It's a sad day in Blog-ville. A local Pittsburgh News Anchor has taken her blog offline. Apparently the mean spirited people in the 'burgh brought her to a place where blogging was no longer fun. SAD DAY for me. I loved her blog. I found it to be much like mine.
Hilarious to those with small children.
Her encounters with children's "hazardous materials" (pee, poop, boogers, vomit and the sort) made for great entertainment. (exerpt from "Crawling and Going Nuts.")
And I don't know about YOUR family, but have you guys had the sharfs that have totally plagued us for the past week or more? Sharfs would be the derivative of barf and another word. Yeah. I swear, our whole family's been mucked up since Disney when Mike had the midnight sharf-fest. Ryan spits up stuff he hasn't even eaten, Jack drinks milk like it's going out of style then is "too full" for anything else, and Michael is begging for an ice cream diet because his "stomach doesn't feel good." What is it? My meat loaf?
Her run-ins with the outspokenness of children... will make all mom's laugh and do the "I've been there" head nod. (exerpt from "Whole Nightmare")
Jack picks up the plastic divider thing separating the mink-wearing woman's stuff in front of us and starts pretending it's a sword. Stabbing the air. Gasping for breath. Great. I love pirates. Honey, put it down. It's not a toy, I say. What's it for? he asks. See that lady behind the counter? She sees that and knows the things in front of us are someone else's, I answer. How does she know what's ours? he asks. Because she's smart, I say. (Of course, she and the grizzly adamsbagger guy are listening now.) Jack looks at her. Looks at me and says, Is she smarter than you, Mommy? Maybe, I quickly say back. And NOT MISSING A FREAKING BEAT, my kids says loudly, If she's so smart, why's she working HERE? (This is where the checker-outer lady's face turns red and she quickly scans my $12 fruit tray, no doubt double charging me.
Of course, right on cue, some lady in another aisle recognizes me and loudly comes over to tell me how much she likes the 11 o'clock news.
Great.
Shoot me now.
I try. I really do.
My kids know how to low ball a woman's age. How to not tell someone who's fat that they're fat. How to not toot in public and roar with laughter as they fan their butts. How to stand aside and let people OFF an elevator before they tackle each other racing to get ON.
You wanna watch Jack so I can shop in peace next time?
Of course, right on cue, some lady in another aisle recognizes me and loudly comes over to tell me how much she likes the 11 o'clock news.
Great.
Shoot me now.
I try. I really do.
My kids know how to low ball a woman's age. How to not tell someone who's fat that they're fat. How to not toot in public and roar with laughter as they fan their butts. How to stand aside and let people OFF an elevator before they tackle each other racing to get ON.
You wanna watch Jack so I can shop in peace next time?
"Quite frankly, if you're sick and tired of dodging your naked reflection when you get out of the shower...or you're sick of sucking in your stomach so your pudge doesn't poke out of your pants....or you want to eat what you want without guilt or remorse...you gotta get off your duff.
I did it when I was pregnant with Mike 7 years ago. I had joined a gym with a marvelous pool and started to swim. The first day I got into the water I managed one full lap -- there and back -- freestyle -- before I thought my heart was going to explode. Each morning I stuck to it and pushed it further. By the week before Michael was born, I was doing 80 laps (40 here and back) nonstop every morning. I knew I was onto something. It's amazing what the body can accomplish if you stop being a sucker who makes excuses. Trust me. I know these things.
So about five months ago -- tired of avoiding the mirror -- I started running. Do people actually *like* running? No. I don't think so. But if you're like I am and time is finite, you need to get the most bang for your buck. Walking a stroller through the neighborhood ain't cutting it. Running I hoped would. And it did.
The first day I did 5 minutes and thought I was triumphant! Granted -- I have a treadmill -- so I can keep an eye on the kids and get my exercise. And if you don't have one (a treadmill. not a kid) -- I seriously suggest investing in one. I'm up to 30 minutes a day now. That's about 3.2 miles. I run a freaking 5K five days a week!! Unbelievable. The first 6 weeks were ridiculous. I hated every second...but guilted my flab onto that stupid conveyor belt and got it going. Now -- I hardly breathe heavy anymore after I'm done. Half an hour, people. I have half an hour. Don't you? "
And lastlty... the daily parenting moments we all understand... (excerpt from blog entry- Raw Fish and Fun)
We went for Sushi.
My kids LIKE Sushi. Seriously. Ryan. Mike. Jack. The whole tribe. Tuna. Shrimp. Spicy crab roll. You name it, they'll eat it. I love that about my kids. But THAT's where this love-fest stops. Ryan is hit or miss. If he's well-napped, he's a hit. If he's tired, he's a definitely dive-bombing missle of doom and pain. Loud kid. Screamer. Writher. Back archer. Thrower. Guess where I'm going with this.
So we make it to the actual ordering process and the Melt Down revs up. Starts stabbing me with a fork -- then chucking it at my head. Takes his arm and pushes all his food onto the floor. Tosses his sippy cup then whines to get it back only to toss his sippy cup and .... yeah. And we're just getting started. He screams the bloodiest murder I've ever heard -- red faced -- borderline purple -- and right on the brink of starting to scream myself (all people in the place are now watching, necks craning and all...as I would be, too...) I whip him out of his high chair in a blur and plop his miserable self onto my lap... only to discover... the kid's chomped right into a red chili pepper. AAAGHHH!!!!!! His mouth burning to a crisp -- eyes bulging -- sticky fingers flailing -- I finally quiet the child down with ice water. But the time bomb was activated. And he was ticking.
About 10 minutes of this screaming and Joe takes Ryan from me and tries to bounce him on his own lap. Not having it. The pressure's building. The tension's insane. My head is swirling. I...can't....breathe....help....me.... I KID YOU NOT -- Joe picks up Ryan and holds him up and yells "YOU WILL NOT RUIN OUR DINNERS OUT!! WE WILL EAT OUT -- WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!!"
I look in horror at him -- then over to Mike who's sitting so bass-akwards in his chair his constantly-moving foot won't stop kicking me -- then over to Jack who's peeling apart another packet of sugar to dump into his Sprite (after drinking his soy sauce) -- and in 25 seconds, I had the coats on all 3 boys and we were marching to the car.
There aren't enough beers in the world to erase this misery. And sure -- all you moms out there who've "been there, done that" -- do me a favor, and don't tell me it get worse, okay? Because I'll TOTALLY believe you.
My kids LIKE Sushi. Seriously. Ryan. Mike. Jack. The whole tribe. Tuna. Shrimp. Spicy crab roll. You name it, they'll eat it. I love that about my kids. But THAT's where this love-fest stops. Ryan is hit or miss. If he's well-napped, he's a hit. If he's tired, he's a definitely dive-bombing missle of doom and pain. Loud kid. Screamer. Writher. Back archer. Thrower. Guess where I'm going with this.
So we make it to the actual ordering process and the Melt Down revs up. Starts stabbing me with a fork -- then chucking it at my head. Takes his arm and pushes all his food onto the floor. Tosses his sippy cup then whines to get it back only to toss his sippy cup and .... yeah. And we're just getting started. He screams the bloodiest murder I've ever heard -- red faced -- borderline purple -- and right on the brink of starting to scream myself (all people in the place are now watching, necks craning and all...as I would be, too...) I whip him out of his high chair in a blur and plop his miserable self onto my lap... only to discover... the kid's chomped right into a red chili pepper. AAAGHHH!!!!!! His mouth burning to a crisp -- eyes bulging -- sticky fingers flailing -- I finally quiet the child down with ice water. But the time bomb was activated. And he was ticking.
About 10 minutes of this screaming and Joe takes Ryan from me and tries to bounce him on his own lap. Not having it. The pressure's building. The tension's insane. My head is swirling. I...can't....breathe....help....me.... I KID YOU NOT -- Joe picks up Ryan and holds him up and yells "YOU WILL NOT RUIN OUR DINNERS OUT!! WE WILL EAT OUT -- WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!!"
I look in horror at him -- then over to Mike who's sitting so bass-akwards in his chair his constantly-moving foot won't stop kicking me -- then over to Jack who's peeling apart another packet of sugar to dump into his Sprite (after drinking his soy sauce) -- and in 25 seconds, I had the coats on all 3 boys and we were marching to the car.
There aren't enough beers in the world to erase this misery. And sure -- all you moms out there who've "been there, done that" -- do me a favor, and don't tell me it get worse, okay? Because I'll TOTALLY believe you.
There's so much more I could draw from. Her site was hilarious and a indeed a part of my daily blog viewing schedule. (Along with many of your blogs.)
Thanks for taking a second to read a few of her "funnies. " My hope is that one the day she has one of these Belly Holding, Milk out of your nostril, Funny stories... that she'll ask to "Guest Blog" here. (fingers crossed.)
We'll see.
Thanks for taking a second to read a few of her "funnies. " My hope is that one the day she has one of these Belly Holding, Milk out of your nostril, Funny stories... that she'll ask to "Guest Blog" here. (fingers crossed.)
We'll see.
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