Cell Phones and Sex

sexphoneSex…I love sex…

Yep, you read that right, we’re about to embark on the discussion of sex. Here… right now, I am giving you fair warning that this is what you will be reading about if you stick around. So if you have issue, take heed…you may want to close this page and move the hell along …maybe go play candy crush for the next few minutes on Facebook. For all you others, grab a chair and lets get to this.

Sex is good, feels good, and definitely puts you in a better mood. It’s good for your heart, and all around health. Whether it’s with a partner, toys, or a partner and toys… you should be doing it…and often.

For years I have had friends complain about sex. Most of them were women, however there is one guy who believes “Sex is just way too much work sometimes”. but we will get to that in a minute.

A while back, maybe a few months ago, NBC took a poll. Apparently 1 in 4 partners were texting during sex. I’ll give you a moment for that to sink in…

Ready? Are you weirded out by that as much as I am?

Dim the lights… Light the candles… cue the romantic music…
*in the throes of passion*

Woman: “Wait a sec husband! You big sexy beast! I just got a text. Give me a second…ooo wait! Omg this is funny read this!… okay let me just share to my Facebook, twitter, and Pinterest real quick…maybe say something on my blog or fan page… then we will get back to what we were…erm…doing?”

Man: “No worries you hot gorgeous woman of mine! I’ll wait…I only have one more life on Candy Crush, so I’ll see if I can beat it real quick…Oh, I should probably text my brother back about this weekend… and send a shout out to my mom.”

(Yes I just wrote a very horrible sex (almost) scene with bad dialect. I never said I was a Nora Roberts.)

Is this really the place we are going in our civilization? Are we so disconnected that this is our new norm?

What besides an emergency do you really need to know during intercourse? (and yes…emergencies can happen) It’s not like you have two seconds to answer your phone before the message is lost to the land of the lost texts messages.

And I am not talking about those of you who may or may not have tried to start your own amateur sex video empire with a cellphone and a flashlight. (Totally different post for a totally different crowd, written on a totally different day…by a totally different word slinger…maybe.).

I am not really sure why this blew me away. I suppose I have heard worse. But seriously… After reading that I had to text a half dozen people and ask them if they did this… (It’s okay, they’re all use to my weird questions.) I won’t get into how many actually have…do…will, however I think according to my calculations, NBC may need to up those statistics!

People…let me just say, you are out of control! No wonder why people have so many problems in their romantic lives. Did you ever think maybe the person you were with needed your attention?

Maybe that’s the point… Maybe we are so used to only conversing by way of text, that we have literally forgot how to actually socialize with other humans.I mean its easier to send a pic of your peen or tits, then to actually work up to that point right? *sarcasm*

Recently I had a conversation with a friend. It was one that blew me away. I mean, over the years countless women had bitched to me that they hated sex. Most of the time, sex had turned into a way of power. They used sex to gain things like new purses, vacations, and shopping sprees…and while I could probably write an entire novel about all the stupid things they have done…and why you should never use sex as a way to get something from your spouse, this isnt one of those times.

Unless there was something traumatic that happen to you… Sex should not be a terrible thing. It is not taboo, it shouldn’t hurt, its not ugly, and you should never feel terrible about it. Furthermore, you shouldn’t be embarrassed about admitting you dig it.

So back to the friend I mentioned earlier…A dude…confided in me that to him…sex is just…too much work.

So after I crawled off the floor and back up into the chair I fell out of, I tried to pick his brain to see where he was at. And honestly… I blame technology. Seriously.

Why date when you can text?
Why have a conversation when again…. you can text, tweet, email…

What ever happen to intimacy. I’m sorry, but I would rather look at someone from across the table…have them look at me and actually… I don’t know…OPEN THEIR FUCKING MOUTH AND SPEAK!

Thats the issue folks. We are numbing ourselves to human contact. The next time you go to dinner, or maybe the bar, take a look around. Look at how many people pick up their phones. Look at how many people DO NOT speak one word during a meal because they are preoccupied. Sex is now considered work because well… you have to fucking work for it. Isn’t anything you work for worth it in the end?




It has come to this my friends, and it is pretty damn exciting… An entirely brilliant group of bloggers; blogging about compassion. It’s the #1000Speak movement; which I am excited to be apart of. People from all over the world taking a stand to show the good in the world you otherwise, may not get a chance to see.

There was a time when there was no need for such a thing. People had compassion for people regardless. However, if you look around now….It seems as if we are a world full of selfish greedy people, completely divided by those who will do for themselves, and those who believe in doing for others… and the last group, is shrinking at an alarming rate.

When did this begin to happen? When did the paying it forward or the being more compassionate movement become something you only witnessed at the drive thru at starbucks? Don’t get me wrong…I love my free coffee as much as the next gal, yet there is just something about this that just doesn’t do it for me..

I have devoted years of my life trying to instill compassion in my children. I have mercifully tried to show them that life wasn’t just about the neat new toy they wanted, or the $80.00 pair of shoes. However, it’s not always so easy. It takes work to change the attitude of greed. Further made difficult by a society of the give me give me’s and $800.00 cell phones.

I have faltered myself in many ways. Becoming bigoted by stories of being wronged. Spending years trying to help those I knew needed it, only to be used and discarded when they found someone else to use or got what they wanted.

Reminding myself that these boys need to see compassion first hand became a must. I was determined that they can not have their own hearts hardened before they even had a chance to do good in this world.

It wasn’t that long ago when I finally realized that although the boys didn’t always seem to understand, they did. Which has made this the proudest mama moment I have ever had.

The thing about having a lot of kids… you tend to adopt a plethora of other people’s children. You always make more food, because someone else always end up at the dinner table. Furthermore, when the weekend comes around, you always always have extra smelly bodies sprawled out on your living room floor.

One Friday the husband came home from work. I had a headache and really didn’t want to be bothered. The kids were running amuck –as always– which didn’t help the situation. I was ready to lose it on everyone, although that never seems to faze even the extras. I was crazy, and they all knew it.

I had told all the boys that tonight, no one would be spending the night. No one would be staying for dinner. That tonight, this mom was putting on her give up on life pants, and downing a bottle of wine in peace and quiet. For the most part things moved quickly. Some kids ended up leaving to spend the night elsewhere, however there was one kid who looked terrified. There were words passed in the eyes of my boys that I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t anger, or even the normal “Geeze mom and her moods ruin everything” look. I tried to let it go, but things kept bothering me. There was something I was missing.

I decided that I couldn’t let it go… I called my boys into the room and told them to spill it. I was firm, yet just assumed they had some deviant plan to TP the neighborhood or something later. I said I knew something wasn’t right and they would be spending their night glued to me until they finally came clean. That being said, what they began to tell me was nothing that I expected.

Their friend depended on my husband and I. His only food came from us whether it was at my dinner table, or snuck in the backpacks of my children. His clothes were smuggled into my boys baskets and washed by my boys without me ever catching on. The weekends he slept here, were his only showers, and he begged my boys to never tell anyone.

He and my boys were frozen in fear, so terrified his family would find out; which would cause major problems for everyone. He was terrified they would take him away and put him back into foster care. This poor kid lived in silence and it was suffocating him.

It tore my heart out that night, and I probably ended up drinking more wine than I should have, just trying to understand what was laid at my feet. How the hell did I never notice? I knew my kids could be sneaky as hell, but I am a mother. This is something that I should have recognized on my own. I hugged my boys that night, thankful that my boys had befriended him. Thankful that they hadn’t turned their back on him like so many others had. I made sure they knew how proud I was for everything they had done, while their only remark was, “Thats what you and dad would have done.”

We allowed this little boy a safe haven for as long as he needed, which didn’t last very long. The family finally received the help they needed, and my boys learned a huge life lesson. Their friend still spends most of his time here, however he seems a lot more happy now that his living arrangements have changed.
I suppose when you think about it, it is our children we could probably learn the most from, as long as we take the time to notice.

Feel free to share your stories of compassion. You can comment or even Email me. Lets take a little time to see some good. You can also read other stories if you follow the hashtag #1000Speak. Join the movement!

Your Job Does NOT Make You Better Than Me

Over the weekend, I was 3 glasses deep into a bottle of wine (ok, it was the whole bottle); when my husbands best friend Steve and I got into a pretty heated argument. (There may or may not have been angry shouting, hands waving and lots of expletives) It wasn’t one of my finest moments, and definitely not the first or last argument we will have. Moreover, I honestly shouldnt have let him get under my skin (I always let him get under my skin), I was already in a bad mood to begin with, but see… it did get under my skin. Deaply. And it was ugly. Nonetheless, even today, three days later, I am seething and spitting fire over it.

The issue here however; takes a little more explaining. Steve has been divorced from his wife for almost three years. Most of the time he is still bitter, and has decided that because of the situation with his ex, it is best to now compare and judge all women based on her actions. Leaving me in his direct fire.

His ex was a stay at home mother for sixteen years, however her way of doing the whole “staying home and taking care of the family”, for the most part, was less than stellar. This has lead him to the opinion that ALL WOMEN should work a full time job, and contribute to their household. That the money shouldn’t just fall to the man, completely negating the fact that women staying home, does not equal sleeping all day and doing nothing. Nonetheless, I am not here to bash anyone. Everyone here has a right to their opinion, I just needed you to understand where I am going with this.

I stay at home. However, I can care less what other mothers/fathers do. You can work, stay home, do both, what ever. And no matter the choice, it is the right one FOR YOU, so therefore it is none of anyones damn business to say otherwise.

That being said, this weekend I was told if I wanted a truck, (because we were talking about cars–It always turns to cars or motorcycles–) then I should go to work and EARN it. That my husband works, so he should be able to buy what he wants, because he works hard for it. I should be grateful for the things my husband CHOOSES to purchase for me with his money. Apparently, staying home, I earn nothing. I’m just the help? Lazy? There is no joint anything? An underpaid hooker so to speak.

He reminded me that at one point I had a great job, and I quit it. That because of this, my husband is forced to work harder. As if these were not things I already knew, and had weighing on me

Furthermore, he claimed that going back to work now, wouldn’t be a big deal. Most of the kids are older now, so I can have them help watch the younger ones; abolishing the need to pay for daycare. This is not the job of the teens. It is MY job and as parents, it is OUR responsibility to take care of them, or pay someone else to do so. Going out to dinner, or even the bar for a couple hours on a Saturday night, is not the same as watching the siblings for ten hours a day five days a week. However to him, that is neither here nor there.

It had been these type of remarks that left me trembling with anger. However, it is not because of the way he so cluelessly said it. OR the fact that a few years ago, he was okay with the whole stay at home thing… its the fact that unless you stay home, you will never get it.

I don’t stay home because I am lazy or want a free ride despite what many seem to think. In fact, staying home is for the most part, isolating and depressing. Fulfillment is not often apparent. Most of the time I feel overwhelmed, and unappreciated. It’s lonely not interacting with other adults all day, my only entertainment being that of a four year old or folding yet another basket of clothes.

When the husband gets home, he doesn’t want to entertain me. He wants to sit and relax, drink a beer and watch some tv, which just reiterates my feelings of being alone.

There are times I do not want to think about getting out of bed, and my own feelings about my self worth are next to nothing. There are no reasons to change out of my pajamas, let alone run a brush through my hair. So I allowed these words to cut me. I allowed them to once again bring up all the feelings of not doing enough. For failing as a wife and as a mother.

There are no, “Hey good jobs!” in parenting or staying home. No one makes you employee of the month because the pork loin you made was outstanding, or because you spent six days this week driving back and forth to football practice, and was still able to throw something healthy and not pre made on the dinner table. Don’t even get me started about no one ever noticing the bed being made everyday.

So why is it I feel the need to be accepted?

Because despite the fact that I chose to stay home, I do see my husband working hard. I see how tired he is after he worked seven days this week so we can do a little more than get by. I hear the way others speak about staying home being a cop out and selfish.

And the worry about my marriage not working out, and me being left with nothing, terrifies me to no end. I don’t have an emergency kit under my bed if I need it. I am at the mercy of my husband.

When the hubs and I decided to get married we had a deep conversation about the way we believed marriage should be. Now, our way was pretty caveman like –Woman stays home, men work hard to provide– but that was what we both wanted. Neither of us had this growing up, so we thought that would be awesome for our children.

So as the years have gone by, the husband has worked his ass off. Before he landed a great job, he was known to work two and three jobs at a time in order to take care of us. The stress it caused our marriage was huge.

Raising kids is hard, and raising 5 at the time, with all of them 5yrs and under. alone. Was trying on my self esteem. It led to depression, weight gain and resentment. When you decide at 18 yrs old, that you want to be a stay at home to raise a family, you never think about what the impact of birthing five so quickly and doing things virtually alone would cause. Nonetheless, it got easier. The husband found a job that allowed him to drop the other two.

As the kids started getting older and less dependent on me, I became restless; thus I decided to go to work. I found a great job, that for the most part I enjoyed. I also started to find myself. I was no longer just the mom or the wife. People called me by my name. I was proud and extremely happy. Then reality hit.

Between daycare costs for #7, and fuel for the two hour round trip commute, we started to find that I had to pay more to work than I actually made. I was never home, and when I was there I was running around trying to catch up on what didn’t get done when I was away.

Laundry, cleaning, cooking… I now had two full time jobs, and parenting. It was putting a strain on the family and our home.

Then my oldest decided to start acting out.

My son got in with the wrong crowd. He would ditch school, get into fights, started sneaking out…He even started stealing and dabbling in drugs and failing all his classes. He was out of control, and with both parents gone all the time working, there was no one around to regulate. He had a revolving door to whatever he wanted to do.

I blamed myself because I went back to work. I had made a promise that I would give those boys everything they needed at home, and I failed. I hated myself for being selfish and enjoying being away. I took full responsibility for the decisions my son was making, Not because I should have, but because I am a mother and thats what we do.

So there I was, years later after quitting my job, standing there seething in the backyard of a friends home; way later than I should have been. I know Steve did not go out of his way to sound like an asshole (although that night I am sure I called him one more than a few times). He was voicing an opinion that despite his lack of understanding, they are still his right to have. However once we left, he didn’t think twice about those words. Yet three days later I am still fighting with the husband because I felt like he didn’t rally by his wife’s side. I just wish that for a second, people could actually see how hard it is to stay home or work. Neither is an easy decision, and both come with buckets of heartache.

(Steve’s name has been changed for the purpose of this post)

Stop The Perfect Parent Propaganda!

This was the last time I got a picture of ALL the boys together.

This was the last time I got a picture of ALL the boys together.

When you are a parent of; lets just say, more than four crotch trophies, everyone in your circle tends to call you to vent about their little heathens. It’s like you are the heathen whisperer.

Most of the time, there is always some nonsense spewed like, “I don’t know how you do it” or “I’m losing my mind and I have a quarter of kids you have” and I laugh (hard) every damn time.

Come on folks. It honestly doesn’t matter how many kids you have, the bastards are just hard.

Parenting is hard.

If parenting were easy, I would laugh more and drink far less alcohol. (Disclaimer: I lied about the alcohol thing… for argument’s sake… I mean…what if my moms reading this.) and there would probably be a shit-ton less kids in the world without parents.

That being said, I received a phone call from someone near and dear early this morning expressing –loudly– (and I won’t even bitch that she knows better than to call me so frecking early) she was exhausted.

And the asshole that I am replied with , “Uh duh… you’re a mother. Isnt that a prerequisite or something?”

She fell apart.

She ugly cried about being a failure as a mother, and as a wife. She doesn’t want to get up in the morning anymore, she doesn’t want to be a wife or a mother. Shes ready to pack it in, and run.

It crushed me. God have I been there!

In her eyes and tired brain, her house is no longer the perfect space her and her husband had built over the years pre-kid.

She hasn’t worn makeup in years…and just brushing her hair, or taking a shower before her husband gets home is a miracle.

There are handprints from her 9 yr olds height, down to the floorboards, and don’t forget the nose snot from the kids/dogs all over the sliding glass door.

Her boys are, well…boys.

The boys run around making god awful noises, and can care less what they destroy in their hyper-path-of-destruction…Moreover, we cannot forget the frustrating battle every mother with boys have gone through… “There is pee all over the bathroom because the fuckers can’t aim for shit, and it stinks” issue.

This does not make her a bad mother. In Fact, far from it! This just makes her a mother. However, with every stupid popular parenting blog/news article/Pinterest/Facebook post etc making their way around the interweb who can help but feel bad?

Rapidly around the world, the media gods are spreading their propaganda about “how to be the perfect, loving, peaceful, non spanking, never freaking out, never swearing, never raising their voice kind of parent”, Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop there.

There are also the what’s best campaigns:

Breastfeed or you suck!
Bottle feed or you are stupid!
Dont let them drink out of plastic bottles or eat fruit from mexico!
Co sleep…Never Co sleep!
And for the everylovingfuck…don’t forget to not/use disposable diapers you rat-bastard!

They are making billions of dollars every year, because parents just want to succeed.

I had to put a stop to this fantasy…and right the hell now, what if my kids or husband heard this crap?

BCT (Before crotch trophies) I boasted to anyone who listened about how, “I am going to be the perfect, most understanding, patient mother ever… and I will never be one of those lazy bitches with a cluttered dirty house wearing yoga pants and hair scrunchies!” I swear it was hard to even write that with a straight face, because now I live in Yoga pants. I even have a pet name for them. They are my “I give up on life pants” and they usually go well with hair scrunchies, and Moscato…Not to mention how hard it is to keep a house full of kids clean.

There isn’t a parent out there that is perfect. This isn’t a sitcom where everything is resolved with a quick heart to heart in thirty minutes with no freakouts and a hug.

We have to stop the parent shaming, and brutal judgements my friends. If your kids respect others, listen to anyone that isn’t you (because lets face it, they always act better at their friend’s house), they don’t kill and skin all the neighbors cats, and are generally well-rounded, THEN YOU ARE ROCKING THIS!

As I write this, I am blasting Dead Kennedy’s whilst trying to ignore my kids to no avail.
I have yelled at 5 to stop being a dick to 7. And yes, I did use the word dick–out loud–.
I yelled at 2 for not cleaning the kitchen, then found out it was 6 I should have been yelling at. However, I didn’t apologize because I know there is something 2 is supposed to be doing, but dammit I can’t figure it out right now.
I spilled a beer I didn’t even know I opened yet.
Kicked the dog…twice…because he keeps trying to lay on my foot as I walk.
I forgot to switch the laundry this morning and now have to wash it again…for the third time.
And just now, I just remembered I put french bread in the oven. Lastnight. And never served it.

As long as the boys are clean and in bed before I am…with homework, chores and showers done…then I will be okay with how things worked out. They all lived through the day, and so have I.

Take a deep breath, and when things get tough, remember that EVERY PARENT OUT THERE FEELS LIKE A FAILURE SOMETIMES. If you don’t, you are not normal and should stop bragging. But all of you others, you are not alone. Now go tap yourself on the back, grab a drink and enjoy the rest of your day.


It’s A Blog Tour *Gasp*

Blog-TourThere is this secret society that is not really a secret. It’s like our own little Illuminati. All the most brilliant of writers, bloggers (Word slingers), Facebook Admins and well…Me… all hang out together. We bounce ideas off each other, and spend lots of time venting. It’s the artistic way to do things…trust me. The only thing we do not have is a handshake… I think we should work on that.

So while in this secret room that only the most elite are invited, they (The Bunker Gods) decided to do a little road trip. It’s a blogging tour if you will. They gave us all the same questions, with a fancy little hashtag that everyone can follow. So while I normally try to stay clear of these little things…these people, well…they hold a little piece of my heart so, how the hell could I say no?

So grab a drink (don’t worry, I’ll wait), take a seat, strap in and get ready!

Here are the questions:

What is your most prized possession?

Aside from anything kid related…I am not one who really has much in the way of prized. The hubs and I eloped, so there are no wedding pics…I have baby pictures of the boys etc, and even a stuffed animal from when I was a kid. However, that being said; if I had to drop everything and leave, there’s really nothing I would miss. Except for a pic of my gram.
I lost my gram last year. For those who know me, you know that she was my family, my rock. I have very little to do with my sisters or my folks, So losing her, shook me. I still have a hard time accepting it.
This woman was probably the strongest women I have ever met. At five foot nothing she had no qualms about getting in your face in order to knock you down a few pegs. She was brutally honest, and cared immensely about her family…even when we were being pig-headed and stupid.

This Picture of her was around the holidays one year. As a joke, my parents bought her a Grumpy shirt…because well…she always looked so grumpy. The joke was not lost on her. The picture showed her true personality, and I display it proudly.

How do you unwind after a long day?

Ha! Thats probably the easiest to answer. If I can’t talk the husband into a trip to our favorite watering hole… As soon as 4:00 hits, the “Give Up on Life Pants” (Yoga pants) are on, and a glass of this weeks favorite wine is poured. I am not really the TV type (Unless the Bruins game is on), so you will usually find me buried in a book on the couch, surrounded by family and dogs.

What is one song that has followed you throughout your whole life?

I wish I could say something cool like anything Dead Kennedys, Maybe something from Black Flag…because really, that’s what I dig. You could even throw in some Dave Matthews (who is my dirty little secret love) , Metallica or Disturbed. However, in reality…Anything Elton John Pre 1980.
Growing up my folks used to play him a lot. As well as Joni Mitchell…I know every song on every album. Yellow brick road being my favorite. Reminds me of a happier time; Life before bills, and the only drama was arguing over what skirt you were allowed to wear to school.

If you could give one piece of advice to new bloggers in your field, what would it be?

Relax. If you are doing this because you are hoping someday you will strike it rich… you are in the wrong place. Theres a reason they refer to artists and writers as starving. You can’t do it for the notoriety, or in hopes of getting famous. Don’t stress on numbers, views or comments… You need to write for you. For your own pleasure. Don’t lose yourself trying to please everyone.

Now that you’re famous, we need a quote from you.

Play hard and leave your mark. Make the world remember you. -Jeanne’ @SippyCupsandBooze

Who Are You Today? I’m an Asshole by Fault.

ballgag (1)Who are you today?

This is a question I have found myself asking the old brain lately.

Although everyone else declares change on New years, I am the ultimate procrastinator…Which means it is January 15th…. Still counts? Of course it does.

Back to where I was going with this… It’s a new year. That means for the most part, you get to start over. Make a declaration that most of the time you wont follow through with.

So, I ask myself. Am I who I want to be?

Eh, not even close.

Last year my new years resolution was to stop sweating the small stuff. Purge the negativity. Be a better person today then I was yesterday. All I was missing with this declaration, were rainbows and glitter.

Sounds easy enough. I mean how hard could it really be? Probably way easier than the old, “This year I am going to lose blah blah amount of weight, eat clean, and quit smoking” (Notice how I never attempted to give up on the wine thing…baby steps folks…baby steps)

I was able to erase some people…cleaned out the ‘ol facebook of all the people who did nothing but complain about everything… Got rid of the drama friends…No more drama was my most brilliant idea. It is AMAZING how much better you feel when you boot out the negative Nancy’s in your life.

It was a quick revamp of people by January 1st. However, like everything… it all went back to the same by February.

This year I announced a do over on the whole “better person” thing. However, the whole being a better person gig….For me, this is almost as hard as cutting off my own appendage. Keyword…Almost… However I could probably do the deed with a spork, a bottle of whiskey and a stick to chew on, long before I could slap on a pretty face, and keep my mouth shut.

I’m an asshole by trade, or at least that’s what a lot of people describe me as. I’m opinionated to a fault, and have the tendency to spew out the truth…and people don’t dig that, despite what they might say.

Trying to stay nice…be a better person… not let stupid get to me. Just the thought makes my eye twitch.

How do you not call someone on their shit, while being sweet and not hurting feelers?

When you ask me how you should handle a situation with your ex, how the bloody hell do I say, “I HAVE NO OPINION”, then walk away?

How do I NOT tell that guy at the party –the one my husband works with– that the reason I don’t like him is because well…I think he is a whiney pansy who needs to grow up. (Disclaimer: This example is solely based on fiction… no need to blow up my phone boys.)

Why do I need to say anything? It just happens. It’s a painful work in progress… little baby steps and lots of deep breathing…yoga and meditation… if I ever want to make a change I will have to change everything about me.

The hubs though… he is one of the good guys. I mean, he can get all mean and scary –trust me– but for the most part he is actually genuinely nice!

He worries about the little guy, and life being fair for others. He worries that at some point I may just tell someone I think they are an asshat, or go off on them for just being a dick. Then he will be forced to put his foot down, which most likely will be on my head. He keeps me grounded… most of the time anyway, however there are those moments…

I blame it on my filter. Mine broke (if I ever really had one) more years ago than I care to admit, leaving me to often wonder why you can’t pick another one up from Costco or something…

“Welcome to Costco… Have you found everything you are looking for?”

“No, sorry…but I am looking for a new filter. One for my mouth. It keeps misfiring.”

“Oh no problem! It’s over by the prosthetic legs and tires. Would you like for someone to help you out with it? Will you need a box?”

It would be a total relief. I could buy them in bulk never fearing again what might slip out in front of people.

I kind of feel like making this announcement will cause the Gods to challenge me more. Like they all know this is an impossible task for me to complete. I would have better luck finding elves to accompany me to Mount Doom.

So I guess I put things in writing…It’s there for the world to see and hold me accountable. So if you see me somewhere… a bar…a party… and I sound like Goldie Hahn in overboard (when she is blubbering and the kids think they broke her) come save me! There is probably a dumbass standing by making comments, and I am trying desperately to not jump all over him/her about it.

No, I Am Not Trying For A Girl!

BOYS-600x300When I meet people, it is not my winning personality or infectious smile that leads them to talk to me most of the time. (I know that comes as a shock to a lot of you, but trust me.)

It’s always the introduction, “Did you meet my friend Jeanne’? She has EIGHT freaking BOYS…EIGHT!!” that gets them talking.

At first they are in awe…with lots of, “Oh my gods” and “Oh wow, you are crazy, how do you do it?” which I’m sure if I didn’t have as many kids, I would probably do the same, however my personal favorite –they like to bow down and tell me I’m amazing! (hey it happens, and I run with it, because in my house, it’s a dog eat…or should I say, kid eat kid world out there)

Nonetheless, the bubble quickly pops and they soon realize that in my house….it is probably too loud and way too crazy to even imagine what it’s like. However, the one thing everyone…and I mean EVERYONE always asks, and I (Dream of) want to throat punch them for…

“Are you still trying for a girl?”


Who in the hell said I was trying for a girl?

Who said I wanted a girl?

Whats wrong with just having boys?

Someone forgot to give me the “Everyone has to have a girl to be normal” memo.

Why is it so hard to fathom, that some people…they don’t need a girl to complete their family. In fact, I ALWAYS wanted boys. I love having boys. Even on the days I am pulling out my hair, hiding in my closet in the fetal position…


I get boys.

Who deemed it appropriate to give the “aww maybe you will get the girl the next time” shrug?

News flash! I never set out “trying” to have a girl. I never did the “aww maybe next time” thing. I wasn’t upset that there will be no pink or frilly stuff… no bows or glitter in my neck of the woods. I never wandered the department stores wishing I could buy all things girl. I was thrilled that the little bean growing inside of me was healthy, and all mine.

In fact, when people say, “I’m having a girl!” I think “Woohoo! Glad it’s them and not me!”

Now don’t get me wrong… I don’t hate girls, so don’t blow up my email telling me all the reasons I should want a girl with your panties in a bunch. I AM a GIRL (and pretty darn frilly at that)! I believe that just like I am made for boys, others are made for all things girls.

I like the spontaneity of a boys. The curiosity. The in your face crazy, and unfiltered honesty. After growing up in a house of girls, you have no idea how much I actually welcomed the later.

I am even okay with the bugs and other crawlies I find in clothes pockets from time to time.

While I teach my boys love and compassion–respect for woman–, they have taught me there really is a difference between a digger and a backhoe. I know every ninja turtle and dinosaurs you can imagine. Cars? Not only do I know the difference between a ’57 Ford Fairlane and a ‘57 Chevy Bel Air, I appreciate them! And believe it or not, it has probably made me a better person.

They have taught me strength and more patience than even mother Teresa probably ever had.

I no longer need or expect perfect in my world. Chaos and clutter are no longer a bad word.

They are strong enough to move furniture, and never again will I think about mowing a lawn.

I never have to worry about my makeup going missing..no arguing over the appropriateness of clothing.

Most important…I’m the only queen of my castle, and there will be no one fighting to push me from the throne.

My world was thrown into a vortex of color and pandemonium, and I love it. So next time you see a mother with all boys, don’t ask her about trying for a girl…buy her a drink and tell her she’s rocking it!

Stop Talking Shit About Your Husband!

husbandThere has been this thing irking me for some time. And please, I am no saint…I even catch myself making a few of these mistakes at times, so don’t start bitching that I don’t get it… but seriously women. Gather around my little post right here; lean in (and men, you can join in too) and listen the hell up (you can even bookmark this for later reference, or even take notes).

No one…. especially your children…want to listen to you talk down about your husband. Ever. Now let that sink in before we move on….


He is not your manchild. He has a mother.

He is not stupid.

He can actually hear you say a million times, that he doesn’t do “such and such” right, but frankly he doesn’t care…and because he still did it, you should just stfu and thank him for the help, I mean… thats all you wanted in the first place right?

Stop speaking to him like he is a 3 yr old. He’s not. It’s degrading as all hell. And frankly, it makes my eye twitch.

Stop comparing him to other husbands/books/movies, if you don’t want him comparing you to other wives, or worse yet… next months centerfold model.

You do not need control of everything (well…I do… But I try really hard not to every.damn.moment of my day.)

Stop using sex as a punishment or to get what you want. You are not a whore. (and if you are, then I apologize.)
imagine for one second if you will, what would happen if your husband denied you sex all.the.time. We are women,… that shit would fuck with our head for years! Or better yet, you had to work for it by buying him something pretty or expensive…cook for him…take you on a date.

Leave Facebook out of it. I mean it. When he does something that bugs you, don’t tell the world. It makes him look stupid, and you look like an asshole…and no one likes an asshole.

If you hadn’t been forced to marry him by some sort of archaic arranged marriage…

YOU CHOSE HIM. You thought he was perfect. You loved him. Try to remember that.

You should be building him up, not tearing him down. (Which you should also be doing men) Because if you can’t get the support and love you need from your spouse, then where else do you get it?

If you don’t agree… stop for one second and mull this little fun shit around in your head…

Your sons are listening.

They hear how you feel about men and their fathers. They are absorbing like little sponges, everything.you.say. They hear the disrespect, and it bothers them.

And don’t forget about your daughters. Soon they will be your little mini me’s. It will start in the teen years when she doesn’t respect her father…when she begins to use your words to get her way with you. Then later on with her own husband.

A few years back, there was this couple we use to hang out with. We will call them Frank and Barbara for all intended purposes (and so no one sues me). Frank was the main provider for their household. He spent 10 hours (or more) a day working, then came home and hid in his workshop. He wasn’t perfect, however nor was she.

Barbra was a stay at home mother, who also ran a part-time daycare. She would spend many days shopping with her mother, and complaining about Frank and his lack of… well… pretty much everything to her friends and mother.

When Frank would introduce his wife to someone new, he would say things like, “This is my wife Barbara”

However, when Barbara would introduce him… She would say things like, “This is my bitch Frank”.
She would think it was hysterical, and maybe on the couple of man hating days I too found it funny…but in reality she may as well have said something like, “Hey everyone, this man right here…he is a pussy, and I don’t respect him, oh…and either should you”

Needless to say, they are now divorced. Believe it or not, it’s not because Frank left her… it’s because when you say out loud over and over that your husband is a bitch to anyone that will listen… you begin to only see that person as a bitch.

This was something I had to figure out first hand myself…and the hard way. I use to have bar night. It was a few women and I that would all get together weekly at the bar; get completely wasted, and bitch the night away about all things husbands. It started out as a way to blow off steam, and vent.

Believe it or not, after a while without even seeing it coming… things got toxic. I found more faults with my husband, yet never looked at my actions as a problem. It began tearing apart the very foundation my husband and I had built up over the past 20 years, just for the pure entertainment of others.

However with all things said, the worst thing in my opinion, would be putting everyone’s needs ahead of your husband, or your marriage.

Stop it!

Your best friend is NOT more important than your husband, and if they are…then maybe you should reconsider your priorities.

You shouldn’t drop the time with your spouse just because your mother has a need to go to the craft shop right this minute, Or because your sister has decided to have yet another meltdown.

Your child is also a poor excuse.

Now before the panties get in a bunch, and all the moms start yelling at me, just keep reading. I don’t mean the little things. I can give a rats ass who gets seated at the table first… or that you need to put little Johnny to bed before you sit on the couch and watch tv or have a conversation. I’m talking time folks.

Remember when you started dating, and all you wanted to do was spend all.your.time with that man? It was absolutely disgusting to everyone around you. Now I am not saying that is how you need act now (sort of), because trust me… I need some “me” time just as much as the next person; plus the goo goo eyes and face sucking just makes people feel awkward and unsure of where to look. But think about it. As much as you may think that spawn you guys made, should come first… you are wrong. Dead wrong. *Gasp*

That kid (no matter how cute or little) is going to jump ship one day. And guess who will still be there? Thats right… your husband will. (as long as you haven’t broken his spine completely yet) He should be put before everyone (and vise versa guys). Because lets face it…we need the support, and for someone to need us.

Furthermore, when couples are happy with each other, it makes for a great stable marriage. Which then leads to happier stronger parents. Which nonetheless, makes for nice little happy stable spawns. It’s a win win for everyone. Trust me. I know all the things.

I think couples get stuck sometimes. They begin to forget about life before kids, because kids are so darn exhausting. It’s really no ones fault.

There was a time when all of a sudden my husband and I never talked. He would come home from work, while I was making dinner and yelling at the kids to stop fighting, or do homework etc. He would walk past me with a grunt which meant hello, the kids would instantly stop what they were doing to bark about their day as he walked to the shower.

Dinner would finally get served (no longer at the table as it had for years) but on the couch, then some channel surfing before bed.

I began to get angry. I blamed him for not talking to me, blamed him for being distant. Only talking to the kids or his friends. Of course that didn’t help anything, it just made for a house full of tension.

Then he finally spoke up…(or yelled). I wasn’t doing any talking either. I was just bitching at him. He was tired. Why didn’t I make an effort? Why do I always make it his responsibility to make us okay?

Because I’m a woman. I think its been bred into us to think that men are the romancers. We have decided they need to know what we need… even if we don’t know ourselves. We make it their responsibility to put us on a pedestal, yet we never do the same for them.

So I tried it. When he got home, I allowed the kids to quickly say their hellos. Instead of them following him, I did. I would lock the door, ask him about his day. He would in turn ask me about mine. We would hang out for 15 -30 min without kids interrupting.

Just that little bit of change, made for others. He started putting forth more effort without me asking…like date night. I love date night.

Last but not least…. Don’t ever, and I mean EVER complain about his parenting skills in front of the kids… or hell, anyone for that matter. If you have a problem, discuss it alone. Away from everyone else.This goes especially for those parents raising step-kids. The last thing you need is to witness someones total disrespect for the other. Or kids completely disrespecting other adults. *Shudder* It’s completely awkward for all that witness it, so… as much as I don’t want to see you and your spouse have sex…I also don’t want to see you have a knock out drag out fight in the middle of a party.

I know I am not an expert. And by no means am I or will I ever be perfect… But some things just needed to be said. Take it or leave it folks.


Mouth Guards, Curdled Milk and the Petrified Lizard.

couchToday I pulled the couch away from the wall to vacuum and thought “what in the f@cking f*ck!”

Kids are disgusting.

It’s like “Hey, the trash can is literally 5 feet away from the couch, but lets just shove everything under the couch instead”

Makes total sense.


I pull my couches from the wall at least once a week, however by looking at it…you would totally think I was lying. And if I didn’t do this….the smell that would emanate would kill a 10 thousand pound moose in moments. Trust me on this, I know things.

About a week ago while doing this disgusting chore, I was bitching to myself that this was NOT what I had planned as a kid. You know….when teachers ask the class, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Never.ever. did I ever say, “I want to be a house mom cleaning up petrified lizards and cereal (which I haven’t bought in a year, so where the hell did it come from?) out of my couch.”

Instead I said stupid shit like, “I want to be a wonder woman-ballerina who can fly a fighter plane, while always wearing red cowboy boots and a sombrero.” Which is funny, because I sucked at ballet. (I still love red boots) In fact, I would have been better off saying I wanted to be a bulldozer or a trash truck, because that would have made more sense.

So back to the couch…

One sippy cup…sporting curdled milk.
What looks to be a petrified lizard (I was serious) or maybe a mouse with no fur…
Fruit loops
Two ninja turtles with no head
1 G.I Joe head (Beginning to see a pattern with heads)
6 empty beer cans (which I am sure were on the side table at one point, but if you are going to shove everything in the couch, may as well throw dads beer cans in for good measure)
One chapstick without the stick (8 is an avid chapstick eater)
One half chewed pigs ear (That I am sure the dog has been looking for)
4 unmatched socks
Crust to what looks like peanut butter and jelly sandwich
600 legos (maybe 4)
2 spoons
1 knife
Mouth guard number 6754
and a hand towel…that is not even from this house.

We are only missing Jimmy Hoffa. Unless that was the petrified lizard.

It doesn’t matter how many times I yell out, “Throw all you shit away!” or “If you are going to eat that…I better not find it in my couch later.”

Doesnt matter how many times I explain to them that no one else (aside from hoarders) live like this. I mean, when are you ever going to need that half eaten apple?

It’s really hard to find all the smells in a house full of little men, without losing your shit. At one time the basset hound was my biggest adversary. She would find, concur, and then eat all smelly things. Can’t tell you how many popsicle sticks (Kid you not) and legos that bitch has shit out in her time… but now…

Now she is 16 and I think along with her ears and eyes…even her smell is now broken…or she just got sick of trying to keep up with them.

I have even thought over the years (dreamt) about hiring a maid. But who in their right mind would be able to handle, let alone keep up with my kids? It would take a whole cast of maids and I ain’t got money for that.

So if you ever come for a visit, all I ask for…Please for all that is sacred…Do NOT ever put your hand in a couch cushion, or look under the couch!

Cheers! Happy Friday!

Divorce…Nah, not for me.

Funny-Jokes-for-Couples-7-500x387Over the weekend, during the normal chaos, I was informed that yet another friend of ours was talking about divorce. This leaves just one couple out of our group of friends, that are still married.

That hit me pretty hard.

The hubs and I have been married for a little over 20 years, which seems like forever, and barely a minute at the same time, depending on our moods and I suppose what cycle the moon is in.

We had only known each other for four months when we tripped and fell into a courthouse, eloping. Everyone was pissed. Of course, that kind of whirlwind romance should end quickly.

Statistically we should have been divorced within the first 5 years…2 years if you toss in the new baby I started popping out every year.

Those first 5 years… they were the most brutal. Hell…maybe even the first 10. What saved us? We were two bull-headed people, who could not accept failure. We would not prove everyone right.

It helped that I was crazy head of heels in love with the big brute.

The hubs and I came from totally different families, none of which was healthy…this meant that neither of us had any clue what the fuck we were doing, let alone a great example of a good marriage.

The hubs parents divorced when he was small, only to move back in with each other because of money, and in my opinion their codependence on each other.

They spent the majority of their lives together fighting and talking down to each other. They were never happy, which spread to the kids.

His mother was always working, while his father would spend years sleeping on the couch, drinking himself to death.

My folks were different. They were married, seemed to love each other, but never fought. I mean, they would disagree, but there was no slamming doors, yelling… My father never went against anything my mother said. She ruled the roost per say…

Sounds great right? Well…it was, until I was married and had no fucking idea what the hell I was doing, let alone how to fight without killing each other.

I would get so damn angry and think I was a horrible person because I voiced how I felt. If the husband yelled or I slammed a door, I felt like a total failure as a wife, mother and person.

Dont get me started on what would happened when one of us lost our shit and threw something…

Things would get ugly and sometimes outright hateful.

Things were broken (a lot of things were broken), because breaking something physically, was far better than dealing with feelings. I hate feelings.

However, not everything was a bad example in my family. My parents always showed affection. This was probably the biggest gift they could have given me. This was something the hubs never saw, nor had.

Even saying I love you regularly, was taboo in his unhealthy household. This was something I needed and wanted for my boys.

I think in the real world, affection towards people gets lost sometimes. I mean, I can’t stand for people to invade my space and touch me,and don’t even get me started on the fact everyone thinks they need to fake hug you… however it is totally different when the husband enters my space.

I need him to touch me. I need to feel like he knows I am still here.

For the last year, (probably two) I have been a whiney tit bag. Part of it is I am getting older, and don’t look as good as I once was. I have my own insecurities that no one can change that but myself.

But none the less, the biggest thing of them all…our best friends decided to divorce, which seemed to come from nowhere, and it was ugly.

Their divorce shook everyone, because for 16 years they alway seemed pretty happy.

The divorce makes you question yourself, your marriage and your decisions….because if they couldn’t make it after 16 years, then maybe you won’t either. It makes you think all kinds of crazy shit…

Are we heading that way?
What has changed?
Does he still love me?
Would he tell me if he didn’t?

It makes you paranoid.

The bitch in my head tells me how worthless I am, and how outright mean my husband is… even when I know deep down he hasn’t done anything to prove her point.

Especially after all my weight gain and health problems. I mean… how is the chick in yoga pants who hasn’t moved from her bed in a few days attractive?

I have had a lot of hurt in my time…a lot of rejection and loss… especially by people who shouldn’t reject you. These are the things I start to think about –dwell on– when I go to my dark place and let the bitch take over.

I start to get angry, because anger is easier than hurt. I begin to blame him for all of my pain instead of blaming the people who have actually caused this insecurity.

And you know what he does? He laughs at me.

He says that even though I am batshit crazy, he still loves me.

He grabs my boob when he walks by, or smacks my ass when I bend over.

He tells me to go make him a sandwich and grab him a beer… to do women’s work…which then makes me want to punch him in the neck, and I tell him so. Which makes him laugh…I love his laugh.

And he walks in the door and woos me with a night out, and sticks around when others would have left. Hell… I would have left me… I’m exhausting.

It’s in writing this, that I can remind myself of all the reasons I believe we will be fine, despite others and the bitch in my head. That I can remind myself that others lives are just that. It’s theirs, and it has no reflection on how things should be for you.

Sorry for all the words…apparently I was in a sharing mood this evening. ;)


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