I'm going to hell. Have a nice day.

Once upon a time there was a lady who pushed her dog in a stroller.  This lady lives in my neighborhood.  I have seen her pushing this dog in his own personal stroller for a few years now.  You might remember reading about this in my book.  The dog showed no signs of missing any limbs and I mused (Ranted?  Mused!) about how I would need to wear a big orange vest and carry a big orange cone if I was pushing a dog in a stroller to announce to the world that I was, in fact, not a complete IDIOT who pushes a DOG in a STROLLER!  It would have to say something like, "WARNING!  DOG HAS HEART CONDITION AND MUST BE PUSHED IN THIS RIDICULOUS STROLLER!"  Something like that.  I might have a flare, too.  Yeah.  Definitely need flares.

Ok, so let us now fast forward to a few weeks ago.  I was waiting in front of my daughter's school to pick her up when I hear my girlfriend frantically calling my name, "SHARI!" ~huffing, puffing~  "SHAAAAARRRIIIIII!!"  She's running towards me, her red hair flailing in the wind, and she is panicked!  In between trying to catch her breath, I catch these few words..."The dog...has...NO LEGS!!!!"  ~sound of screeching tires in my head, followed by complete silence...slight ringing...possibly the sound of my pounding heart in my ears, although it could have been the battle cry of El Diablo telling me that I'm going to hell, and here's my hand basket.~  I am able to mutter a pitiful, whisper of a "whaaaat?"  :-/  She repeats, "No legs.  Dog has no back legs.  Lady takes him to the park and he scoots around on his butt because he has...no...legs."  What else could I say?  "Punch me in the face.  Punch me right now. Punch then pray, for I fear I am on my way south.  Pearly gates just slammed shut on the woman who dissed a no-legged dog."  Apparently my friend was at the park chatting it up with a few of her mommy friends and talk turned to Dog Pusher Lady and my friend giggled and mentioned my hilarious commentary in the book.  To which they responded, "Oh, he doesn't have any back legs."  True story.

So as I am wallowing in my self hatred, a ray of light...a beacon in the night, if you will.  On the way back to the car I run into another mom friend that I don't know very well, but we pass each other daily and exchange pleasantries.  (Sounds so civilized, doesn't it?  Yeah, if I wasn't an evil dog dissing bastard.)  I explain to her that I am the scum that grows on bottom-dwellers bellies because I wrote about this lady with her dog and now I find out that the dog has no back legs.  To which this angel, sent from God, says to me, "Don't worry, you did nothing wrong.  I know that dog. He's an asshole." It was at this moment that I knew.  She is my people.  Anyone who could call a dog an asshole is alright by me! :D  Jury is still out on my reservations for hell, but it might be that my transgressions weren't as bad as previously thought.  I'm sure PETA would see it otherwise, for I don't think PETA peeps would call a dog an asshole, so let's just keep this between us.  They are not my people.

Sliding Doors (and not the cool Gwenyth Paltrow kind)

What makes the track of the sliding screen door so attractive?  This is prime real estate in my home.  It is the place my children most long to be.  Not IN the house, not OUT of the house, but in this narrow space,  letting in every bug in the tri-state area.  It's like there's a magnet in their butts that draws them to the doorway, leaving them dangling with thoughts of "do I want in or do I want out?"  It's the sort of indecision I haven't seen since Brett Favre.  JUST MAKE UP YOUR MIND!!  Then I find myself sounding EXACTLY like my mother when I say, "IN or OUT!!"  It's a bit disturbing and comforting at the same time.  Comforting that at least I know she was feeling the same thing, but nobody likes to sound like their mother.  Sorry Mom...it's da troof. :)

Yesterday my 5 year old was literally laying across the track of the door with the top half of her body in the house and the lower half outside.  As my 2 year old was attempting to lay on top of her, I believe my head exploded.  After dealing with this situation 14 times a day, for what feels like every day of my life,  I finally blew... ~scary whisper voice~ "Geeeeet OUT!!!"

These are the little moments in a mother's day that make her feel like she's being pecked to death by chickens.

I think I'm going to homeschool...

You read that right.  Calm down.  Every day between 6:45am and 6:54am I entertain the thought of homeschooling.  This is the 9 minutes of torture between the alarm going off and the snooze alarm, when in my exhausted haze I think how wonderful it would be to homeschool and not have to wake to an alarm.  Aaaaaahhhhhh.  But inevitably, as the sleepy starts to wear off, I start to realize that would mean that the precious treasure known as my children would be spending their entire day with me...every day...and then the day after that...and then the day after that.  That's when I realize that dragging my tired butt out of bed is but a small price to pay to have a few hours of quiet.

I'm sure you're shocked and surprised to find that I don't already homeschool.  You're probably thinking, "Shari, with your penchant for patience and calm demeanor, why aren't you homeschooling?  Why aren't you pouring all of your love and understanding upon your precious children every waking moment of your day?"  I'll agree, it is a puzzlement.  But as my husband points out, if I were to homeschool, my kids wouldn't be able to do even one pull-up.   **Backstory** When I was a senior in high school I was called up on stage with other kids to receive the Presidential Academic Fitness Award.  I was floored!  I leaned over to a friend standing next to me and said, "Wow!  This is so unexpected!  I couldn't even do one pull-up!"  He looked confused for a second and then he says, "ACADEMIC fitness, you idiot."  OOOOHHH!!!  Nevermind.  :)  This is hubby's favorite story in the whole wide world.   #notjustapurdyface

I Have A Policy...

I have found that my life runs smoother with certain policies.  And by policies, I mean rules made up BY me, FOR me!  I find that it helps me stick to certain things and avoid aggravation.  For example, I have a policy that I will always check the bag before I drive away from the drive-thru window, to make sure they got my order right.  NOTHING makes me more hostile than pulling away and realizing that they gave Sissy nuggets when she wanted a cheeseburger, or that they gave Bubba apple slices that taste like nail polish (Sissy once said, "Mom, these apples taste like nail polish.  Yeah, they're GOOD!") instead of french fries.  So I sit there and go through each and every little bag to make sure that in their haste, I didn't get screwed.  Sometimes you will begin to feel the pressure to move that car, but don't you do it!  In moments of uncertainty,  I just remind myself that I have a policy!  Because I am NOT going in that store.  That would require me to park...get 2 kids out of the car...get the stroller because Bubba will take off running for the hills if I don't, then standing in LINE to make them fix the order that they screwed up in the first place.  I will NOT be that guy!  Therefore, I have established a policy that I shall check the baggage!  I enjoy telling the window person about my policy if they give me the "lady, what is your deal" face.  I simply say, "I have a policy that I check the bag for accuracy before pulling away from the dock.  Please hold."  (I enjoy saying "Please Hold" because it is said to me on so many occasions, so I like to pay it forward.  Besides, it's funny. ) You'd be surprised at how using the word 'policy' affects people.  Window Person usually just says a surprised, "Oh!  Ok."   Like if by using that word it makes it more official.  I don't know, it's just my policy.

Another policy that I have and highly recommend to everyone is, I do not answer the door if I don't know you.  Never.  Ever.  Even if you have flowers because I am not that stupid as to be fooled by some perp trying to gain access into my house by bringing me a vase of flowers.  (I use this example because according to the law enforcement peeps in my family, this works every time!) And just because you have official badges and a van, well guess what?!!  I can go to Kinko's too, you sonofa%&$*!!  Oh, ok.  Maybe that was a little harsh.  But I get so aggravated that in this day and age, with all of the crime and home invasion robberies, that people would continue to go door-to-door to sell crap that none of us needs or asked for!  I figure, you have my address, mail me a letter!  If I want what you are selling, I'll call YOU!  If not, go away!

This situation happened to me yesterday and it just makes me so mad!  My 5 year old was yelling upstairs, "Mom!  Someone's at the door!"  I looked out the window and saw two men with suits and name badges. Big whoop!  Not opening the door, sucker!  Because like hubby says, "Nothing good can come of it.  Only bad!  Once you open that door, they are in if they want to be."  And I've got 2 little kids to think of. I have been known to talk through the door and explain that "I have a policy to not open the door to strangers.  Have a nice day."  Or in the words of Jack Nicholson, "go sell crazy somewhere else, we're all full up here!"

I also have a no pen policy.  Meaning that I don't use community pens when I am out in stores and ESPECIALLY when I am at the doctor's office!!  I mean, really!?!  You've got people in the waiting room with everything from strep to the mange and you want me to touch the pen that they just fingered?  Not thanks!  I find that during cold and flu season, whipping out my very own pen is an easy way to avoid unnecessary illness.  As opposed to those illnesses that are necessary.  :)  I'm not an OCD clean freak, by any means.  But this just makes good sense, doesn't it?  And besides, it's my policy.

My final policy (who am I kidding?!  I've got a million of them! ) is that I do not donate to any organization outside of stores.  Leave. Me. Alone!  Bad enough that they are knocking on my door, but now they are attacking me when I am trying to shop!?!  I groan when I pull into the parking lot and see someone camped out with their pop up table in front of the store.  Ugh.  Leave me alone!  I donate to the food pantry through school, I buy Girl Scout cookies from my friends, I am a Partner in Hope for Saint Jude's every month, and besides all of that, I give where I see a need.  I don't need the checker person asking me at EVERY transaction if I want to donate to this, that, or the other!  And while I'm on the subject, I'm realizing that I need to amend this policy to cover those freakin' carts in the middle of the mall!!  DO NOT approach me to try your hand cream or sit in your chair so you can fry my hair with your flat iron, people!!!  I am shopping, or chatting, or enjoying some semblance of calm and I don't want to be sold to!  What?  What's that you say?  Why yes, I used to be in sales...what's your point?  I used to annoy myself with my sales pitches and that is why I now have a policy that I won't buy something from solicitors!  I will not encourage this behavior.  If I walk into your store or up to your cart, then I'm fair game.  Otherwise, back off!

I encourage you to give it a go!  Develop a few policies for yourself and report back!  #policiessavelives

Sticky McStickerson...

I am starting to wonder if I will be sticky for the rest of my life.  I never really paid much attention to how often I was sticky before having kids.  Probably because I wasn't ever sticky.  Or if I was sticky, I would wash my hands and be done with it for another year or so.  But after having children I find that sticky has become a way of life.  I am forever sticky...gummy...tacky...and not in that tacky "I'm wearing teal toe nail polish" kind of way.  (I mention that because I just made this poor choice today.  Not sure what I was thinking.  I think I got caught up in my imaginary "Carrie Bradshaw" life again.  Shari Bradshaw, if you will.  I have a closet full of clothes, shoes and handbags that were purchased when I was under this influence.  Then I come back to reality and find my teal toes sticking to the floor.)  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!  Where does this crap come from?!! Raisins?  Granola Bars?  Cheerios? Juice?  I wash these children.  I swear that I do.  Constantly washing.  Wiping.  Rinsing.  Can't seem to keep up.  And when I do get MYSELF cleaned up, it is inevitable that within 10 minutes I will touch something or step in something that I missed.  It's like they do it to taunt me.  Like little sticky gremlins who are trying to see how much more it will take before I end up hiding in the pantry in the fetal position.  #Imightnevercomeout  #notabadmomjuststucktothefloor .  My favorite part is when Daddy gets home and in his most shocked voice says, "Why is the refrigerator sticky?!".  I'm breathing...I'm breathing...and in scary whisper I say,  "Be...cause...IIIIIIIIII AMMMMMMM STICKYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!".  

Howard the Translator...

Howard Cosell has now become Howard the Translator.  Adam talks nonstop.  Non. Stop.  As in, never stops talking.  In case you didn't get that...he talks alot.  So now not only do I hear, "Mommy, tika tika blah blah cookie, monkey george, outside, water, ickies, milk, go bye bye, Abby, Sissy" x a bazillion, but it is always followed by Howard's translations,  "Mom, he said he wants a salami sandwich at Disneyland", "Mom, he said he wants to go to Target and get a water balloon made of cheese. Oh, and an ICEE".  You know when you watch the U.N. (cuz you know you do) and the translator starts talking before the foreign dude is even finished?  Yeah, it's like that.   

Twitter revelation!

Twitter. WTH. I cannot understand this thing! I get the concept, and I am really not that dense in the technology dept., but what with all of the '#' and '@RT's', I just get lost. The most time I have ever spent on Twitter was when I was following Jeff Probst's live tweeting during Survivor. Even then I was getting lost trying to figure out where the comments were that he was responding to. But one thing that stuck with me, and actually brings me great joy, is the '#'. I had someone explain it to me and apparently, if you are searching Twitter for something in particular, like comments about chocolate souffle', you would type #chocolatesouffle and those comments will appear. If you want other people to be able to search your comments about chocolate souffle' you would type #chocolatesouffle after you reviewed a recipe, visited a restaurant, jumped on the scale. "I gained 4 lbs this week! #chocolatesouffle". :)

Let me tell you, lots of fun to be had with '#'. #thisisahoot. See what I just did there? :) Why does this bring me such joy, I ask you! #wherehaveyoubeenallmylife. I just can't stop. #Shariisabouttogetannoying. Try it. You'll like it! #Don'tknowwhatyouaremissing.

It is kind of like the subliminal message that you want to convey but don't want to come right out and say. For example, you are at the soccer field and Gossip McGossipson is running her mouth. So you tweet, "People need to grow up and stop gossiping. It isn't nice and sends the wrong message to our children. #bitchgonnagetafootupherass." :) Aaaaahhhh, that feels good, doesn't it?