Sitting at the red light, the boys in the backseat, I glanced in my rear view mirror to see Carter looking out the side window at the passing cars. He’s gotten so big, in what seems like little time at all. He’s reciting days of the week, he knows the months of the year, and can spell his name. It all seems to have happened in a blink of an eye. He’s a funny and wonderful kid, most of the time – because hello? He’s four – but the stuff that comes out of that kids mouth sometimes? Comedic gold.

As we waited at the light he said, “Mommy? I love Hudson.”

“Awe, that’s sweet Carter. You’re a good big brother,” I told him, “You like being a big brother, don’t you?”

“Ya. I like Hudson.”

“Would you like to have another baby brother? Maybe a baby sister someday?” I asked

“Nope. Not today Mommy,” he replied still looking out the window.

“No, not today Dude; someday.”

“We can’t Mommy,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Curious I asked why we can’t. Seriously? When kids say stuff like that it freaks me out. Do they know something we don’t know?

“No, we can’t. Because the Halloween store close soon. Halloween will be over.”

I thought I’d pass the reins to someone else for the time being. You’ll have to excuse the mumbles and lack of dialogue on his part, he’s just starting out. I’m thinking once he gets his routine down he may be better at maintaining this bitch.

I mean the site.

(Not THIS bitch.)

((That’s just wrong.))

(((Not to mention disgusting.)))

((((And also? SOMEONE ELSE’S JOB. SOMEONE WHO HAS NOT BEEN DOING HIS JOB.))))

(((((YA HEAR THAT SOMEONE ELSE!? I’M TALKING TO YOU SOMEONE ELSE.)))))

Ahem.

This is all wrong. ALL. WRONG.

Like I said: I think he’ll be taking over.

Ya, I’ve painfully and horribly neglected this site. I just have nothing to say that’s not grumpy, crabby and full of self pity.

I am running on fumes. I’ve emotionally eaten an additional 10lbs which now reside on my ass. The same ass that is bunged up causing discomfort and bloating.

OH. THE. BLOATING.

It makes me super duper cranky.

I also now have carpel tunnel syndrome. The burn is unbelievable. Like I’ve shoved my wrists in a burning pile of dog poop.

I don’t know why I picked poo, but I did.

And now you can visualize me with poop on my hands.

Seriously? Why’d I even bother?

Go nuts in the comments peeps. I’m all yours. What’s wrong with you? Got roids? How about athletes foot? A wart? Just angry about something? My comment section is your venting playground.

My comment:

As a pit bull owner I am disgusted and so enraged that this ‘celebrity’ has furthered the hatred and stereotype of these wonderful dogs.

It’s not *just* what he’s done to the pit bull breed, but the violence he committed against another living being incomprehensible. He’s a vile and deranged person. I would love nothing more than for him to suffer the same horrible disgusting acts he inflicted upon these animals.

I am disgusted, infuriated and down right pissed off to the point where I wish physical harm to him for what he has done. His smug grin angers me to no end.

Read Jurgen Nation’s Open Letter to Michael Vick.

As for the dogs which were affected by this monsters greed and inhumane acts?   The ones that were able to be saved are on the mend. Some have been rehabilitated and living with loving and caring families as they should be.

Do you know what happens to these dogs when they are forced to fight?

Gypsy “The Angel Pit Bull” tells her story. **The images contained in these link are extremely graphic.**

How do you feel about Michael Vick being reinstated into the NFL and playing for the Eagles again? Should he be banned for life? Does he deserve a second chance?

How do you feel about this ‘man’ being a ‘role model’ for so many of today’s youth? (Because really? What pro athlete is not considered a role model to young adolescents?)

Should he be resigned to a life in a cage where he is beaten, burned and battered for not performing as expected?

I think you know which one I’m gunning for.

My heart is heavy.

My mind is swirling.

My conscience is misguided.

I ache.

Sometimes I try too hard.

Sometimes not enough.

Sometimes my actions are perceived as thoughtful and friendly.

Sometimes my actions are mistaken for malicious or callous.

Sometimes I just screw up.

I try hard to be the person others want me to be.

I want to be someone others can count.

I want to be the one that people come to.

I want to be a problem solver.

I want to be a fixer.

I want to be everyone’s friend.

Sometimes I speak before I think.

Sometimes I react before I think it through.

Sometimes I have only my best intentions.

If only you could see into my heart.

If only you could see what my purpose is.

If only you were able to read my mind.

If only.

Now I wait.

Now I wonder.

Now I hope.

Now I plead.

I’m not sure when my affinity for beautiful appliances (or gadgets) (but real gadgets, not *ahem* gadgets) began, but I am addicted.

The shiny newness of their rock hard exterior. The smooth, chiseled body. The gentle, yet strong motion. The sleek, empowering buttons.

I think I have to stop there. This is supposed to be a family *cough*BULLSHIT*cough* site.

One of the great things about searching for a new home is also looking for new fun gadgets appliances. I get to peruse the aisles of the home appliance stores, touching and caressing all the models; shamelessly checking them out while I secretly lust for the one across the way.

Yes, I’m a whore like that. I knowingly and publicly will flaunt it in the face of another.

Electrolux Laundry Appliances have become my drug of choice. I neeeeed them. I waaaaant them. I must haaaaveee them. Ever since she started yapping about them and their beauty I’ve been coveting them more. I’ve been known to secretly check them out during my lunch break. It’s an addiction not unlike that of a dirty old man and his online porn fetish.

Nothing against you dirty old man. I was talking about the OTHER dirty old man.

I want to rub it. Hard.

Just the thought of my laundry being completed in half the time: the clothes, clean and pristine, smelling of vanilla and lavender all warm and comforting makes me really really happy.

I’ve forewarned Mike that he will need another set to keep in the basement or the garage for the dirty and vile work clothes. They will NOT be touching my beauties. There will be no violating these machines with concrete, oil and grout. Not a chance in porno hell (that being old dingy broken machines hidden away in a dark scary concrete hole) will he be putting anything of the like in these machines.

I’ve warned him there may be cutting involved if he even so much as LOOKS at the machines with dirt on his hands.

In fact, I don’t think he will be touching them. At. All.

Not only do their laundry appliances do things to me that no man has been ever able to, (Sorry honey!) but Electrolux Kitchen Appliances? Holy crap on a cracker. I’ve never wanted to boil water cook so bad!

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This is not an Electrolux sponsored post by any means. But! Should Electrolux choose to sponsor this post or any like it by way of outfitting my new home with all their appliances in lieu of payment for daily posts about their fantasticness who am I to deny Electrolux? Hear that Electrolux? I LOVE YOU like a fat kid loves cake. Kthxbai.

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Sidenote: Mike had a phone conversation last night after sending out his resume yesterday. This morning he had an official interview and now has a new job! I love that in construction you can be out of work one day and less than 72 hours later you have a new job. Talk about a roller coaster ride!!

So needless to say, I’m shopping for a new pretty house to store my (hopefully going to be mine SOON) new beauties.

Being back to work full time is busy people. Busy with a capital fuckin’ B.

Not only have I been busting my butt trying not to get in trouble again for not carrying my own weight (still hurt by that, by the way), I am slowing becoming aware of how much I’ve taken on and how it’s affecting my family and health (Hello Benylin? I LOVE YOU LIKE A FAT KID LOVES CAKE.).

Both kids went for a sleep over at their grammie and gramps’ house Saturday night. Mike and I had big plans for a night out on the town.

Okay, so dinner out was the only plan but whatever.

We went out for dinner together and then promptly home to get our sweats on and crash on the couch. Flicking through the channels, staring at the screen as each scene went by, blurring into one show. I could feel the fatigue taking over, I finally gave up and headed to bed. 10pm on a Saturday night when both my kids were away. Fuck, I’m old.

Lame Saturday night, yes. But! Seriously? Nothing compares to waking at noon for the first time in five years. Not only did I get to sleep in, but it was peaceful, restful, and rejuvenating. Exactly what I needed. All these late nights plugging away on The Business (which, by the way will be totally remodeled and renamed in the near future! Stay tuned!) accompanied by the early mornings (5am y’all! I detest 5am) has wreaked havoc on my sanity.

And apparently I didn’t have enough stress in my life at the moment because now I’ve decided to add house hunting to the list.

You heard it right. We’re now on the market for purchasing our very first home and I couldn’t be more excited, stressed, overwhelmed and anxious about it all. I think I’ve become very picky about what I want (I blame HGTV) and MUST have in my new house. Needless to say, I believe it’s going to be a long process.

A very long process.

Because…

I’ve decided I want a pool.

I NEED a pool.

I MUST HAVE a pool.

Not too far fetched, but definitely narrows the searches.

Today one of the first homes we saw had 3+1 bedrooms (another must have for visiting family and friends as well as office space for The Business) and a pool. Gorgeously redone and very modern, it was The House, but had already three offers and one accepted conditionally upon financing. Sold as far as I’m concerned. Totally unfair, but this is what I’ve welcomed into my life. Stress, stress and more stress.

We haven’t even gotten close to the bidding, counter offering, and BIDDING WARS.

I think my hair will either be a few shades of white and grey or completely fallen out by that time.

But dammit. I better have a pool.

Though, if I don’t have a pool, I suppose I could get my new pool boy working on something else…..

His tan people! His TAN on his bare bum.

UPDATED:

The pool gods hate me.

Mike was laid off this morning.

Kissing my new house goodbye…..

Fucksakes.

I’ve now taken on all the sickness that’s been flying around my humble abode. The children are better, Mike is better and I am falling apart at the seams. Fitting isn’t it? Mom takes care of everyone then as a reward she gets the illness from HELL.

My throat is on fire.

I can only calm it by way of overdosing on Benylin and Advil which leaves me in a dazed fog.

The same dazed fog I am in at this very moment while I sit here. At work. Not working. (shhhhh… don’t tell my boss)

I’ve been having a hard time dealing with my transition back to the office. I feel underutilized, redundant and most of all – sad. I received a very passive aggressive email from my boss the other day. His frustration with my sick kids and time off very evident. I feel bad that after eight years of being everywhere doing everything that I’ve had a hard time and that’s the first thing that’s noticed. All my hard work and effort rarely received any acknowledgment and now that I’ve struggled and haven’t performed to par something is said. Not – is everything alright? How can we help? But instead – you’re dropping the ball and I’m picking up your mess.

It’s a really hard pill to swallow.

I like my boss and consider him a friend, so it’s been kinda painful to be at the receiving end of this passive aggressive-ness.

And… that’s enough about work.

So ya. High.

Benylin cough syrup, Advil to numb the pain of swallowing and I think I even took an anti-depressant this morning.

FUN!

I could definitely sleep at my desk this very moment. I could place my head on this stupid laptop and snooze. But I KNOW that my snoring would give me away, and I could only imagine the emails that would result of my sleeping (And blogging. Dammit.) while at work.

Maybe underneath the desk? Muffle the snoring by barricading myself behind the garbage and recycling bin?

The bathroom. Ya. That’s a better place. Turn on the fan and lock the door. I’d be golden.

Okay, now I gotta go pee.