Dead Rat

There was a terrible smell coming from the garage this last week. Every day it got worse and worse, until I decided to take a little initiative and find the inevitable dead animal. Secretly I was hoping it was one of my weird neighbor’s cats, but immediately felt guilty thinking that since he’s a single 40-something with little or no social life and on more than one occasion I’ve caught him sitting in his front yard in full discussion with his multiple cats. Yeah, the guy can hardly speak two words to me but to the cats that continually hide in my yard he can’t shut up.

So anyway, I’m trying to develop a soul and stop hoping my neighbor’s cats are dead and I start pulling everything out of the garage. Nada (that means nothing you ignoramus). So I do the responsible thing and tell my husband the ball is in his court and it is now again his job to locate the stinking animal carcass (hopefully a cat carcass; I’m the devil). Within three minutes he discovers the dead animal (not a cat, dammit) and discovers what comes along with a stinking dead animal carcass -maggots. Loads of them. I cannot even describe how disgusting both the smell and the sight of this rat was, and not only that, but how huge it was! So gross. I sort of wish I would have taken a picture, just so that every time I was tempted by a donut or some other tasty version of a donut (I really love donuts) I could flash this nasty picture of maggot rat and immediately be relieved of any appetite. Unfortunately, I did not have that initial prompting and have already eaten one brownie and one donut today; maggot rat would have saved me the calories. Now I’m just hoping that one of my neighbor’s cats accidentally dies in my garage. This about sums up the kind of person I am.

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Cavemen

I’m raising cavemen. Seriously. Today I walked into the bathroom to find my four year old using the toilet. No big deal until he started talking to me and while he was talking and waving his arms wildly (he’s very expressive), he lost focus on the task at hand. It was like an interactive water park in there, pee shooting every which way and hitting all surfaces minus the intended target, the toilet. Meanwhile I was shouting at him to stop looking at me (shouting, screaming, same thing) and focus on where he was aiming that thing. Unfortunately, this isn’t rare or even unusual and with three little boys sharing a bathroom… let’s just say I avoid that bathroom like someone who has cleaned that bathroom before.

So they pee everywhere. Big deal. That doesn’t make them cavemen you say. You say wrong. Getting out of the house with these kids is like a six hour ordeal. It’s exhausting and almost never worth it. So I decided I was going to enlist the help of the 5 year old. Please keep in mind that if I allowed it, the 5 year old would still be sucking on a binky and wearing diapers; he has zero desire for independence or progress. That being said, I recognize him as not a great option but my only option. I was trying to get to the grocery store so I asked the 5 year old to help the 2 year old put his shoes on. As the 5 year old went to help the demonic 2 year old get his shoes on, he reached for the 2 year old’s fat foot and immediately got punched straight in the face. Without even looking up the 2 year old replied, “I gonna be mad at you.” What? Why so violent, little psychopath? Why so threatening? What as parents are we doing wrong? I try to keep the screaming to a minimal shriek, but maybe I could up it to a moderate shriek? Would that civilize them?

Tonight while taking the kids to a casual restaurant, we continually took turns telling the kids to put their shoes back on and stop climbing the lamppost. Seriously. I look around and see the other kids behaving much like regular human beings and I wonder why in the hell our kids are so savage. We frankly are not soft parents, we definitely do not shy away from discipline, but I fail to see why my kids cannot go 10 minutes without wrestling or climbing or jumping off crap. I get that they are kids and have, to put it in a cute but not accurate way, wiggles, but come on guys! Stop ripping the neighbor’s fence open just so you can get inside their backyard and climb their trees. These boys are so wild. So wild! I often think they were born 3.7 million (I looked it up; thank you google!) too late. Either way, I can’t wait for the day they grow up and come home and say, “Mom! The girls think it’s gross that I pee anywhere and everywhere outside. What gives?” Yup kid. You’ve got a lot of civilizing to do.

Underwear gone

I was thinking today about my luck and how I actually have terrible luck. My first instinct is to blame my husband, because, well, that just seems like the obvious choice. But then I realized my luck is terrible because I have little kids. Little kids immediately quadruple your chances of getting any kind of stomach bug (I’ve had it twice in the last month; it’s summer btw), double your chances of getting fat (the only thing that can ease the pain of a day full of high pitched squealing and fighting is an enormous bowl of ice cream; it’s been scientifically proven), and they most certainly ensure that you will never get to do anything really and truly fun ever again. I might just be bitter after a night of soccer camps where two kids suddenly had a bout of diarrhea that sent me scrambling but still ended up throwing underwear away.

I was talking with my sister and we were discussing what we used to be like when we were kidless and still had personalities. Ahh… the good old days of personalities. I think I used to be sort of patient too, maybe even kind? I can’t be sure since it has been so long. Now I’m just sort of an angry lunatic now.

The beginning

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I had a blog a long time ago and I resented updating it. I would also resent my husband when he asked me about my blog, so the fact that I’m here, about to start another blog speaks volumes. Volumes of what, I’m not really sure but lots and lots of volumes are out there being spoken. Deal with it.

So here we are. I’m starting another blog that I already resent and my husband hasn’t asked me about it yet but I feel like I should resent him in advance. It only seems right. And it’s only right that I mention in advance that I make no promises to keep up with this blog, but I do promise to never become even sort of one of those blogs I hate (ie most every other blog on earth). I’m sort of a sarcastic sort and so the “here’s a play-by-play of my entire day and look how marvelous it was” makes me want to heave. And I hate the food blogs too. It’s a struggle enough getting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made for lunch for the enormous amount of children I’ve created (four btw); I most definitely do not want to see some close up shot of the greek salad you threw together. And don’t even get me started on those fitness blogs. *shiver* Those type of people ought to be marooned together. Then they can compete with just each other and leave the rest of us normal people alone. We hates them.

The bottom line is I will use this blog to rant and rave and there’s nothing you can do about it, aside from not reading the blog, which doesn’t really hurt me so neither of us should be too worried. I will also do my best grammatically but I find very few instances in my day-to-day life where I actually need to use my brain so my brain has turned to something resembling melted pudding; I know no grammar. I aint got no time for it.

So please enjoy this blog and all it has to offer (probably not a whole lot). I’m sure there will be many snarky posts to come.