Bri Time

After dinner last night the kids wanted to watch Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I'm always game for a little Johnny Depp action, and the kids love it, so everyone wins. Except for Brian. I think he has the ability to sense when my hormones increase, which happens every time Johnny Depp comes on screen. Johnny Depp scene = hard, one armed hugs from Brian. In addition to mathematical affection, Brian participated in a game the kids play that I call "Ask mommy to get things from the kitchen with baby voices". Cody started it with a "Mommy, mommy appie juice!", Bekka followed with a "Mommy, mommy Oreos and ice Cream and candy canes!" and Brian ended it with a "Mommy, mommy popcorn!". Then he smiles and shrugs his shoulders like "I'm adorable, right?". On a day to day basis, my hate level for Brian is at a low 4. But when he pulls shit like this, moves he thinks are cute and loving but are just plain needy, that indicator zooms to a 10 (this is a 10 point scale). It's times like this where I think about shooting myself in front of all of them, so they have to live forever with the image of what they pushed me to.

From Resentful Mom

It's the Grind!

My real level of stress comes out at night.

Hamburger Help Me

I am at the end of my rope making fresh, healthy, meals that take me an hour and half to prepare. If these people want me to cook for them every night and clean up, they're going to eat something that came from a box. Enter Hamburger Helper. According to their website, they have 45 different options, if you count Tuna Helpers and Chicken Helpers. That means for a month and a half, I can make a different dish every night that takes me less than 30 minutes. And while I am making it, I will eat my secret dinner of fresh salad and grilled fish.

Baby Crazies

Saturday is my friend Georgie's baby shower. It's her first baby and hopefully her last (or maybe she'll have a third trimester miscarriage). This woman should not have input on anything impressionable. Georgie can be summed up with this set of words: hi-lights, Escalade, appletini's, pink, bling, Irish Catholic, spray tan, cleavage, over extended.

She sent out her registry list and I've spent the last hour trying to find a gift under $100. If I can't, I am not afraid to show up empty handed and site the economic depression, and I bet you I won't be the only person. Which means Georgie will cry and take it as a sign that we don't love her (which is kind of the truth). I don't care. She cries a lot. It's the typical MO of a woman who wears heels to wash a car. Here's some of the pretentious and tacky baby crap she hopes we will buy her:

A pink studded pacifier $120:

From Resentful Mom

You can only buy this thing on a website called Aristabra.com. This will be one businesses I hope gets taken down by the economic slow down.



Cashmere baby blankets $190:

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People who make this know babies throw up, right? Available on another pretentiously named website ElegantRoots.com. The copy on this photo is hilarious.



Juicy Diaper Bag $298:

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This will shock you. Available only at Neiman Marcus.



Gucci baby carrier $895:

From Resentful Mom

If you can afford this why would you even carry your baby?

Blast from the Past

I'm in shock. My high school boyfriend e-mailed me. I can't believe what it said:

Hey Rachel,

It's Tyler Cerdus. Your high school prom date. Do you remember me? I was thinking about you last week. My wife and I divorced six months ago and well, it took a while for me to unpack. Saturday I was unpacking a box of photos and out fell a prom picture of us. We look so young and happy! Not as happy as prom night. That was way more fun ;) You we're so beautiful and between you and me, of all the girls I've been with, no one has anything on your perfect ass. I'm surprised to see you are married with kids. I thought for sure you'd be a famous artist living in New York City. I'm an ad exec at Tad Ware & Co. Want to get coffee?


Tyler

I have always dated hot guys, at the expense of the companionship of an intellectual equal (including Brian). But Tyler, oh Tyler, he was perfect. Smart, confident, and super super super super hot. I broke up with him three weeks before graduation because I didn't want to be tied down in college. Hilarious right, for a woman who is now imprisoned by a lifestyle created by her own unwillingness to object to the events confining her.
Yeah, I am totally having coffee with him.

Good Eats

My new plan for Bekka, post birthday, is to ween her off the junk food. Not so she'll get healthy, I am just curious as to if she's naturally fat or fat from eating. If she's not lost weight in 6 weeks, I know for sure her weight problems are out of my hands and I will let her eat whatever she wants. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited about the possibility of watching her destroy herself with food.

Birthday #2

My enemies change form day to day. The mailman, who leaves important mail sticking out of the box to get wet while somehow shoving circulars into the dryer areas. The Schwan's Man who, after delivering our month’s supply of turkey pot pies, exits while saying “Better put some meat on those bones or you might blow away in the wind”. He says it like being skinny is a bad thing (it's not!). Or the CenterPoint meter reader who not only never closes the gate, may have taken a poop in my backyard. But today I faced my biggest adversary - other moms.

Mom's treat birthday parties as an open season for unsolicited advice. I'd rather have nuclear weapons tested on me than listen to a group of women criticize how I put birthday candles on a cake. Theresa Fendlik, mother of booger eating Stacie, told me I should of had cupcakes instead of a sheet cake - it's less messy & everyone gets the flavor they want. Suzan Funk, mother of neurotic Jacqueline, told me I spent too much money on Dora the Explorer decorations at Party City when they're 10% cheaper at Party America. Gladys Rockerfeller, who is not an 85 year old trustee as her name might imply, is the mother of Stella Rockerfeller, a small child suffering from pica, a medical condition where, in her case, she eats garbage and paint. Gladys said nothing to me, she was too busy keeping Stella away from the trash. However, she did manage to nod her head and utter an “uh huh” when she agreed with one of the other mothers. After 4 hours of 7 year old chaos and 30-35 year old lady hating, I sat back on the couch, exhausted, staring at the gaggle of ladies and I prayed that God would force my claw foot iron tub through the ceiling, crushing the waste-of-space bitches sitting at my dining room table. He did not. Next time God, you better kill someone when I ask you to. Or I am done with you.

No rest for the weary

Last night marked night one of Cody's reoccurring night terrors. They happen every two months or so and drag on for 4-5 days, wreaking so much havoc on my sleep schedule it takes me another week to get back on track. After waking him up from a terror at 3AM and singing him back to sleep with a lackluster rendition of "Eidel Vise", I couldn't fall back asleep. So I hit up the all knowing Internet on the subject. Wikipedia told me that night terrors can be genetic, and if they are, I know I am to blame. Every night, right before I fall deep asleep, my neurotic brain shifts from 1st to 5th gear. It starts listing things I need to do, things I forgot, mistakes I made during the day, during the week, during my life. It takes me a half hour and 4 Tylenol PM's to get back to sleep. Cody is not old enough for a drug problem. So I am buying him this night light. I hope it helps (me).

From Resentful Mom

Birthday Girl

Today is Bekka's 7th birthday. Even though I've already spent $200 on the Saturday party, Brian insisted we go out for a family dinner. Bekka's restaurant choice, The Olive Garden, was regrettable. Their slogan "When You're Here, You're Family" is faulty advertising, unless you come from a passive aggressive, lazy family. Not only did our apathetic waitress, Caren (worst way to spell Karen) not look any of us in the eye, I question whether or not she had bathed in the past week. She smelled of dirty carpet and menthol cigarettes. That was the least of my problems. Even though I knew they microwave their food, it was still upsetting to bite into a half frozen tortellini. And then, the waiter at the table next to us was trying to up-sell them to a Kendall-Jackson, the low hanging fruit of wine makers, which made me grimace. The fact that Bekka thinks this is the best food on Earth makes me feel like a failure, not as a parent, I've already accepted that I am indeed that, but as a human being. No one, on this planet, should hold that restaurant in such high regard. Not even a 7 year old.

And Brian gave her her present - a TMobile Sidekick. Still a better phone than my 2 year old Razr.

Totes!

What's worse than having your kids with you at the grocery store? Not much. It's a nightmare situation for the most patient of people. Two little car salesmen bargaining with you to accept one of their propositions. One of them comes to me with Fruit Loops. I say no. After a shake of the head, he or she puts it back on the shelf, but always returns with another proposed food I will reject. It's a constant rotation of offers and denials. In last ditch attempts, they'll grasp at register impulse buys like Toblerone or Listerine strips, thinking that I'm worn down. That I'll give in. But I stay strong. So on the rare occasion that I get to go to the store by myself, I milk that treat as long as I can, reading every single panel of nutrition information, thinking hard about which peach is the ripest, paying in change. So the last thing I want is a grocery tote reminding me of my tormentors.

From Resentful Mom