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Bender, the Wonder Mutt.

Since the kids haven’t done anything lately that I can bitch about would be considered hilarious enough to blog about…I thought I’d introduce you to Bender, the Wonder Mutt.

He’s like a fifth child, without the eye rolling and door slamming.

I’ve had my share of awesome dogs, but this one rocks for many reasons!

Isn’t he a cutie???


We rescued him from a kind soul that found him wandering in downtown, Kansas City KS. We knew he was ours when he ran up to us and promptly peed on my husband’s shoe. Sold!!

That’s a sign you know…it’s like he’s marking you as his. My husband didn’t find this quite as endearing, but thought he was cute enough to cart home.

The dog is a girlie dog. I don’t mean because he was country castrated, he just prefers females to males. This irritates the husband since he considers himself the master of the house. {Little does he know…;)} Anyway, the dog gravitates towards me and the girls of the house. He is constantly under my feet which is quite sweet and helpful when I am cooking and drop something on the floor.

Other times, not so much. It’s a damn miracle I haven’t broken something for as many times as I’ve tripped over him.

He loves bath time. **clarification** The five year old’s bathtime, not his. We have to hogtie him to get the stink off him. He sits in the small kids’ bathroom while Little A. splashes around, getting close enough to try and lick the water off of the tub while keeping one eye on me to ensure he doesn’t join her.

He also loves beds. Ours to be exact. The poor thing curls up into a ball(on my side of course) at the bottom of the bed, taking up the smallest surface area possible to escape getting bumped off. He loves when the husband travels. I’ve found him stretched out and snoring next to me on those nights.

It’s unconfirmed, but I do believe he uses BOTH of our pillows while we are gone during the day.


Being cute, he gets away with a lot of shit.

Apparently, three cups of dog food isn’t quite enough for him. I frequently find food taken out of the trash and strategically hidden throughout the house. I’ve tried doubling his daily allotment to no avail. He still dumpster dives.

Things I’ve found hidden behind cushions, under couches, laundry room, under beds:

pizza crust(who doesn’t love pizza crust, especially Pizza Shoppe)

cookies(he has a sweet tooth, like the rest of the kiddos)

ham bones(Christmas bonus)

bagel and a stick of butter(early breakfast???)

1 pound of beef jerky…albeit in a pile of vomit.

I think he was traumatized when he was a puppy. He is freaked out by the some of the weirdest things. Balloons send him scurrying under the desk. He also hides when I bring the broom out, infrequently though that may be.

Men. Men in hats. Men sweeping with brooms.

Masks. I’m in full agreement with him on this one.

Paper bags. Plastic bags. Purses.

He also knows instinctively when there is a gun in the room. Not just the regular kind. If there is a nerf gun chucked under the couch by one of the boys, the dog hides until we put it in another room.

He is a climber and a runner. At our old house, the dog would climb the chain link fence and run into the woods behind our house. We tried an electric fence, but he figured that one out quickly. If you run really fast, there is minimal shock. How do I know this? The husband tried the collar first. **Sigh**

We don’t currently have a fence. We have three more kids to get out of the house before that happens, so the dog is stuck with a lead. We do occasionally attempt to bring him outside with us without a leash.

No one listens to me when I tell them he is going to run. It’s like they don’t even know the dog!

It’s not SO bad though. We live one block down from the kennel he visits when we leave town. 90% of the time he runs up the road and sits at their front door. Apparently, the kennel is a happening place.

If he sees a rabbit, he’s MIA for at least an hour. He always drags ass back and hides under the table. He won’t even look at us. He likes cats too. Except for the ones with the white stripe down their back. He chased one. Once.



Being A People Person is Highly Overrated-Part II Overindulging at Social Functions

As I’ve said before, I’m not really socially adept, especially in large groups of people that I don’t know. My playful and innately funny nature is severely compromised when I’m out in public. The only way to overcome the anxiety of being amongst other humans is to imbibe from time to time which usually gets me in trouble. There is a fine line between tipsy enough to speak fluently and relax around others and getting all out shitfaced and saying/doing things that you KNOW will induce guilt the following morning and many mornings to come. Here are my top 10 alcohol induced faux pas:

Throwing back one too many beers at a work sponsored tailgate and having to desperately pee between two open car doors because the line to the port-o-potty was way too long. In front of one of our suppliers no less. I can only hope his memory has dimmed and saved my professional face.

Falling down the steps of a two level bar, landing flat on my face in front of a packed house after a couple of hours of drinking with the owner of our company and our purchasing agent.

A night in Vegas that ended with me passing out, facedown, on the couch in a suite that I shared with the owner of our company while he and the guy who delivered room service at midnight discussed my lack of drinking skills. My boss is evil and ate all my damn dinner.

Jumping down off of my top bunk, pulling my pants down and sitting  on my roommates bunk telling her I had too pee after a long night at the bar in college. She was good enough to lead me to the actual restroom. Ah, the joys of Tequila.

Downing a couple of shots of vodka in the Welborn Hall bathroom prior to giving an oral presentation in college on “The Joys of Four Color Process Printing” to third year printing majors. I plowed through it with flying colors, only slurring a few words.

Not drinking ENOUGH at a recent seminar where I made an ass of myself, verbally, instead of sucking down more alcohol. Damn having no designated drivers on a night where there are at least a hundred people you don’t know and you have to stay sober! I made up for it later at a bar across from the hotel by doing a Jagerbomb that induced heart palpitations all night.

Ok, so that’s only six. I’d like to say it’s because there were only six episodes of overindulgence, but I know better. They are the only ones my memory has retained. The rest are buried in some deep, dark part of my brain where shame and guilt have locked them away!

I’d love to hear your “overindulging at social functions” stories, if only to make mine seem a little bit less mortifying!

Delivery vs. a Zombie 5K

So, I’m training for a 5K in May. I haven’t run since high school cross country except for that one spring break in Daytona nor felt any inclination to do so since then.

Until my sister e-mailed me a link to the Run For Your Lives 5K run and obstacle course.

Fun With Zombies

It’s 3.1 miles of cross country like running with a few obstacles thrown in to keep you from getting bored. The thing that inspired me to start training(besides my 40 year old sagging, paunchy body) is the fact that you have zombies trying to suck your brains take your flags(kind of like flag football). Yes, I said zombies.

I ❤ zombies.

Finally, some motivation to get my ass to the gym. You would have thought the muffintop would have done it a few years ago, but what can I say…

I started training January 24th, which means I’ve been at it for a little over 1 month. It’s getting easier to run and I’m not talking about lung capacity. My old ass knees can only take running every other day so I’ve resigned myself to weights every other day to give them a break. Apparently, this is also supposed to increase weight loss as it improves metabolism while building muscles. Yeah, whatever. I’ve gained five pounds since I started, which is also apparently normal. I find it contradictory, but ok. I’m determined to stick with this working out stuff if only to ward off the ravenous undead in 2 months time.

So, as I’m slogging around the 1/10 mile track yesterday, I start comparing running to delivery. Yeah, the kind where you squeeze a bowling ball out of your nether regions with much pain, agony and stitches. They have a lot of the same attractive features. Here are my top 10:

10) You feel lighter when you are finished. Delivery: You just released 5 pounds of water weight, 8 pounds of wrinkled human and a couple of quarts of blood and gunk. Yeah you! Running: You sweat off most of the Diet Coke and/or Rum water you consumed that day.

9)It’s a marathon, so pace yourself. Delivery: Unless you are one of those bitches who didn’t know you were pregnant and drop the kid while you are taking a shit, be prepared for a long haul. Pace yourself and turn the pit drip down when the Dr. isn’t looking. Running: 3.1 miles is a LONG way to go. Two breaths in, one long breath out.

8) It’s gonna hurt, but you won’t remember it in the end. Delivery: Whoever said this was LYING to you. I remember every stinking, puke filled, contraction upon contraction filled minute. Yes I would do it again, but I also remember the pain. Running: You will remember it if you are as old as I am. Even booze won’t dull the throbbing ache of two busted up knees after your run.

7)Drugs are optional, but sometimes necessary. Delivery: I have the utmost respect for  women who forgo drugs or an epidural during labor. I am not one of those women. I would have french kissed the anesthesiologist for putting in the epidural except I’d been puking all morning from the IV drip. Running: I’d really like some of those labor drugs, but, alas, Ibuprofen and Icy Hot are about all I get after a run. Still, dull throbbing is better than all out stabbing pain shooting up your legs all day.

6)You get to eat after your finished! Delivery: It’s like you win a prize…on top of a prize. They feed you 10 seconds after you deliver. Running: You can, or at least I do, eat pretty much anything right after a run. I don’t know if this is scientifically proven that you are still burning calories quickly, but I’ll do anything to justify a cheeseburger and fries!

5)You have an audience. Delivery: I was determined to only have my husband in the room with me during delivery. Who wants your Mom/Mom-in-law/Dad etc. to see that? Well, after the first few cervical checks and a couple of puke sessions into the day you just don’t give two shits who sees your vagina. By the time my little bundle crowned I had my husband, my Mom, my husbands Mom, a doctor, 10 nurses and the maintenance man cheering me on! And you know what? It’s kind of cool to watch all of their faces as you push your baby out. You know they’ve seen(at least the Dr. and nurses) hundreds if not thousands of babies born, but it’s like their first rodeo. Everyone is cheering you on and grinning and crying. You are the belle of the ball… bloated, sweat stained and blood soaked, but still the belle of the ball! Running: Race day usually finds a crowd of onlookers smiling and cheering you on as you run/limp through the 3.1 grueling miles being chased by ravenous zombies…sweat stained, blood soaked and possibly bloated!

4)Crying, lots of crying. Delivery: Pain, Drugs, more pain, drugs, tearing, pushing, cursing, 7 pounds of wrinkled squawking baby. Running: Pain, Ibuprofen, more pain, cursing, more Ibuprofen chased with a beer.

3)The thrill of accomplishment. Delivery: I have a hard time finishing anything, be it a half written novel or doing the laundry, but if you are knocked up you kind of have to finish what you started. When you are done, there is a sense of accomplishment like no other except… Running: Running fast enough not to be eaten by zombies and actually finishing a 5K race.

2)You get a prize! Delivery: A tiny bundle of joy. Running: a tiny “still human/sorry you’re a zombie” medal!

1)You are embarking on a lifetime of joy. Delivery: You’ll have 18 11  years of love, adoration and affection from your new offspring. When they turn 12, they’ll forget that you endured 36 hours of labor to push their sorry asses out of your vajayjay. I’ve been told that the love, adoration and affection returns once they get out in the “real world”, but as the oldest is just now 18, I cannot vouch for that! Running: You’ll enjoy a healthy relationship with your streamlined body for the rest of your life, unless the zombies get you!

It Really Pays to Rent if You Have Kids.

The hubby and I are on our second house together. We purchased it four years ago after adding a fourth clown to the circus darling child. I bought the first house on my own when we first started dating and he and the oldest kidlet moved in about a year later. It was an awesome house. For one person. I had an extra room for nothing but storage, the basement had a disco ball and fresh carpeting for those Dancing Queen moments you have when you live alone and I could fit my mid-size car in the 1950’s one car garage with no problem.

Fast forward one year and we both had to park in the driveway due to all the shit he transported from an overstuffed apartment, all the bedrooms were taken up and all the storage was moved to a once pristine laundry room. It was quite a shock to go from living alone(with two cats) to three people(five on weekends, two other kidlets), 2 large dogs and rooms that looked like they were from the latest episode of Hoarders! Then my sanity left me. With good reason.

Fast forward another three years and we added our youngest, my first mini kidlet. Every room in our tiny house was packed. The baby’s room was next to our bedroom and right off the echoey living room. Every time the baby went down for a nap I turned into the Shush Nazi. Clearly, we would have to find larger digs. So we did. Brand spanking new four bedroom house with a full basement and a three car garage, moderately priced to be paid off when we went to the nursing home. Maybe.

So, the point of all this is to dissuade Moms and Dads from buying a shiny new home if you have kiddos. Rent if possible and definitely plan on losing that security deposit. You’ll thank me later. Here are the top ten house disasters that I have encountered from having kids and shiny new houses…although one of my favorite top three is actually from the old house but did involve a brand new sliding glass door.

10. Broken window number one thanks to a soccer ball kicked through a basement window exactly 3.2 seconds after oldest was told not to kick the ball towards the house. $100

9. Front door lock thanks to 100000 slams and/or forced openings with one kid inside leaning against to keep out kid #2 on the outside. $150

8. Mystery hole in the boys bedroom behind the door conveniently hidden with an old Xbox game unit, thanks to “I don’t know how that happened”. $??? not fixed yet.

7. Mystery crack in the boys bedroom window thanks to, again, “I don’t know how that happened”. I see a trend here. $???? not fixed yet.

6. Mystery paint scraped off of the hallway wall thanks to “soon to be announced” after kidlet interrogation.

5. Plugged up garage drain, which may or may not have been caused by the hubby, but since I always err on the side of caution, we’re gonna go ahead with one of the kids did it.

4. Mystery red stains on the floor of the boys room along with mystery brown, black and fluorescent green stains on same floor. Boys are icky. Luckily, they used my brand new vacuum to suck up some sick smelling nastiness that I have yet to get out of the damn thing. So this one counts as two…my damn brand spanking new carpets and my damn brand spanking new vacuum.

3. Staircase railing crashing down into the living room (almost landing on our then two year old) from rocking a leg back and forth forcefully on in while getting yelled at for breaking something else. $165

2. Sliding glass door…death by dart, 4.5 seconds after yelling at the oldest not to touch the darts. $1000

1. Garage wall, powder room, framework…death by automobile “mistakenly” driven through by throwing on the gas instead of the brake, again by the oldest. $500, thanks to insurance.

I didn’t even mention all the plugged toilets and sinks, fingerprinted walls, doors that don’t work properly, broken bed frames(no, not from the adults). I could go on and on. Half of the list is thanks in part to the oldest who is either unlucky or bent on leaving his mark on each house in which we dwell.

It really pays to rent if you have kids. Not only are they costly in diapers, clothing, schooling, toys, toiletries etc., but the repair bills will kill your bank account and your sanity.

Where’s the Plunger? I Know we Have One Somewhere!

I’m a pretty laid back lazy person. I admit it, I’ve accepted it and I’m pretty sure changing that fact this late in life would be nearly impossible, if I wanted to. I’m also a Mom to 4 kids, a dog, 15 fish and a husband. I’m not sure, but there may be another kid running around on the weekends. I’ve lost count.

There are certain phrases that I know lead to an interruption in my laid back life, usually involving a massive effort on my part to do damage control, clean up, and/or shell out more $$$ in insurance premium hikes, carpet cleaning and window/door/floor repairs.

At Home:

“Where’s the plunger? I know we have one somewhere!” usually follows an unheard call for toilet paper, thus forcing usage of swellable materials in lieu of toilet paper.

“I didn’t do it!” Heard countless times in my career as a stepmother to 3 lovable yet irresponsible children who mysteriously “find” broken windows, holes in the walls, mudtracks up the carpeted stairs, warm cans of soda with one sip out of them,  week old bowls of cereal {in their room}.

“Mom, the dog ate something fluorescent green!”

“Uh, oh.”

“Mommy, it was an accident.”

“But, I swear, the car was in reverse!”

“It says dish soap. How was I supposed to know you couldn’t put it in the dishwasher?”

“The dryer dries things, right?”

“I wasn’t aiming for the window/my sister/the TV/the dog.”

“I wanted my soda warmed up.” soda can in the microwave, true story. I caught it in time before the fire department was alerted.

“I swear I only put 2 minutes on the microwave.” Not much left of fried chicken after 20 minutes of nuking except the foul odor that lingers for days.

“I need a paper towel. Actually…I need a ROLL of paper towels, but I didn’t do it.”

“The lid wasn’t on.”

“Mommy, a fish got stuck in the filter.”

“Mommy, why is the dog dragging his butt on the carpet?

“It must have fallen in the toilet.” followed by… I didn’t do it.

Conversations with a 3 Year Old…

While watching yet another Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and reading a trashy celebrity magazine, from the bathroom comes…

Mommy, I need a butt check!”

Me: Is there toilet paper?

Pipsqueak: “Yes.”

Me: Ok.

2 seconds later…

Mommy, I need a butt check!”

Me: Wipe front to back.

2 seconds later…

Mom-meeeee, butt check!”

Defeated, I grab the latex gloves and goggles and head to the bathroom.

While driving to daycare…

If you see a deer you have to stop.

Me: Ok, you look for the deer.

Rounding the next curve…

STOP! There’s a deer!

Me: Phew. Thanks copilot. I wouldn’t want to hit her!”

Is ok, accident’s happen.”

While observing my living room, trashed with mountains of barbie dolls, baby doll parts and doll house furniture..

Me: You need to clean up sweetie!

But I’m busy.” {watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse}

Me: We need to clean up before bedtime.

There’s too much. I need help.

Me: Who plays with all of these toys?

I don’t know. I think it was the alligator.

Me: Really? I didn’t know alligators liked baby dolls.

They do. They like to eat them.”

Me: Well, maybe we should put them back in their spot so the alligator doesn’t eat them.

Welllll, ok. You do it. I busy.”

Giving Pipsqueak a bath…

Unmentionable amounts of snot come shooting out of her nose.

Me: Here’s a tissue, wipe your nose!

But it’s yummy.

Me: No, we don’t eat boogers!

Giggling “But it’s yummy, Mommy!” as she sucks it in before I can get the tissue there. Damn.

Me: I’m going to tell your first boyfriend you used to eat your boogers when you were little.

But who is my boyfriend?”

Me: No, WHEN you have a boyfriend, WHEN you are thirty I am going to tell him you used to eat your boogers.

But who?”

Me: Nevermind, here’s a tissue.

But they’re yummy Mommy. You wanna try it?” as she holds out her hand with boogers. I think I threw up a little in my mouth.

It’s Inevitable…

1. That after spending an hour getting the kiddos packed and ready for the day, one of them will most likely spew unmentionable amounts of mucous out of their nose all over a) their clothing, b) your clothing, c) the back of the front seat in the car, d)their carseat, etc. NOTE TO SELF: pack extra clothing all around next time.

2. That you will get the majority of the blame in exact relation to where you fall on the shit ladder at work. NOTE TO SELF: step on whoever you have to to get to the top rung.

3. That the day you’ve decided to chug on at work even though you loathe it, the boss decides to adjust his medication and can’t find his way out of a paperbag with a flashlight and a GPS and goes all Sybil on you for some shit he did. NOTE TO SELF: purchase small flask of vodka to add to morning coffee in the exact proportion needed not to give a shit on those days.

4. That a fun family vacation will more than likely result in more stress than if you had stayed at home. NOTE TO SELF: pack small flask of vodka to add liberally to morning coffee in exact proportion needed not to give a shit on those days.

5. That the dog will find a way to get those warm rice crispy treats that were left shoved way back on the kitchen counter and shit marshmellow covered doo doo for the next week. NOTE TO SELF: make the dog a separate pan of his own damn rice crispy treats.

6. That you forgot to buy tampons.  The first day of your cycle. At midnight. NOTE TO SELF: buy a box of plugs every time you pick up a case of diet coke and stash them all over the house.

7. That the jeans/bathing suit/skirt you thought looked great on your fat ass in the store do not look as good in the mirror at home. NOTE TO SELF: live in sweats.

8. That the drink in your cup from McDonalds most likely contains something other than the diet coke you specifically ordered and that the order taker specifically read back to you and what it specifically says on your receipt. NOTE TO SELF: order regular coke to throw them for a loop. Will most likely result in you getting your diet coke.

9. That the person giving you the evil eye as you discipline your demon child in public will most likely have offspring that a)are in prison, b)are in their {parent’s} basement, c)working the coke machine at McDonalds. NOTE TO SELF: perfect the F.U. look to shoot back at the nosey motherfuckers who probably also complain about how out of control children are these days.

10. That my mood will improve incrementally with each sip of the vodka diet coke I am about to ingest after a shitty day at work. NOTE TO SELF: drinking does serve it’s purpose.