Cycle On

Well, it’s official. I have jumped on the bandwagon and bought myself an overpriced bike so that I too could join the ranks of millions of cyclists who spend hours pedaling around in skin tight spandex. Now I also have the luxury of riding halfway in the street, not allowing any vehicle to pass but also pretending that I am completely unaware that cars are even there, wanting to run me over.

I really went all out today though. I rode my bike up a mountain (I say that casually, but know this, it was the worst two hours of my life; I kept hoping a cougar would take me or that a tree would fall on me but no such luck. I lived and now my butt is basically broken) and on the way down, I clogged up the lane so that cars couldn’t pass. It is what we, as cyclists, and I’m permitted to call myself a cyclist because I have the spandex with a company’s logo on it, do. We take up lanes, pretending to be as fast as cars but we aren’t, and we know that, but we pretend. That makes us true cyclists and thats what I did today, so now I’m a bonafide cyclist. The logic is pretty simple, really.

I remember riding a bike as a kid and let me tell you, it has all changed. It has changed some for good and some for bad. First the good. Now you can get on your bike and you immediately have a gang to ride around with (ever seen the huge group of cyclists racing around the streets like they belong there? I have, and they, like 97% of the population, annoy me. I believe this swarm of cyclists is called a peloton, fyi). I would say that you could take your new gang and try to beat up other cyclists but the cycling gang you’ve adopted is probably a bunch of rich guys, so they are most likely unable to beat up anyone. But you have a gang, so that’s good. I recommend riding with your new gang of 60 people down the middle of a busy street. Motorists like that.

Another good thing about cycling or biking or whatever the hell it’s called, is that now you don’t have to wonder where to spend all that extra money! Hurray! Finally, a solution to all those extra dollars just piling up! Because you don’t just buy a road bike that costs more than your car, you have to have a helmet, special cycling glasses, special gloves, spandex from head to toe, cycling socks, cycling tap shoes, extra tube for your microscopically thin tires, and much much more. You’re never done buying more biking gear, which helps you spend those pesky dollars. Thank you cycling world.

A bad part of cycling, aside from the wussy gang you’ve become part of, is the fact that you now have to wear shorts with an obscene amount of padding, just to try to prevent your butt from breaking. Unfortunately, the magic shorts basically prevent nothing so until you callous up your butt, you will feel like someone took you to the top of the Eiffel tower and dropped you and you landed directly on your butt. It’s incredible. Those shorts do nothing. And the fact that you need them at all sort of confuses me. Hey bike manufacturers, ever consider designing a seat that would not rip my bum apart? No? You’re in cahoots with the padded spandex shorts manufacturer? That makes sense then. Continue designing bike seats that feel a lot like diamond plated granite.

So if you’re considering jumping on the cycling bandwagon too, know this, I’ve already jumped off. I’m not sure I can keep up the illusion that riding uphill for three hours is fun or that being in a gang that can’t beat up one of the Olsen twins is cool. But cycle on, if you choose. Just don’t be surprised if I try to run you over.


A new friend

I think pretty much everyone can agree, other people’s kids are gross. I take that back. Other people’s kids that you don’t know are ultra gross, while just other people’s kids in general are just medium gross.

I was at a soccer practice today when my four-year-old, typically a shy kid, bounded over to me with a new friend in tow and excitedly pointed out his pal to me. “Look mom! He is my friend! We are playing together!” Great. Now take your little friend away from me. I don’t know him and I can’t be sure if he’s not one of those booger-eating types. Alas, no such luck. My four year old quickly invited his new friend to sit on our blanket (Damn your suddenly outgoing nature!). Okay, I’m not super excited about this but… Gah! The new friend decides to take his shoes off. Whaaaaaat? I settle down and try to pretend I’m one of those friendly moms who passes out popsicles to the neighborhood kids rather than the mom who screams at kids to get the hell out of my garage (why are the neighbor kids always trying to play in our garage? It’s so weird. Luckily I have a good set of lungs and can scream them out). So my four-year-old doesn’t have great taste in friends, but I’m coping with it, when suddenly his new friend takes it a step farther and removes his socks. Yes. He did. He took his socks off. He took his socks off and sat on my blanket. He took his socks off, sat on my blanket, and put his dirty socks on his hands like puppets. I try to keep the dry heaving under wraps but I keep looking at his sausage feet and I am getting increasingly uncomfortable and anxious and dry-heaving. I keep looking around trying to locate his parents so they can see my discomfort with their child sitting on my blanket and playing sock puppets with his sweaty socks but no such parent seems to belong to the child. Of course not. His mother is probably sitting in a lawn chair somewhere happily not watching her child and his sweaty sock puppets. I hate her. So here I sit, entertaining this sweaty sock puppet kid, when he tells me he’s thirsty.

Sweaty sock puppet kid: “I’m thirsty. Can I have a drink?”

Me: “Go ask your mom.”

Sweaty sock puppet kid: “She doesn’t have any water. She didn’t bring any.”

Me: “Guess you’re out of luck then.”

My four-year-old with a heart of gold: “We can share! Have some of this water!”

Me: “Son, if you feed them then they never leave and never learn to feed themselves. Basic laws of nature.”

My four-year-old with a heart of gold: “What?”

Me: “Never mind.”

Sweaty sock puppet drink guzzling kid: “Glug, glug, glug, glug….”

I obviously could not drink out of that water bottle ever again, so into the dumpster it went. Goodbye $30 water bottle. Sweaty sock puppet kid who has no shame in begging just tarnished you forever and you have become toxic. It was good while it lasted.

So after the longest hour of my life, practice was thankfully over. I scooped up my less-disgusting but still fairly disgusting children and hurried out before sweaty sock puppet kid could taint anything else of ours. I can still see his gross little feet rubbing gross little feet germs all over my blanket. Maybe I will throw that blanket away as well. Probably best that way.

No thanks retirement

I recently caught a glimpse of what retirement is going to look like for me and my husband and I’m telling you, it isn’t pretty. My husband has had the last week off of work due to a change in jobs and being something of a busy-body/know-it-all/task-master, he has taken to following me around pointing out more efficient ways of doing things. “Why are you reading actual books? Try the Kindle! Oh, we don’t have that book? Just a quick update and we have it! Hold on, it’s loading it. Oh shoot. An error came up. Okay, here it is. Wow, it costs more than I thought. Huh. Maybe you can buy a different book.” Guess what hubs? I’m going to just read the book I already have in my hand. Maybe take a trip up to your mom’s house and try annoying her for a little while. I’m sure she finds discussions of home automation fascinating.

Probably the most annoying thing my husband does though, is he finds random objects laying around the house, obviously out of place and asks why they are there. For example, a pen is on the kitchen counter.

Him: “Why is this here? Pens cannot be left out. This is a big problem.”

Me: *blank stare*

Him: “Pens shouldn’t be left out. Kids can get them and draw on stuff. Maybe even walls!”

Me: *blank stare followed by an eye roll*

Him: “Courtney! You know I don’t like the pens being left out! We don’t want kids writing on walls or furniture. Okay? Are you going to make more of an effort not leaving pens or markers out?”

Me: *blank stare followed by an eye roll immediately followed by fist clenching*

Him:  “Ahh! I think I see a marker out! This is bad! A pen and a marker?! The kids could have written on so many things! Our favorite couch could be ruined! Have you checked the couches?! The walls?! Where are the kids?! Where are the other pens?! Do they have them?! Are they using them as we speak?! Do you even know where the rest of the pens are?!! What is happening?!!”

Me: *blank stare followed by an eye roll immediately followed by fist clenching followed by a punch to the neck*

It is soooooooooo annoying. And exhausting. I am terrified of what life will be like when there is no job start date ahead of us. He can’t really sit still so he walks around the house finding projects, but then sort of expects me to assist him in his projects. “Here. Hold this while I nail that.” NO! This is your project so leave me out of it! I don’t want to hold the flashlight while you strap the skybox onto the car roof at midnight! Do it during the daylight hours like a normal person! And no, I do not want to measure the entire house’s square footage. You can though, just don’t ask me to help. I’m reading my book that isn’t a kindle.

Movies and Babies

Omg, we are those people. Tonight we did what I vowed never to do and that is to take a person under the age of 20 to a movie with us. Blast! We screwed up and we screwed up big time. My husband had gotten free tickets to Fantastic Four (probably the producers of the movie should give everyone free tickets; it isn’t quite right charging for that movie) and the baby is not quite four months so we took the little fella along with us. We discussed it in length beforehand and analyzed the potential outcomes, none of which were that great, but decided we would likely never see these people again and that makes them not real people. Oh the shame! You ever walk into a big movie theater with a baby strapped to your chest? Don’t do it. The sheer hatred that greeted us was palpable. A weaker person would have melted by the power of it. And I can’t say that I blame them because I had always believed there was a time and a place for babies and movie theaters is never the time nor the place (a nail salon is another one of those places and yet another place I’ve desecrated with the presence of a baby; hey, I’ve lost all semblance of pride with this fourth child). I don’t care how quiet they are, just knowing they are there, ready to make baby noises upsets me (says the mother of four…). Uh huh. So here I am on the other end of things, avoiding all possible eye contact with any possible person, and shamefully trying to sit as close to the exit as I could, meanwhile feeling absolutely torn the entire time. I was torn between being ashamed and being defensive of the loathsome parent I had become. Look people, I’m tired of hiding away. I’m tired of not going to movies, not going out with friends, and not doing crack. Kids have already ruined whatever personality I used to have, the least I can do is pretend I still have the will to put jeans on and make it to the theater, baby or no baby! So take courage parents, I support you! Take your babies to the movies! Endure the glares and side comments made! You are not alone! Be brave! Be stalwart! Just don’t you dare do it when I’m there because I will burn a hole in your head with the look I can give. Hey, I paid a babysitter, you can do the same.


I’m sort of tired of taking care of kids, or rather I’m sick to death of battling over food. Feeding kids is likely the second worst thing about parenting, falling just under potty training, of course. My kids often express their excitement over all the possibilities of when they themselves are grown up and can choose to eat whatever crap they can get their grubby mits on (I sure hope they don’t still have ‘grubby mits’ by then though). Ha! Good luck kids. By the time you actually reach that point, all the dreamy sweets you’ve been fantasizing about eating endless amounts of will either make you sick or fat or both. Life is cruel that way.

I’m no vegan soldier mom or anything (No, I will never ask my children to eat that dried seaweed; it looks disgusting, smells disgusting and was meant to be ingested by sea turtles, not humans), but I do try to make sure my kids get their fruits and veggies, and it is outright exhausting. I can almost always coerce/threaten them into eating their veggies at dinner but the coercing/threatening is wearing me down; I think I’ve aged 20 years in the last 6 weeks. I know there are a million theories on this but if you’re going to try to convince me to spend hours reading about getting kids to eat after spending hours coercing/threatening to eat, I’m going to punch you in the throat. I aint got time for that. I don’t want to spend any additional energy into thinking about feeding kids because based on what I’ve heard from other parents, it just sucks and it will continue to suck until they are old enough to understand that candy for three meals a day is not a viable option. Until then, I will keep coercing/threatening. You vegan soldier moms are welcome to keep your opinions to yourselves. And enjoy your seaweed.

Zombie Brains

I have two kids’ birthdays next week. I cannot stress how much I dread their birthdays, and not because of the ‘stay little forever’ crap I hear people blubbering about; I hate the expectations. I look at my five year old, soon to be six year old, and he has these grandiose plans filled with 35 of his closest pals and cakes that are in the actual shape of a zombie brain. First off, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know 35 people and second off, what the hell does a zombie brain look like? I’m assuming it looks like a regular brain but only green. TBD. Either way, he has seen enough cartoons to have some pretty wild ideas of what birthday parties are. Hey kid, when I was turning 5 there was certainly no themed birthday cake and I’m almost positive the party was a couple neighbor kids playing in the backyard. I may or may not have even liked the neighbor kids.

For real though. What has happened to the birthday cakes? Suddenly it’s no longer acceptable to throw a couple candles on a cake, one must have a themed cake that doesn’t just have a picture depicting the theme, it must actually be the theme. Last year one of my kids asked for a Thomas the Train cake. Oh, so a sheet cake with a picture of Thomas on it? No. A thousand times no. It must be an actual train and it must be able to carry passengers. Come again? I cannot get behind this. Not just because I’m a minimalist (ie lazy), but because I firmly stand against Pinterest and all it’s evil undoing. If not for Pinterest, no one would even know you could spray paint an empty coffee can, throw some glitter on it, and make it into a candle. Hey people of Pinterest, go buy a flipping candle. I am not impressed by your homemade coffee can version. And if not for Pinterest, no one would look up these damn cake pictures and try to replicate them! But now I find myself trying to solve the riddle of what a zombie brain cake would entail and how to explain to the 2 year old that his cake is also a zombie brain because mommy cannot possibly do two themed cakes in the span of three days. Sorry third child, should have tried harder to be born first. Bottom line? We need to boycott Pinterest and cake making in general. Let me just buy the kid a donut. Somewhere out there one of the Pinterest moms is fainting. Faint away overachieving Pinterest mom. Faint away. But before you faint, would you mind making my son a zombie brain cake?

Bikini bod

I feel so defeated. You know how there are those people in your life that were either once your friend but for some reason or another you hate them, only they don’t know you hate them? Well, I’m human too and have one of those people, only I know exactly why I hate her and it has everything to do with the fact that I hate her social media persona. In fact, I hate most people’s social media personas, but hers is especially nauseating. Like, keep a bucket by your computer because this girl almost seems intentionally nauseating.

So I’m a civil human being, I can be polite and make polite comments on her instagram feed, although usually there is a little bit of a bite to my comments (I said I was civil, not perfect). She usually is busy posting pictures of her exercising or the current salad she is ‘just so obsessed with!’ or some ridiculously titled pic of her husband with a hashtag that reads #suchababe. Gag me. I like salad. I try to exercise. I even like my husband. But I don’t sugar coat it and shove it down your throat. I also don’t try to pretend my life is always dreamy and wonderful. Shocking, I know. I’m a bit of a snark. Well, not anymore because she won. She won plain and simple. She posted a picture of her in a bikini and it pretty much shut me right up. Ugh. Fine, unnamed frenemy. You win. You may be the most annoying social media person out there but you are able to show your stomach and people aren’t gagging at the site of it so you automatically win. Damn. I can’t be bitchy about someone wearing a bikini after kids if they can pull it off; It feels wrong. I suddenly am not laughing so hard about her salad posts.