win-win for all of us. 

RB:  I don't see a downside myself.  It's not like kids cereals are much better nutrtion-wise than popsicles anyway.  Memo to self:  buy a gross of popsicles for freezer.

Daisy:  ...sigh... And now my Goombas are asking me to feed them and stuff, so I guess I better go.  I don't think another round of popsicles is a great idea.  Tempting, yes, but probably not a good thing.  

RB:  You don't think Child Services will read this, do you?  

Daisy:  Let's hope not!

So, there you have it.  A peek into the lives of parents that sometimes forget they are parents and go a little wild.  Rest assured, as I said before, this is not a common occurrence.  Although, really, how bad are popsicles for breakfast every once in a while?  

~Daisy (and RB!)

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Father's Day

Father:  [fah-ther]

1.  A male parent.

Again, gods of the word world, I must criticize your lack of definition.  As with the word Mother, you have sorely missed the mark on the word Father.  Allow me to throw my definition into the ring...

Father: [fah-ther]

1.  A man who gives up all of his spare time to entertain the small beings that he helped create.

2.  A male who, upon seeing his psychotic wife crying and frantically waving a pee stick in the air, comes down from a rooftop, gives her a hug and says he is excited for this next step in life. 

3.  A man who learns every character from every Mario game that Nintendo has ever invented, just so he can spend "quality time" with his son.

4.  A man who patiently spends every evening, under a heavy comforter, playing "cave" with his son, because it creates memories that they will both cherish forever.  
5.  A male, who loves his daughter so much, that he creates an account when she is born, so that he can put away enough money to give her a dream wedding when she meets her Prince Charming.

6.  A man who looks at the finances every month, wondering where the money is going to come from, but still works to give his children the world.  

7.   A male who loves steak, salad, and baked potatoes, but gives it up to eat chicken nuggets, french fries, and canned peaches with his kids.

8.  A man who gives up his Soloflex routine for "Big Birdie Birdie" and piggy back rides.

9.  A husband (or partner) that thinks the stretchmarks and curves his wife earned during pregnancy are the most beautiful marks on her body.

10.  A man who goes out with friends for a bachelor night, and comes home, kisses all his babies and tucks them in, and crawls into bed with his wife and says he wouldn't trade his life for all the bachelor nights in the world.  

Bowser, without you as my partner, I would never be able to do this parenting thing.  Your picture should be next to the definition of Father in the dictionary.  I love you.  Happy Father's day!


Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Coming Soon

**Note: Please read this blog in your best "Movie Preview Man" voice.**

Coming soon, to a town near you...

In a world of broken, peeled crayons...

In a place where grapes are smashed carelessly on the floor...

In a time when empty wine and margarita glasses appear across backyards everywhere...

A terror like no other looms large...

This Friday, every mother's worst nightmare is about to come true...

This Friday...

(Click here!)

Moms...  Save. Your. Sanity.

(and now click here!)

Alice Cooper - School's Out .mp3

Found at bee mp3 search engine


Saturday, May 12, 2012

Happy Mother's Day

The definition of the word "mother," according to Dictionary.com is:

noun : A female parent.

Wow.  I gotta give you credit dictionary people...  You somehow managed to sum up one of the most complex words in our language into three simple little words.  A female parent.  I guess, if we are going to be truly technical about it, they are correct.  A mother is, indeed, a parent of the womanly persuasion.  I, however, will beg to differ that a mother is so, so, so much more than that.  So, if I were ever lucky enough to be employed by the brainiacs that write dictionaries, I would have to fight to change that definition.  My definition of the word would look something more like this...

mother n. [muhth-er]

1.  A woman, who once had a life to herself, that now shares every aspect of her being with little people that thrive on her love.
2.  A woman who may have, at one time, been grossed out by snot, poop, vomit, and other body secretions, but that now wipes it up and wears it on her shirt on a daily basis.
3.  A female who used to know what healthy eating meant, but now feeds the small beings that need her chicken nuggets 5 times a week because it is all they will eat.
4.  A woman who had too much Keystone Ice one night and found herself staring at a pink line 2 weeks later, wondering how in the hell she was going to ever be able to do the job of raising a child.  
5.  A woman who shed tears from a place in her soul that she never knew existed the first time her child was placed in her arms.   
6.  A female who has given birth to, adopted, fostered, sheltered, clothed, fed, and/or LOVED a child.  
7.  A woman who gave up business meetings for butt-wiping, catered dinners for corn dogs, fancy clothes for stained Target t-shirts, and wouldn't change any of it for anything in the world.
8.  A female who can listen to her child/children scream her name in every variation, at high decibel levels more than 3 million times a day, and still loves that the name Mother (Mom, Mommy, Mama, Ma, Meme...) is hers.
9.  A woman who hears the word "Mommy" yelled by a random child in public, and her heart skips a beat as she looks for her child, because even though she knows it wasn't hers, it is a knee-jerk reaction.
10.  A person who once knew what was happening in the Middle East, and who was running for president, but now Tivo's Sesame Street so she doesn't miss Jake Gyllenhaal with an octopus on his head. 
 11.  A woman whose heart aches when their child comes home crying from school because she just can't make everything better all the time, and that is a lesson she will never truly learn.  
12.  A woman who packed away all her expensive china and stemware so she could turn her dining room into a toy mecca for her children.  
13.  A female that now knows every last minute detail about Disney Cars or Disney Princesses, and finds herself spouting off this information at inappropriate times.  
14.  An adult girl who rejoices at the first day of school, because that means more of a break for her than summer break could ever actually be. 
15.  A woman who now receives more handmade gifts than Tiffany's gifts, and loves them more than she could ever love any old piece of jewelry.  
16.  A woman whose heart now beats outside of her own body, in the bodies of the little ones she lives for. 

So, to you, my fellow mothers, whether you fit all or part of this definition...  
May your day be filled with quiet, well-behaved children, a doting husband/partner/friend, all kinds of "calorie-free" foods and your favorite beachy cocktails (and by the way, it is ALL calorie free on Mom's Day!), no chores, and lots of hugs and kisses from the ones you love.  You deserve it, Mama!  


PS--Thanks to the greatest Mom on Earth!  I love you Zaz!   

Friday, May 11, 2012

Can I have S'more, Please?

A few years ago, my dear Auntie Mets sent my family a S'mores maker for Christmas.  Have you seen one?  It is basically a mini grill, that is powered by chafing dish fuel, with skewers to roast your marshmallows on.  It's really cute, too.  The little device actually looks like a ceramic toasted marshmallow and it sits on a dish that looks like Hershey's bars.  Anyways, the point is, we got this gift for Christmas, probably 5 years ago, and I must admit, I never used it.  It sat in my basement for a while, and then in my garage.  It wasn't that I didn't want to use it.  It was just one of those things that sort of got pushed to the side and I kept thinking, I will get it out as a treat for the kids one night, and, well...  That night just never really came.  You know how it is with kids.  If you get something like that out, it is probably going to make more of a mess than it is worth, then your kids will be all hopped up on marshmallows and chocolate, you will have a burn mark on your ceiling from where the fire (inevitably) got out of control, and you will be scraping sticky marshmallow goo off your counters for weeks to come. 

Fast forward to last Monday.  As the den leader for Mario's Cub Scout den (you can stop laughing now, and yes, I wear the awesome khaki uniform), I had to think of one last fun activity to do for the school year.  I settled on a requirement that has the scouts make trail mix and a snack for their meeting.  The trail mix was easy.  I bought a ton of trail mix-y stuff and each scout got to create their own mix.  They loved it.  But, what on earth was I going to have them make for snack?  As I was walking in from the garage, a box with a big Hershey's kiss caught my eye.  S'mores!!!  Ok, how hard can this really be?  The scouts will love it, I will have other adults there to help, and since it is at the school, there is a built in sprinkler system for any wayward s'more flames. 

The scouts had a BLAST, and I have to say, that little S'mores maker is fan-freakin'-tastic!  How could I not have gotten this little bit of marshmallow magic out of the box sooner?  When I brought it home that night, I stood in the kitchen, with the little burner lit, and promptly roasted myself about 27 marshmallows.  When I was done, the only mess left was the marshmallow goo on my fingers and all over my face from stuffing them in as fast as I could.  I'm a roasted marshmallow FREAK.  I love them.  I love to set them on fire till they are black and crispy on the outside, and warm and runny on the inside.  And this sweet little invention makes it so damn easy! 

On Tuesday morning, I got out of bed, came downstairs and toasted myself a couple more marshmallows and made a s'more.  About 30 minutes later, I made 2 more s'mores.  For lunch, I had 2 s'mores and 8 toasted marshmallows.  Whenever the craving hit, all I had to do was go into the kitchen, light the little burner, grab a 'mallow and toast away.  By Tuesday evening, I was out of chocolate and marshmallows. 

Wednesday morning, I promptly got the younger Goombas in the car and headed to the grocery store for Hershey bars and Jet-Puffed marshmallows.  Oh sure, I got a few other "real food" items, but I'll give you one guess as to what items #1 and 2 were on my list.  When I walked back into my house, I was greeted by the aroma of softly burnt sugar.  Yum. 

Basically, what I am trying to say here, is that pretty much the only thing I have eaten since Monday evening are s'mores and toasted marshmallows.  Bowser finally put it away in the box last night.  I think he was tired of me sneaking into the kitchen every 6 minutes to light the burner, toast a 'mallow, blow it out, and stuff my face while making yummy noises.  So far today, I have been s'more-less.   I am trying desperately not to allow myself any until at least S'more:30 this afternoon.  (Which usually comes right around the same time as Beer:30.  Dear Lord, could life get any better???)

So, Auntie Mets, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU (a little belated) for this incredibly awesome, tasty gift!  My butt might not be so thankful, as I am sure an all s'mores diet isn't going to do much for it's size, but hey, who couldn't use a little junk in the trunk.  I will be heading back to the grocery store shortly, to stock up on ingredients for the weekend.  And maybe, just maybe, if the Goombas and Bowser are lucky, I will share some with them. 


Thursday, May 3, 2012

What We Have Become...

Bowser and I met many, many moons ago when we were both in college.  He was a senior and I was a freshman.  (Yes, I was that cool.  haha!)  We used to talk all the time about all kinds of important and fun things.  I can remember going out to dinner and never running out of new topics to discuss.  We would call each other and have conversations late into the night.  Now, after nearly 11 years of marriage, things have changed just a little bit. 

Here is an example of an actual text conversation from this morning, regarding the new dishwasher detergent that we bought...

Me:  Ummmm... WOW! This is the cleanest the dishes have ever been!!

Bowser:  I know!  We usually use crappy dish soap.

Me:  I am never going back.  It's just one of those things we are going to have to spend the extra couple of bucks on.  Even the dishwasher looks cleaner!!!

Bowser:  Suck it, cheap Costco dish soap!!

Me:  Yeah!  Suck it!!!

But, wait, the conversation doesn't end there.  A few minutes later, my phone rang.  It was Bowser calling from the office.

Bowser:  So, you like it a lot better?

Me:  Yes!  I just can't believe how clean it all came out!

Bowser:  Did you notice when we walked by last night how good it smelled in the kitchen while the dishwasher was running?

Me:  I know.  Really, I am never going back to the cheap stuff.

Bowser:  It was really crappy soap.  I like this one much better.  Buy it again next time. 

Me:  Dear Lord, are we really having this conversation???

Bowser:  Yup. 

Yes, this is what we have become.  An old, married couple, discussing the quality of dishwasher detergent.  **facepalm**  Doh! 

Love you Bowser!  There is no one I would rather discuss Cascade with than you!


Monday, April 30, 2012

Saying Good-bye

Today was a rough day in our little Mario world.  We lost our dear Koopa Troopa 1.  Our poor little kitty was getting old and over the past couple of weeks, seemed to go downhill fast.  Over the weekend, she stopped grooming herself, stopped using her litter box, stopped eating and drinking, and couldn't move her back legs well.  I took her to the vet today, who confirmed that KT1 was, indeed, very sick.  So sick, in fact, that her little kidneys were failing her. 

Koopa Troopa 1 was a tough cat.  We adopted her from the shelter when Bowser and I were first married.  I had a bond with her from the very beginning.  We walked into the shelter and there were so many cats looking for a home, but she caught my eye and I knew she was meant to be mine. She was a great mouser and within a week of having her at home, we had no more mice bothering us. Since I didn't have a job at the time, KT1 and I spent all of our time together.  There was one particular incident when KT1 was drinking out of my water glass one night and Bowser convinced me that I should not drink after her because I would catch the Plague.  (Really, it is a long story, involving no sleep for me and an almost 3 a.m. emergency call to the vet to check for the Plague.)

Once we brought Mario home, KT1 seemed a little ticked off that she wasn't getting my undivided attention all the time.  But, over time, she and Mario became good friends.  She was the first to elicit crazy baby giggles from Mario when he was about 6 months old.  He thought she was the greatest thing since a fresh bottle, and she didn't seem to think he was too bad either. 

She came with us when we moved into our new house.  When Mario was diagnosed with a severe cat allergy, I sent her to live with a friend for about a year and a half.  Once our friend couldn't take care of her anymore, we decided Mario could get allergy shots and Koopa Troopa 1 came home to stay.  Luigi came along eventually, and then Peach.  Each of them loved her from the beginning, and she loved having a snuggly crib to sleep in during the day. 

KT1 would patiently wait for me on the couch every night and then follow me up the stairs when I went to bed.  She would curl up at me feet while I dozed off.  Sometime in the night, I would feel a warm, soft, little paw tapping on my arm, asking to be pet.  If I didn't wake up when she patted my arm, she would move up and pat and lick my face til I rubbed her ears and we would both fall back to sleep. 

Almost three years ago, Koopa Troopa 2 came to live with us.  I'll admit, KT1 was not happy at first.  She was set in her ways.  She didn't want a new little kitten coming in and messing up her good thing.  After one fight, though, KT2 learned her place and she and the old kitty became friends. 

It was only recently that she started to seem different.  Over the past few days, I knew she was sick.  I knew she was hurting.  I would pick her up and hold her and she would lie in my arms, struggling to even purr.  Today I wrapped her in a baby blanket, took her to the vet and had to make the incredibly difficult and heart-wrenching decision to let her go.  I held her the entire time, petting her and scratching her on the ears, like she loved so much.  I told her I was sorry and that it was going to be ok.  I told her she was the best cat ever.  And then she was gone. 

The Goombas all cried with me a while when I told them.  We talked about how she was with Jesus and the angels now, with all the other angel kitties and puppies.  We asked Jesus to take special care of her.  At dinner tonight we told funny stories and our favorite things about our Koopa Troopa 1.  Koopa Troopa 2 has been wandering around, looking for her friend.  I am sitting on the couch, writing this blog, missing my soft, purring kitty, who would normally be sitting somewhere close by. 

I am trying right now not to doubt my decision.  She was in great pain.  I could see in her big, green eyes that she was hurting.  I know it was best for her, I just can't seem to make my heart believe it. 

Cheers, my dear Benni.  I miss you so much already.  I love you and I will meet you someday on the Rainbow Bridge.


Friday, April 27, 2012

All By Myself...

Last Saturday, Bowser took all of the Goombas on a Jeeping trip in the mountains.  Yes, you read that correctly... ALL. THREE. GOOMBAS.  Do any of you have any idea what this meant for Daisy?  That's right!  It meant nearly nine straight hours of ME time!  Just me.  All alone.  With no one to take care of but myself.  Needless to say, I was just a little excited.  I mean, everyone knows I love my dearest Goombas, but alone time is hard to come by, so I will take it whenever I can.  Especially when it is a full day!

I started planning about a week ahead of time what I was going to do with myself all day long.  I have so many projects to get done, this would be the perfect day for a lot of them.  My To Do List looked like this:

~Scrub all bathrooms til the sparkle (We have 3 1/2)
~Finish laundry and put it all away (instead of leaving it all in baskets in my bedroom)
~Clean kitchen and go through cabinets to purge any unused items
~Start sorting stuff for garage sale
~Dust and clean the ceiling fans
~Make myself a healthy lunch
~Sort out the mess of shoes in the laundry room and get rid of everything that is too small for the Goombas
~Have a nice meal ready for Bowser and the Goombas when they got home

Here is what actually happened:

~Cleaned the downstairs bathroom floor because it smelled like peepee and I really couldn't put it off any longer
~Watched Legally Blonde
~Watched Legally Blonde 2
~Went to Good Times and got a large greasy burger with an extra large order of wild fries and dipping sauce (all with a Diet Coke, of course)
~Watched Sweet Home Alabama
~Texted some friends
~Called the Zaz and the Pop
~Took a long, hot, uninterrupted shower
~Took a nap
~Ordered take-out for when everyone got home for dinner

 And, let me tell ya, it was AWESOME.  I'm already looking forward to their next Jeeping trip.


Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Catching Up

Holy Cow, has it really been a month since I have written???  My sincerest apologies, dear readers, for leaving you hanging on the edge of your seats, worried about what might or might not be happening here in Mario-Land!  Things have been very busy and I have not had much extra time on my hands for writing.  But, worry not!  We are still here.  We are all still alive and kicking.  And I have managed, somehow, to hang on to my last shreds of sanity.  Barely. 

So, let's catch up a bit, shall we?

Let's start with Mario.  My back-talking, whining, argumentive monster darling angel.  Really, someone should have warned me.  He is 9 years old and suddenly knows everything about everything.  Bowser and I are no longer "awesome" parents.  We have now transformed into "mean and stupid" parents.  I thought the toddler years were rough.  I have a feeling I will be begging for those days back before long.  Don't get me wrong.  Mario is still a sweet, loving kid.  IF he wakes up on the right side of the bed.

Luigi is happy just being his off-beat self.  He has recently taken up wearing princess dresses and glass slippers.  When Mario teased him about it one day, Luigi simply said, "You are just mad that you aren't as pretty as me!" And then he stomped off to add a necklace to his ensemble.  His birthday is coming soon and he wants a Chuck E. Cheese-Pirate-Hot Wheels-Rapunzel party.  I'll have to see what I can do about that. 

Peach is getting girly-er by the minute.  The other day, as I was cleaning out my jewelry box, she picked up an old necklace of mine.  "Pretty!" she said.  "It is pretty, isn't it?" I replied.  Then she said, "I think I should have some diamonds now.  But not like these.  I want big ones that are real."  Lord save the man that marries her.  She is going to be quite a handful. 

After I broke the dryer recently (by accident, I swear!), Bowser made me sit and listen to a lecture on why we don't put soccer socks with the shin guards still in them into the dryer.  Who knew that it could jam up the drum and knock it off it's track, blowing out the heating element, breaking the belt, and sending a blah, blah, blah circuit through the blah, blah, blah that can burn an actual hole in the side wall of your dryer?  I certainly did not know that.  But, now I do.  And I am choosing to share this bit of information with you as my public service announcement for the day.  Shin guards and dryers do not make good friends. 

Also, on my little writing hiatus, I had sinus surgery.  Ok, Moms, here is the deal...  If you really need a few days off, schedule some kind of invasive medical procedure.  Seriously.  I had four whole days of laying around with a bloody nose, sleeping on and off, and being catered to, while MY mommy came and took care of me.  It was kind of glorious.  Until Zaza had to leave.  But now, hopefully no more sinus infections.  At least not for a while. 

Now summer is just around the corner (aak!) and we are finishing up with the end of school madness.  Concerts, art shows, last minute fund-raisers, etc.  When did life get so busy?

I promise not to leave again for so long.  I have been wondering why I seemed to be wandering down the crazy side of the street lately, and then I realized...  I haven't been finding the funny!  So, I'm back baby!  Thanks for sticking with me!


Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Birthday Pancakes

My darling Mario turned nine years old last week.  Whuck?  Nine?  That is insane.  How on God's green Earth am I old enough to have a 'tween?  (He labeled himself as such, not me.)  Thank goodness for my Mom's good skin and my Grandmother's never-gray hair.  But, I digress, this is about Mario's birthday, not my fantastic good looks.

I like to make birthdays as special as I can.  The Goombas get to pick what they want for each meal and they don't have to do any chores. Mario chose Chili's for dinner and he wanted homemade pancakes for breakfast.  Fine.  Cool.  I can do pancakes.

The night before, I made my batter and stuck it in the fridge.  I got out my pancake pan and spatula (yes, I have a special pan and spatula just for my pancakes), and the new Cars molds that I bought.  I thought it would be fun to make them some Lightning McQueen and Mater flapjacks.  (He may be nine, but he still appreciates a fun-shaped short-stack.)  Everything was ready and I went to bed.

The birthday boy came bouncing into our room at 5:30 a.m.  Um, no.  I hugged him and said it wasn't actually his birthday until the alarm clock went off.  I am pretty sure he saw right through my lie, but he did go back into his room and read (not sleep, of course) for the next hour.

At 6:30 he came running back into our room to wake us up.  I sent him to get Luigi and Peach, since they would be devastated if they didn't see him open his presents.  I threw on some sweats, tried to rub the crust out of my eyes, and pleaded with Bowser to make me a cup of coffee before he did anything else.

We got downstairs and while the gifts were opened, I started on the pancakes.  I am not even going to go into the disaster that was the Cars molds.  Sleepy eyes, coffee-less brains, and birthday madness do not mix well with me before 7 a.m.  I finally gave up on the Cars and decided to make him some different fancy pancakes.  "I know!" my brilliant mind exclaimed to me. "I will make a nine for his ninth birthday!  It's going to be awesome and he is going to love it!"  Why, oh why, do I do this to myself?

I began carefully pouring batter into the pan.  I was pretty pleased with myself.  What a nice looking hotcake, I thought to myself.  Score one for Daisy in the "Best-Mom-Ever" category.  Bowser walked over to hand me my nice, hot cup of joe, and instantly burst out laughing.  "What?"  I asked grumpily.  He continued to laugh and point.

"What IS that???" he asked.

"What do you think it is?" I spit back at him.

His giggles were getting a little annoying at this point.

"I made him a NINE, since he is nine years old!"

Then he grabbed my shoulders, turned me towards the pan, and said, "No you didn't!"

And then it hit me.  Slapped me right across the face.  THIS is the pancake I was going to serve my child for his birthday breakfast...


People, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried!  I gave up and made regular, old, round pancakes after that.


Sunday, February 19, 2012

It's a Conspiracy!

Attention Moms:
I don't really know how to tell you this other than to just come right out and say it.  Someone out there is conspiring against us all.  A big someone.  A HUGE someone in fact, that has infiltrated all of our homes and our precious little children's minds.  Am I making you nervous?  Because, you should be.

Who do we turn to, oh so often, when we want to entertain our little ones?  Whose toys do we buy by the truckload for Christmases and birthdays?  Who do we depend on for good wholesome family fun?  Why, that would be none other than Mr. Disney himself.  Well, he is dead, so technically not "himself," more like his multi-gazillion dollar empire.  Cars, Princesses, Nemo, Toy Story, and of course good ol' Mickey and Minnie.  But, have you ever stepped back and really looked at the whole picture?  I'm guessing not, because if you had, you would have come to the same terrifying conclusion that I have...  Disney hates Moms.

No, really, he does.  He MUST!  How else could you explain the fact that all the moms in his movies are DEAD?  Think I am exaggerating?  Let's take a look...

Cinderella:  Mom and Dad both dead.  Evil stepmother is her guardian.  (Apparently Disney does not discriminate between mothers and stepmothers, so at least there's that.)

Belle:  Mom passed away.  Dad crazy.

Ariel:  Mom deceased.

Jasmine:  Guess who is dead?  Mom, that's who.

Snow White:  Again, Mom is bereft of life.  Enter evil stepmother.

Aurora:  Ok, she her mom is technically alive, but never gets to speak.

Lilo (from Lilo and Stitch):  Mom has expired, and so has dad.

Pocahontas:  Mom is resting in peace with the spirits.

Nemo:  His mom met a very untimely and ugly fate.  

Huey, Dewey, and Louie (Donald Duck's nephews):  They have an uncle, but I had NO idea he had a sister that had ducklings.  Oh, I guess she must have been someone's dinner.

Rapunzel:  Ok, I'll let this one go.  She does indeed have a living mother and father.  But, let's not forget the fact that she was kidnapped by an evil woman pretending to be her mother.

Tiana:  I think she is the only princess that has a loving and kind mother-figure.  Then again, they killed off her dad because having 2 living parents and no evil step-parents just doesn't really work in a good story.

I am cautioning you, Moms of the world.  Watch your back.  Disney is lurking around every corner waiting to off you and/or your husband.  Consider this your warning.


Friday, February 17, 2012

The Ultimate Barbie Sin

When Peach was born, I decided to start a collection for her.  I always wanted the holiday Barbies when I was growing up.  So, for her first two Christmases, Peach got the holiday Barbie for that year.  Only the first two years.  Those suckers are expensive, and when there were other things that she actually said she wanted, my plan fell by the wayside.  But, I had these two beautiful ladies, displayed in their boxes on a shelf in her room.  And she didn't notice them...  Until recently.

Not long ago, Peach started asking me about the pretty princess girls on her shelf.  At first I brushed her off.  She has plenty of dolls to play with, she didn't need those.  But, she got more and more insistent, and it seemed as though I couldn't keep her thoughts away from her collectibles on the shelf.  Finally one morning, after she asked me about 437 times in the span of 5 minutes if she could open the "princesses that are up so high," I just gave up and conceded.  My ultimate plan was for her to have a Holiday Barbie for every year until she was 18, and then she could do what she wished with them.  But, since I had already missed 2 out of 4 of them, I figured what the heck.  And what girl wants a perfectly packaged Barbie just sitting there, not being played with?  Not Peach, that is for sure.

So, I committed the ultimate Barbie collector sin.  I got them off her shelf, while she danced around me singing, "Barbie, Barbie, I love a Barbie!"  I brought them down to the kitchen, got out the scissors and started hacking away.  And when I say "hacking away" I really mean that.  Have you ever tried to get a Barbie doll (or really any other toy) out of it's packaging?  I swear there must be solid gold buried deep inside each doll.  There is no other explanation for the fact that they are literally sewn, glued and screwed into those boxes.

After a good 15 minutes of cutting, prying, and cursing, I finally freed Barbie 2008 from her box.  Peach held out her sticky little hands and breathed a soft, "Oh, she is so pretty!"  Then I started to get excited.  Barbie was my ultimate favorite toy when I was a kid.  I still remember when I got Peaches and Cream Barbie and Ken from my Aunt Mets one year.  I would brush their hair, dress them up, and play with them for hours.  And now, I get to do that with my sweet Peach!

I fought my way through Barbie 2009's prison and finally released her from her shackles.  Peach reached out again and hugged both dolls tightly.  As I started gathering up the aftermath, she headed up to her room to play with them in the princess castle.  I went up with her and played for a little bit, until it was time to go to preschool. 

This happened two weeks ago.  Since then, she and Luigi played with them one time.  He used his Angry Birds to "kill them" and they have been lying in the hallway like this ever since:

I keep thinking she is going to go back and want to play with them.  I've even asked her if she would like to include the Barbies in with the Princesses when we play.  "No, they are dead," she will calmly tell me.  "Don't move them, ok."  Oooooo-kaaaayyyy. 

And so, I offer a humble apology to Barbie purists everywhere.  I am nothing but a silly mom, taking priceless dolls out of their cardboard homes, so my son and daughter can torture them. 


Thursday, January 26, 2012

Nap Time!

Hello, my name is Daisy and I am a Nap-aholic. 

Alas, it is true.  I am a 33-year-old, mother of three, and I find sheer joy in passing out on my couch every afternoon.  There.  I said it.  And the proverbial weight has been lifted. 

So, when did my nap addiction begin?  I really can't put my finger on it.  I never napped much until I went to college.  Of course, at that point in time, my very late nights (or early mornings, however you want to look at it) required short day-time sleeps for survival.  I would actually try to schedule my classes so that I didn't have anything from 1-3 p.m. every day.  And if that didn't work, well, there was always the back row of the class. 

I think, though, that my real love of napping started when I was pregnant with Mario.  I was so tired all the time.  Come on, Moms, you can back me up on this one. Growing another human is a lot of work!  So, I did a lot of napping.  Then, when Mario was born, he was so sweet and snuggly that it was just so easy to swaddle him up, relax in the rocking chair and doze all afternoon.  As Mario got older, he continued to be an excellent napper, which meant that I, too, was able to snooze after lunch.  Plus, everyone told me when I became a Mommy to nap when he naps!  Who am I not to listen to sound advice?

Fast forward to the arrivals of Luigi and Peach.  Luigi was NOT much of a sleeper.  He still isn't.  Which meant he was up a lot at night, which in turn, meant that I required a daily nap just to make it through a day without biting someone's head off or falling asleep at the wheel.  When Peach came along, we actually nicknamed her the Little Sleeping Pill.  Pretty much everyone that held her would settle themselves into the couch, and smell her sleepy little baby head, and instantly fall into a coma.  It's a fact.  Even today, I still get sucked in by her at bedtime and often drift off in bed with her. 

Which brings us to now.  None of my Goombas nap anymore.  This brings me great distress.  Bowser says that I am a grown-up and should not nap anymore.  He claims I should use my time in the afternoons to "get something done around the house."  Phooey.  How can I get anything done when our big, fluffy, soft sofa is calling my name?  Plus, Luigi has night terrors and Peach has become afraid of the dark, so really I am not getting a full night sleep even now.  I'm gonna go ahead and call survival mode again.  As the Zaz and the Pop will tell you, I NEED a specific number of hours of sleep per day, or I become a raging psycho.  We wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?

So, yes.  I am a Nap-aholic.  I think that if naptime were required (as in countries like Italy and Spain) that our world would be a happier place.  I also refuse to put an age-limit on napping.  Whether you are 3 months, 3 years, 30 years or more, if you find a cozy spot (in a sunny window is best!) I say you jump on that opportunity...  Yawn...  Snuggle in with your blankie...  And carpe di-nap-em...  Night-night.


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

5 Things You Didn't Know About Daisy

So, you think because you have been reading for a while that you know me, huh?  Well, you might be surprised at what I am hiding in my "secret garden."  Just when you think you know what song is about to come up on my iPod, or what I'm going to order for dinner--BAM!!! I'm gonna lay one on you that comes totally out of left field and you will be left scratching your head saying, "Wha???" (You know, like the Minions on Despicable Me.)

All righty then.  Here we go.  Five things you never knew about Daisy...  In random order...

5.  I like to think of myself as a music connoisseur.  I don't listen to teeny-bopper-candy-pop. That being said...  when I am alone in my car, I love to blast Taylor Swift's "Love Story," 'N Sync, and Backstreet Boys.  I swear I am worse than a 12-year old.  

4.  If I were on Death Row, for my last meal, I would choose Caesar Salad, New York Style Pizza, Cool Ranch Doritos, a jar of pickles, a 6-pack of Keystone Light, a fresh, crusty baguette with olive tapenade from my favorite Italian deli, and for dessert, a bottle of Ballatore Spumante.  And I would eat/drink every last crumb.  In fact, since I will most likely never find myself on Death Row, I think I just came up with my dinner menu for tonight.

3.  When I grow up, I really want to be an author of a best-seller, a movie star, a famous pastry chef, a stand-up comedian, or a bum traveling around Europe, doing odd jobs to make money.

2.  I very, very, very rarely leave my house without make-up on.  Even if I am wearing my sweat pants and a grubby old t-shirt, you can bet your bottom dollar that I have my "face" on, too.  It's kind of a sickness.  I won't even do just the mascara and lip gloss thing.  It has to be full on foundation, powder, shadows, liners, and the rest.  If you are one of the few that have seen me without it, be careful, 'cause if you tell anyone, you might find yourself sleeping with the fishies. 

1.  I refuse to wear the color orange.  It's a long story.  Let's just say that what happens in middle school does not always stay in middle school.  Sometimes it stays with you for the rest of your life.  And orange is NOT a puke-y color! 

So, there you have it.  Now you know.  And knowing is half the battle!  (Sorry.  Lame G.I. Joe reference.  I should add strange, random 80's references to my list, huh.)


Tuesday, January 17, 2012

The Thin and the Thick of It

One of my resolutions this new year, was to lose some weight.  This has been my top resolution every year since...  Well, probably for as long as I can remember.  It is also THE MOST popular new year resolution in our culture.  As this is weighing on my mind (no pun intended), I have recently made some very interesting observations.

First and foremost, I have noticed that everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE, I talk to complains about their body.  Heavy people, skinny people, curvy people, newly post-partum people, manly people, old people, young people...  Everyone.  Where did this come from?  How could so many people be so upset about their bodies?  I feel sometimes like we have come so far in looking past differences, and yet, when it comes to weight, we are a land of Judgy McJudgers.

I don't think I need to go into statistics here, because we have all heard them.  Yes, we are an obese country in general.  Yes, if you have a lot of belly fat it can cause heart problems.  Yes, being underweight can cause health issues of it's own.  But, let's put all of that aside and focus on my main point.  Why are we all so unhappy with how we look?  I don't ever hear anyone say, "Dang, I am so unhealthy!  I need to start eating right so that my heart keeps beating and my body works at it's best!"  Nope.  What I hear instead is, "Dang, I am so fat!  My jeans are too tight and all my clothes look like crap.  I need to lose weight to LOOK BETTER."  I know that I am definitely guilty of the latter statement.  Hmmm...

Does anyone here know what size the greatest sex symbol of the 20th century wore?  Marilyn Monroe wore not a 0, or a 2, or even a 4.  It is debated that she wore somewhere between a size 12 and 16.  Women wanted to be just like her and men wanted to just be with her!  Now, if we look for a size 12 or up, we need to go to the "plus-size" section and they have "special models" for the larger sizes.  

Let's look at the flip side.  Models are supposed to be tall, thin, and without many curves, so that when modeling clothing, it looks as though it does when it hangs from a hanger.  And yet, when a model, or movie star, or otherwise famous person gets too thin, don't think we don't hear about it!  The Duchess of Cambridge, has been fodder for tabloids because she is TOO THIN!  Many models have been criticized for being too skinny and looking frail. Demi Moore was recently chastised for becoming too thin while she was struggling through the breakup of her marriage. 

So, what is it, people?  Are we too fat?  Are we too skinny?  Where does "just right" fit in?

Well, I, for one, have a plan.  And it goes a little something like this...

I am done complaining about my weight.  Guess what?  I got here because I've learned to enjoy life.  I've carried two babies in my belly.  I have learned to cook good food, that isn't always low-cal, or fat-free, but my family likes it and it makes me happy to sit around the table, taking pleasure in eating dinner and sharing time with my husband and children.  I have an affection for good beer and fine wine (ok, ok.  More like box o' wine, but that tastes just fine to me! ba-dum-bum-ching!).  When I am out with friends I don't want to pass up dessert.  I love carnival food, french fries, and a deliciously crusty baguette, and I don't want to live my life being the one that looks miserable because she "can't eat it."

This is not to say that I am giving up and giving in and letting myself go.  I went to the doctor for a physical not long ago and she said I was healthy.  My heart is good, my liver is good (surprisingly!), my kidneys, my hormone levels (if you are ever around me during PMS, you will also find this shocking!), and everything else looked pretty darn good for a crazy mama in her mid-thirties.  And, you know what?  That sounded pretty good to me.

In short, my new theory is moderation.  Do I have a poochy belly?  Sure, but luckily poncho sweaters are all the rage right now.  Plus, I have some rockin' legs (yes, it is ok to find the GOOD things about your body!) that I can show off in leggings.  I am going to eat my fruits and veggies, and my french fries too.  I am going to drink my 6-8 glasses of water a day, and still enjoy my beer with dinner.  I am going to worry more about the number of hugs I give my loved ones, than the number that shows up inside my jeans or on the scale.  I am going to learn to love my flaws and show off my strengths.

There is a quote I love from Hunter S. Thompson, that has been just a tiny bit modified...

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, martini in one hand, chocolate in the other, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!”

Those, my friends, are words to live by.


Monday, January 16, 2012

Treading on New Ground

I write a lot about my younger two Goombas, and since they are pretty much always with me, most people forget, or don't even know that I have an older child.  That older child would be Mario, my almost-9-year-old, that inspired the "Goomba" theme for our family.  I sometimes get so preoccupied with pre-schooler stuff, that I tend to forget that my oldest needs some lovin' too.  Not that I am neglecting him, but hey, no mother is perfect. It can be so easy to think that he doesn't need my attention since he isn't hanging from my pant legs and screaming my name at obscene decibel levels over and over again.  But, my dear sweet Mario does, in fact, still need me, whether he wants to admit it or not.  And now that he is entering the **gasp!!!** 'tween years, he needs me even more, but I feel lost treading these new waters.

I've mentioned before about how I embarrassed him by trying to do the thumb-lick-face-wipe in front of the school building.  I've also mentioned his new phrases, such as, "Dude!  It was so cool!" And, "Whatever, it was, like, so awesome!" I even told you about my transition from Mommy to Mom.  But, I don't think I have talked much about this newly incorporated personality trait.  That would be his attitude.  I kid you not, this 'tude of his is about the size of freaking China.  I noticed it coming on slowly, but it hit us full force one evening when we had to take away his beloved DS.  It went a little something like this...

Me: Mario, it is time to go take your shower.  Find a place to save your game and head upstairs.
Mario:  (complete silence)
Me: Mario, did you hear me?
Mario: Yeah.  But, I'm playing.
Bowser:  Mario.  Mom is talking to you.  It is time for your shower.
Mario:  You guys just hate me and don't want me to have any fun!!!
Me: (dumbstruck) What?
Mario:  You heard me.  You never want me to do anything.
Bowser:  All right.  That is enough.  Give me your DS and go take your shower.  No more games tonight.
Mario:  Fine.  Whatever.  It's not like you can play it anyway, it is out of battery.  So, why don't you go ahead and charge it while you have it.
Me:  (head explosion)
Bowser:  Get. Upstairs. Now. (head explosion)

After Mario went upstairs, Bowser and I just sort of stared at each other.  What just happened?  Where did that attitude even come from?  What kind of alien teenager took over our son's body?

All of this is so new to me.  I have watched iCarly and Victorious with Mario to try to understand what is going on in the too-old-to-be-a-child/too-young-to-be-a-teenager mind.  Let me tell you something.  Those shows did not help me.  In fact, they sent terrifying chills through my soul that my once loving boy is about to become a technology freak that will try to dupe me at any chance he gets, and will sneak out and do things like yell at me in front of his friends and other adults.  Let's not even mention all the making out.  I really don't think I signed up for this.

When Mario was a baby, I used to silently pray that he would get his father's attitude and disposition.  It's not so much that I was a bad kid.  It's just that...  Well...  How do I put this delicately?  I do NOT want to deal with ME as a teenager.  Bowser on the other hand, was a pleasant, easy-going, parent-obeying child/teenager.  (Or so he says...)  I really wanted that for my kids. Fortunately, it seems they all have his looks and unfortunately, my rebellious personality.  Wonderful.  (Damn that karma!  She is such a bitch!)

I know we still have a few years until the actual, official teenage years, but I am really starting to worry.  If this is what he is like at almost 9, what is it going to be like at 13, or 15, or 17???  Oh dear.  Someone please tell me there is hope...  Otherwise I might as well just buy myself an entire liquor store.