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Tuesday, May 28, 2013

And this is how climbing a large, scary rock might have saved me from myself.

I don't want you guys to say, "Aww... shit! This is bitch is getting serious!" I'll add some humor into this post to break up all the "Aww.. shit! This bitch is getting serious!"

So here it is. I had this moment of clarity and reflection on the drive home this morning. This is a serious post and shit is going to get deep. And personal. I really want to share this piece of me with you all though, so deal.

I just got out of a serious relationship recently, and let me tell you how broken I was, and am at times, but it's getting a little better. Day by day. Our family is separating, and the boys and I are moving on. The packing and house hunting and explaining to the kids what's going on is heart and gut wrenching. And I'll leave it at that. Most of you have been there as well, so it's not like I'm the all mighty trail blazer of ended relationships or any shit like that. It's tough, and we figure our shit out for the kids and make it happen. Some days are harder than others, and you hit this wall, and you think, "I can't do this. It's impossible. I can't go any further than this. This sucks." And you throw yourself a little pity party with a glass or four of Cab and fall asleep thinking you've just given up, and telling yourself how much life sucks huge balls. And it does. Life DOES suck. Breakups DO suck. And then you get off your ass and do something about it.

Now, on to the butt of the story. A friend of mine invited me on this rock climbing / camping trip out to the middle of nowhere, far, far, away. I was a bit nervous and anxious and excited, but also stressed. I didn't want to go because I had so much shit to get taken care of here. I was going to work all weekend, and house hunt and pack. On the other hand, it was a holiday weekend and I had not a single child. All Weekend. Long. Moms take serious advantage of that shit, for sure! After a lot of nudging and coaxing, I agreed to go. It was one of the best decisions I've made in my life.

So hey, you know how you meet someone and maybe they're just in your life for a short time, but make one of the largest impressions and teach you a major life lesson before they leave? I have this friend, the one that hassled me into going on this escapade into no man's land. I'm not saying she is going anywhere, because she might be in my life for a very long time. Maybe as a lesson or reminder, or maybe as a long time friend and companion. Who the fuck knows, right? And that's not the point anyway. The point is, I think she is this angel is disguise, brought here to teach me to persevere, and rise above. She came into my life in one of my lowest emotional points and brought me back to life. Too deep? I threw up a little too. I will get back on point though, I promise! 

So, we get to the camp site and set up and immediately start the long hike to the cliffs we're all going to climb. WTF? You guys don't waste any time, heh?  Now, let me just key you in on some info on my rock climbing background. Once I get to the 3rd rung of a 6 foot ladder, I shake and wrap myself around it, holding on for my dear life until someone comes to get me down. I also stare at my feet when I walk so I won't trip and fall on my face. I still trip and fall on my face. I fall, not just down the stairs a couple times a week, but up them as well. So climbing 100 foot, ancient escarpments? Sure. Piece. Of. Cake. While I'm lounging on a couple rocks I've managed to turn into a very comfortable recliner at the bottom. Oh, that looks simple enough, and everyone else is doing it. The first day I get all geared up and start climbing. 10 feet. "Let me the fuck down. Now!" At that point, I realized I didn't want to go out that way. I didn't climb the rest of the day.

This was the first day, that turned into ........


The next day, we head out pretty early for a whole day of climbing. Everyone is climbing, and I'm, you guessed it, chilling at the bottom, taking pictures and thinking, "I can totally do this. Let's give it another shot." And I do. And I get about 20 feet, and come back down. Nope, still scared of plummeting to my death just as soon as the ONE rope tied to basically a belt loop gives out. I still thought, "Well they both just climbed this same rock without a hitch, I can freaking do this too."

So, I got back up there. 20 foot up, I wanted to come back down, but I didn't. I figured my shit out and kept climbing. Every few feet I asked to come down, but this time instead of being lowered down, I took a minute, chalked up my hands and climbed a little more, and a little more until I REACHED THE FUCKING TOP of this ginormous thing! I really had a hard time trying to find my bearings and figure out where to put my feet and what I can confidently hold on to, so that I do not plummet to my death. I hit this wall sometimes (literally). Like really hit a rock wall. (I have a bruises.) But figuratively as well.  But I figured it out and finished. I didn't give up, even though I wanted to, and no one else gave up on me either. And that's life, folks.

                                                                     And then, this turned into.......


I hit this wall sometimes in life and want to give up. I get these feelings that I can't go any further. There is no where to plant my feet and nothing to grab a hold of. But there always is and you make it through. You just do. It's that simple. Just step back and take a moment to plan your next move and take the step.

I'm entering into a new, exciting chapter in my life. Just me and my boys. Of course it's scary, stressful and nerve wrecking as well, because it's all outside our comfort zones. We will make it through though. We always have before and will continue to. This is just another adventure for us.

I'm not certain who the angel is here. Whether it's the friend that nagged like a whiny housewife, or if it was the giant wall of exhilarating torture. Either way, so much gratitude is owed for my moment of clarity I was given this weekend. Thank you soo FUCKING much!!

(I'm sending virtual glitter and cheap wine your way. You're welcome.)

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Saturday, May 11, 2013

A Happy Mother's Day to the most embarrasing person on the planet.

Guess who is the most embarrassing person in society? Nope. Not the people that wear their pants around their knees. Or the people that blow people up for fun. Not potential "rapey" (spell check?) kidnapper looking people that drive "rapey", kidnapping looking vans. and not even "the people of Walmart". You know exactly who they are. Moms. That's right fellow moms. You guys didn't even need a second guess. To all the gals out there with washboard tummies and perky TaTa's thinking, "I cannot WAIT to have a baby", consider this birth control. To the Moms that only get to shower twice a week, walk around for days with a shriveled cheerio on the bottom of your foot because you're too exhausted and lazy to remove it, and for those of you that get kicked out of the bus stop because you have a huge pimple on your forehead... Happy Fucking Mother's Day to us! Cheers! I'm always hiding under my bed drinking wine and reading, "I just want to pee alone" with you in spirit.

Some of my most treasured memories of things my kids have said to me that would have had me hunkered in the girls room smoking a cigarette and crying in 3rd hour, my freshman year of high school. We have all had one of these moments. Google it. or "Yahoo answers" it.

While applying makeup one morning, Paul says, "Hey Mom, you missed a spot."
"Oh yeah? Where?"
"Your face."

You're fucking kidding me, kid. Grounded. The end.

Alex cuddles up on my lap and squeezes my belly, "Your belly is squishy like a "kooshy" ball. (I don't even know how to spell that since he made that word up).

Paul asks how he was born. Like a good parent I say, "Google it". The next day he walks in on me while I'm still naked, and says, "Eww! Mom! Put that all away! We don't need to see that!"
Well, now he knows, I guess. That's anatomy 101 in our house.

Alex comes up to me while I'm getting dressed one morning and says, "Why do you have all those holes all over your legs and your butt?"
Uh.... that's cellulite, kiddo, but thanks. You're a doll.

Have I mentioned that I have been kicked out of the bus stop. IMO too embarrassing to stand there with him. I just want to give him hugs and kisses goodbye before he runs onto the bus like a big boy that doesn't need his mommy anymore. I guess I'm THAT mom. I don't mean to be. I'm a coddler. (Spell check hates that word). I'm a door mat for my kids. They will appreciate me when I'm bailing them out of financial stress and probably jail. I can't even walk him into the school anymore. If the sliding door of the mini van was able to open while your moving, he would take a running leap out of it while I'm still driving 5.6 miles an hour through the parking lot. (that's basically the speed limit)

I did get a  nice call from the counselor about Paul telling everyone at school that I'm in a rock band. That was pretty cool. The only time I've been in a rock band is when I'm singing HOLE in a karaoke bar. Enough said.

Paul has even attempted to run away because I'm "the worst mom ever!"

Paul has also thrown up on me, pooped on me, peed on me, spit on me, snotted on me. (damn it, spell check!), sweat on me, stepped on me, climbed on me, poked me in the eye, head butted me, cursed at me, farted on me... and on  and on. Who's really the embarrassing one?

Alex- Same thing. Who's embarrassing now, dirt machines?

Yeah. That's right. You are. Except that kids have no modesty, so they don't embarrass easily.

And neither do moms. At least not after that kind of major event where you have 12 different doctors and nurses sticking hands and all kinds of other crap up your ever-expanding vajayjay every half hour for nearly 26 hours.

We aren't embarrassing. They are. Well,

actually we all are. At least at our house.

I will end by wishing a very Happy Mothers Day to all the Moms! Expecting moms, or even the moms with tweens that still use the "new mother" parking spots because you still feel like a "new mother". For the "trying to be a new mom", Hahahahahhaaha!

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Thursday, April 25, 2013

I told my kids they could be anything they want to be when they grow up.

We all have these conversations with our kids. "What do you want to be when you grow up?", hoping that they will say, "rich and successful so that I can take care of you for a change, Mommy". They don't. Instead they ask for money, clothes and food. Get a job, I say. That's how our conversations start every time. They ask for dinner, and it seems like the most opportune time to chat about their future. These careers go in no particular order, as these children come up with their career choices mainly from a couple of our favorite nannies. You probably know them as Bob the Builder, Dinosaur Train, Martha the talking dog, Bobby's World (which have I mentioned how I cannot stand that boy?), etc.

Paul - Paramedic: When Paul took his first ride in an ambulance, he thought it was THE coolest thing in the world. After they drugged him, of course. And the girls were so spoiling him. He was fascinated with all the equipment and other stuff inside and kind of had a blast. (Even though the Momma was getting self medicated with, you guessed it, xanax and red wine). Oh, and there are sirens and lights and they can go really fast and get in front of people on the road.

 Alex - A dinosaur robot: A dinosaur robot is an excellent career choice because you get to walk? ride? around on wheels and fix things. You have really big muscles to pick things up with. (like your damn toys!!). The most important reason to pick a dinosaur robot as your future source of income.... You get to walk around like a robot with the arms of Tyrannosaurus Rex. (Insert image of a robot dancing around with Tyrannosaurus Rex arms. Its quite hilarious, actually.)

Paul - Joining the Army:  I'm about to offend several people, I'm sure. Consider that my apology in advance. No Fucking Way, Kid! How are you supposed to live in my basement and mooch off of me when you're 40, if you're off in another country getting shot at? And how am I supposed to sleep at night thinking about it? Wine and melatonin, you're suggesting? Sorry to burst that bubble of yours, son, but by the time you ship yourself off to the military, I'll already have an unhealthy tolerance to that shit. I get that the military selflessly protects and serves our country. I'm a huge supporter of everything you guys do already, (Hoorah, Semper Fi, and all of that) but this is my kiddo we're talking about here. Yeah, the one I carried for 9 excruciating months and birthed. The one that only wants Momma when he's sick, and the kid that wouldn't believe for second that the little scrape on his knee was not actually even bleeding and didn't even hurt unless you kissed it first. (because after you kiss it, it's like it never happened anyway) This is a kid that cries when his sock is crooked on his middle toe. Hey Army, you ready to take this on? You can give it your best shot, but I'll tell you the same thing I tell potential kidnappers (translation: strangers that walk by at the park and tell me I have cute kids), you'll send him back... so really, I don't know what I'm even worried about. By the time he's 18 he may just want to be an administrative assistant or a mailman. 

 Alex - A construction worker. That's right. Because just in case someone gets stuck in a lot of snow, he will just have to use a crane to get them out. He also wants to ride a tractor around town all day long like Bob the Builder and Handy Manny. (Which I'm not completely convinced that they're not the same person anyway. Multiple Personality Disorder?) He also wants to use Legos to build houses because Legos have more colors. Don't come looking for me when a wolf comes and blows your house down. This is HIS career choice, not mine. I sell insurance policies to people that choose these kinds of professions. Let's all say it together.. "Lawsuit!"

Paul - A Police Officer: Of course he wants to be a police officer, because they run around pulling people over and writing tickets and ruining peoples' day. He wants to be a police officer so he can drive a car really fast and use the lights and sirens and all that jazz. He can also get his Happy Meal quicker because he's a cop. (Sorry, cop friends, I think he got that one from his dad)

 Alex - A Police Officer: Well, if his brother wants to be a cop, he does too. Come on, guys. His reasons are a little different than Paul's reasons though. He wants to pull people over and give them MOVIE tickets. He also wants to drive really fast with lights and sirens, but who doesn't? He wants to help people get cats out of trees and wear the bright yellow reflecting sash to help people cross the street. Finally, he LOVES the "costume" police officers get to wear.

Paul - A Lawyer: OK. He doesn't. I want him to be one. I think he would excel in this. He's a  royal freaking smart ass. He can talk his way out of just about ANYTHING. Everything in our house is an argument or a negotiation. After a while of entertaining an argument between your twenty something year old self and the 7 yr old, you give up. He wins. That's an attorney. Plus, it could bring in some dough, as long as he's not one of those "minor traffic violation firms" that charge you fifty bucks to fax over a suggestion that will always get approved because you're a lawyer. He will do the big stuff, like putting bad guys behind bars and saving trees from being turned into to shopping center parking lots, although Target and Walmart could use more parking space.

 Alex - A "Spaceman"(Astronaut): He wants to be a spaceman or woman so that he can fly to space and help feed people. He also says that he doesn't have to be a spaceman. He can be a space woman as well. That way he can bring Phil (our cat). I don't know where he's going with this, except everything he wants to do he thinks that he can do it as a girl too. Trans? Feminist? Lonely cat lady?I'll love him either way, since he'll probably be living in the basement at 40 too. How can you say NO to those faces! He also wants to be a super hero. Not just ANY superhero. ALL of them AT THE SAME TIME. Because duh, you can't wear all the "costumes" at the same time if you have to pick just one superhero. He also wants all of the super powers, not just one. (Just like he can't pick just one profession and work hard for the next 14 years to pursue it)

Paul - A baseball player AND a soccer player: Sure, why not? They're pretty much seasonal jobs, right? Soccer in the... winter? Indoor soccer? Baseball in the spring and summer. He just loves both so much that he can't decide. But you know me, the good mom that says, "You can be whatever you want to be when you grow up and don't let anyone tell you any different." Eeee. Looking back on that statement, I hope this isn't going to really bite me in the ass later on.

Alex has a few more than Paul because Alex is... how do you say....imaginative. Lets call it that for mom blog sake. He wants to be a doctor, and wants to have the babies. So basically a surrogate? I forgot why I taught them to talk. He wants to be a fire fighter so that he can ride on the fire truck and have a dog with dots, and the dog can wear a fire hat too, just like in his coloring book. He wants to be a pilot so he can fly a huge airplane, and an engineer so that he can fix it if it ever runs out of gas. (In case it runs out of gas in the air??) For now, I think that's it, but he's still got  14 years to go. Good Lord!

Taking a poll to see what you guys think of these professions, and which one you would pick! Cast your votes now!

If you like these a little bit and want to read more, please subscribe so you never miss another HILARIOUS rant. If you want to see more funny pictures of my dirt machines and more posts PLEASE visit us and like us at

Monday, March 25, 2013

For the love of God make a damn decision.

I was going to post a blog about pee, but my favorite mom blogger beat me to it and wrote about poop. So here is a little story about my youngest. The boy cannot make a quick decision to save his life! It all started at conception....

I wake up just to run to the bathroom for a morning of sickness. I just KNOW that I'm pregnant and immediately make a Walgreens run for a cart full of pregnancy tests, pre-natal vitamins, ovulation tests, (just in case, even though I'm sure I am) and a giant triple chocolate muffin. I get back and take my pregnancy test. I'm pregnant!! Yes!!! I take another to confirm. (you know, like how when you sign up for crap you don't really want online but only did it so you can get to the crap you really want but don't need online and they make you enter your email address twice to confirm it's right so they can send you daily notifications for crap you don't want but you're too lazy to hit the unsubscribe button so for the next four years you complain about stupid emails you constantly get from whatever website sells aloe infused socks, which I would want, incidentally, so not a good example?) ( and yes, that WAS a run on sentence). Where was I? Oh yeah, pregnant. So I take a second "confirmation" test. Not pregnant. What the fuck??! So I take another one. Pregnant. And I take another. Still pregnant. Well I hope the three that said pregnant are correct because I'm out of tests at this point, besides the ovulation tests, but I have a strong feeling that I'm already past that. Can you take pregnancy tests back to the store and tell them one didn't work right? ( you can with lip stick, just a thought) So the negative one was obviously a dud, which is scary to think about, because what if I had just bought one? Anyway, I wave it around and shake it like a damn magic 8 ball to see if it would change it's mind; nothing.

The birth of my little fire ball: I call him this because he gave me the WORST heartburn. As I'm getting ready to jump into my cozy bed to sleep in my sitting upright position, I walk through the kitchen to turn lights off and lock doors, and here it comes. OUCH!! That fucking hurt. OUCH!! That hurt even more! Stop that! He would decide to make his entrance at the most inconvenient time. Off to the hospital we go. Scream-sobbing and climbing the seats all the way there, I finally make it into a room begging for a pain killer drip on the way. Nope, I'm going to shove my hand all the way up your hooha first and make you extremely uncomfortable. Great. 3 centimeters, this will take NO time at all. Right, moms?? An hour later, still 3 Centimeters. 5 hours later, you guessed it. 3 centimeters. Hey, I haven't even gotten the pleasure to meet you in person yet and you're already being a complete wanker face?? And NOW you decide to crawl back up there and take a nap?? Get the hell out here. If I'm awake, you're awake. (Just realizing what I did there) He beat me with my own stick, because for the next, oh... four years and counting, when he's awake, I'm awake. Gaaaghhh!!!

You'd think since babies just poop, sleep and eat for the first few months, he'd be finished with the decision making process for a bit. No, not him.
"Hey, mom. instead of deciding between # 1 or #2 and making it easy on you, as your still exhausted from childbirth, I'm going pee in my own face and watch you freak out. Then while your lysoling my face, (I know it's not a real word) I'm going to projectile poop ALL OVER you! Hahahaha! You need a shower anyway. And, BTW, I'm going to scream now because I want my OTHER binky. And in another 5 minutes, I'm going to scream again because I want my other binky back, but I'll wait til you jump in the shower first and get all soapy before I do it. And since I just pooped all over the place, I'm going to be hungry again, so I really won't want the binky at all. I don't know what I want. You'll have to figure it out"

At four years old, it does get a lot better, because they can talk and tell you what they want. NOT. Hahaha! Gotcha!
"Hey, Alex would you like Peanut Butter and Jelly or Ravioli for lunch?"
"I don't know."
"Well, which is it? Those are your choices."
"I don't know."
"Ok. Ravioli it is."
"I don't want ravioli."
"So do you want Peanut Butter and Jelly?"
"So what would you like to have for lunch?"
"I don't know."

"Hey, Alex it's bedtime. Which stuffed animal would you like to sleep with?"
"That was too easy." But I leave the room anyway.
"Mom!!!! I want my giraffe, and my doggy and my other doggy and my bear and my bigger doggy and my baby doggy and my octopus."
Knew it.
"Mommy, I don't want that doggy, I want the other one. Not that one either, the other one. and my baby giraffe."
"For the love of God."

"Hey Alex, go get dressed so we can go to the store."

On that note, it's bedtime now.

If you like these a little bit and want to read more, please subscribe so you never miss another HILARIOUS rant. If you want to see more funny pictures of my dirt machines and more posts PLEASE visit us and like us at

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

10 things I REALLY want for my birthday, because 5 isn't nearly enough.

I  hope I'm not asking too much, and I hope my better half is reading this too. I hope, most of all, that my fellow Super Moms help me out here.

1. I want a clean freaking house. Like, so clean I could lick off of the floors. And walls and ceiling. I know what you're thinking, "But you should be able to already, what with all the ketchup, jelly, butter, cracker crumbs, stuck on cereal, ranch dressing, syrup, milk, juice and everything else that gets stuck to the floor." In that, you would be correct. I COULD lick the floor, ceiling, and walls, except that I've been banned from WebMD, and well, even thinking about what kind of growth and movement happening on the floors gives me the heebie geebies. I mean, for real, there could be an actual town developing down there. Their own Pride Parade and everything! Gaaaaaghhhhhhhhhh! I just want a clean and ORGANIZED house. I know it's probably too much to ask. It's taken me 7 years and counting to organize my house. (post children, of course)

2. A vacuum I can easily use on two flights of stairs. Does this contraption even exist? Yeah, yeah, I know vacuums that you use on the stairs exist, but not easy ones. I want one that really picks up. One that won't require an extra trip to my chiropractor after a Saturday cleaning rampage. You always get tricked on the infomercials too. OMG! I ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO HAVE THIS!! I would also like for my kids to come with a switch that can be flipped on when it's time to clean up and vacuum. Instead of dropping extremely small objects (legos, hot wheels, dice, crayon tips) on the floor that I can't pick up with any vacuum in the universe, I'd like a switch that turns my own  boys into rabid little vacuums.

3. I WANT TO SLEEP IN! Remember pre - children when you were able to sleep in until Noon?? I want that back! I'm not greedy,but I just want it for ONE day. One day where I can chill in bed and watch TV and eat chips and relax and not worry about all the things my brats are probably destroying or eating. Mostly eating. Mainly eating bags of marshmallows. What happened to the good ole days where you got to nurse your hangover for the whole day until it was time to go out and drink again?

4. New dishes. I made Angie a list of three things I really wanted for my birthday and this was the first thing on it. I want dishes and glasses that match. I just want things to match. I want to be able to drink out of something that doesn't have a giant picture of spider-man on the side of it.

5. A 5 year supply of red wine. I don't know how I haven't been using this excuse for years already, but its totally anti-aging. I can really see myself becoming addicted though, like botox. Yeah, you read it right. Botox. I'm just vain enough to get addicted to a products like these, so if you see me in an AA meeting, just look the other way. 

6. Dinner with Angie. Steak or Seafood. Somewhere fancy schmancy, quiet, elegant. Just somewhere you're not allowed to bring kids. I want to be able to tell my kids that they are not allowed to go; that it's a grown-up place. So that I'm not lying to them, and don't have to feel like a piece of crappola and be like, "Ha Ha. I get to go out to eat and you get chicken nuggets.. Na Na Na Na Boo Boo."

7. A night out on the town. As parents, we  fall asleep on the couch going through Facebook watching all of our friends get drunk in public. I want to get drunk in public too. I want to sing terrible karaoke, and dance, and pee in an alley. Wait.... too much? Okay, okay. But it would be nice to dress up in one of my girly dresses and find a good local band to rock out to. Like a good cover band of sorts, like one that plays the cool mom music, like Silverchair, and Merle Haggard, and Hole. Not this Britney Spears and Nicki Minaj crap.

8. I want to be the Awesome Super Mom for a day. I want to NOT be a huge billboard that has "public humiliation" written across my forehead when his friends come over. I want him to say to his friends, "Dudes! This is my mom. She is the COOLEST mom on this planet. No, wait. In this UNIVERSE!"  I want his friends to think I'm totally radical too. I think they already do, but I think my kid is trying to get in to their heads. (In case it's not already obvious enough, I'm referring to Paul) At this juncture in our relationship, I am not allowed to stand at the bus stop, or walk him into the school. I get to pull up to the side as he jumps out before I even come to a complete stop. What is with the kids these days? Has it always been this way? Was I like this to my mom or my aunt or their friends? I want to be Super Mom while I sit on the couch and eat whatever goes with chocolate. I want to be Super Mom without having to do anything to earn it.

9. I want the clock to stop for a whole month. Not all day. Just the morning. I want to have time to get the kids dressed, and breakfast eaten, lunch packed, dressed like they didn't just dress themselves (because Mom doesn't have the time or energy to dress them), and get them off to school and preschool. I need to clock to stop mainly for me though. Every time I get my hair done, they show me this super cute, SUPER quick hairstyle. I think, "Awesome! Thank you so much for the hair styling tip! I can totally do this one!!" Until the next morning when it's time to do my hair. "F*** it, I'll try again tomorrow." And it never happens. I want the time and energy to do my hair every morning. I want to paint my nails and spend a little extra time on my self as well. 

10. World Peace. Come on, you can't ask for a  list of birthday gifts without adding this one in. I really do want it though. Maybe sometime I'll write a controversial blog about this topic. Not today though... not today.

If you like these a little bit and want to read more, or if you don't, feel free to comment below. For more quotes, funny things my kids do and say, and funny photos, go like my Facebook page, The Dirt Machines

Monday, March 4, 2013

Why we will never eat at another fancy pancy restaurant until our kids MOVE THE F*** OUT.

On Angie's birthday we went to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. Right?? I could hardly believe it either. We get there and valet and walk into this majestic castle of a place and as we walk to our destination I cant remember stepping on a single crayon or peanut shell or spoon or child throwing a fit in the middle of the walkway. As a matter of fact there wasn't a single kid there! We are offered four different water choices! uh... city water... and a glass of wine. (yeah right like I'm going to pay for water I'm not even going to drink water. We have  no kids!) We were definitely taking advantage of this night of adulthood. The food was fabulous and 500 of  our personal waiters were charming and we had a very quiet expensive dinner. Just the two of us! I still can't believe it. Especially after this fiasco...

Activity free night. Brought to you by schools that shove sports, PTO meetings, Fundraisers and homework down our throats every night of the week and weekend actually wants us to take a day off from it all. Spend quality time with our families, they say. It will be relaxing, they say. Take your kiddos to a restaurant that leaves giant buckets of loose peanuts on the table and serves unlimited amounts of bread, they say. All right. 

As we are being seated at the restaurant, Paul makes a point to touch and contaminate every seat on the way to ours. Both of them fight over who gets to sit by who (when we all know that Paul sits next to me and Alex sits next to Angie) Its always been this way but its like your side of the bed. You know which is your side of the bed. It always has been , but every once in awhile you try out the other side... just in case. Anyway.. once Paul realizes he is once again going to choose to sit next to me, he notices the bread and butter in the middle of the table. There goes any chance of getting them to eat the meal the cooks in the back just slaved over for these rotten mongrels. ( I feel like I have to keep reiterating how much I LOVE LOVE LOVE my snot rockets) They drive me absolutely bat sh*t crazy at least once a day. For a split second at the restaurant Angie and I actually thought about hiding around the corner when the kids came out of the restroom just to see how they'd react if they thought we had left them. Just for fun. Our fun. To watch them run around in sheer panic. Just for a minute. Now I'm wishing I could go back and bring our childish thoughts to life.

I got WAY off subject. Now just because there is music playing in the background of the restaurant and they serve peanuts, do my grubby little dirt machines think they have to speak 746 octaves higher to be heard. Holy Crappola! We can hear you and so can Jesus. And of course, after all the peanuts, bread and helping themselves to our food, they are so full after one bite of what looks to be a hot dog, and one bite of a MINI cheeseburger. Wanna guess how we end our night? You guessed it. Two kids come home covered in butter and peanuts and complain about being hungry 38 seconds after they walk through the front door.

And since I'm not allowed to wear my fat pants in public, I'm sitting here writing this in the only jeans that fit (until I eat), unbuttoned. You're welcome. But now it's time for me to get into my fat pants, sit on the couch and listen to my 4 year old come down stairs once every 2.4 seconds to ask for a drink, and to pee, and to eat, and to tell us that his finger hurts, and that his two week old scab is bleeding, and that we have the TV up too loud, and that hes scared, and that hes hot, and that hes cold until he cries himself to sleep.

If you like these a little bit and want to read more, or if you don't, feel free to comment below. For more quotes, funny things my kids do and say and funny photos, go like my Facebook page, The Dirt Machines

Friday, February 22, 2013

Dear Karma, Bring lube next time?

Dear Karma,
I can't wait for the day that I get to rip you a new one! Here I am doing laundry in the middle of the night, because I didn't heed your warning. Are you getting jealous of Murphy because he gets a law? Were you just getting lonely? Did you feel like I was avoided you like The Plague? I was. The more I see you, the harder you are getting to swallow.(no pun intended) I do remember the first warning for this visit. This morning when Paul came down stairs saying he didn't feel well. I told him, "NICE TRY. You don't have school today. Snow Day" Which he responded with, "WHAT?? You mean to tell me that we don't even have school and we had to go to bed at normal bedtime hours??" And on with the day we went. The little rugrats were CRAZY today. They both scarfed down chili and drank hot chocolate after playing in the blizzard for an hour, ran around like screaming banchees, etc. etc. etc. Just another normal day (except I really wouldn't know because I hide out at work all day)... UNTIL BEDTIME.... when I got my second warning. He said he didn't feel well. AGAIN. I said, "Don't even try it. You have been playing just fine all day long. Good Night." Nope. Not good night. (Karma, you sniveling, hormonal cunt)
Paul comes into the bedroom and we say, no way Jose, go back up to your room.
"I can't. I just threw up all over my bed."
"Okay, go lay down on the couch."
"I can't. I threw up all over the couch too."
"Okay, go try the deck."
FUUUCCCKKKKK! Now I'm up at midnight disinfecting the bed, the couch, the kid and myself with organic spray that is really just vinegar and lavender oil. (It really is organic, but I really just SAID it to get in with the cool eco - friendly moms)
Now let me tell you how appetizing macaroni and cheese mixed with cherry juice looks at zero dark thirty in the AM. GAAAAGHHHH!!! So, Karma, enough with the subtle signals and "warnings". I would rather my kid just hurl all over my robe, at least then I'm scraping and washing ONE piece of clothing. (I can wash it with all the other miscellaneous pieces that can't be washed with anything else), because being up at midnight washing TWO LOADS of laundry is not so cool. I apologize for bragging about my kids rock hard immune system, but next time could you give me a different kind of warning? Aunt Flo has a good one. She always drops me a little PMS and some chocolate overload before she visits. Maybe a terrifying mirrored message like REDRUM. That would get the point across. Also next time you've got me bent over grabbing my own ankles, make it count; as the clingyness is getting annoying and I would love to end this relationship soon.

P.S. Was it me? I drunk dialed you, didn't I?

I bet the pleasure was ALL yours...BITCH

 If you liked this or not, please "Like" and "Share" my Facebook page, Dirt Machines. Maybe someone out there can relate to some of this shit.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

HOLY MOSTACCOLI! Let me give you 5 reasons I will NOT be a stay at home mom!

I wont justify the title by saying how much I love my boys with every cubic millimeter of my soul, but HOLY SHITBALLS I could never be a stay at home mommy! Here is why.

1. "Mommy, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, MOM, MOMMA, MOMMA, MOMMY, Momma, Momma, Mommy , Mommy, MOM, MOM, Mom."
Control yourself... "Yes, pumpkin?"
"Can you get me some milk? Oh, Mom, MOM, Mommy, Mommy, MOMMA, MOMMA, Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"
"Oh, xanax, Yeah?"
"Can you get me a straw?"
Now my part, "Oh Self Control!... Control, Control, Control, CONTROL, CONTROL!!"
Self Control - "Jesus, WHAT??"
"Where.. Where are you? I cant do this alone!"
"Hey, Mom, Momma, Momma, Momma, Momma, Momma, Momma"
"For the love of god! What what what what what can I DO for YOU???"
"I don't like beans."

I am using every ounce of self control to NOT accidentally put wine into my coffee mug instead of coffee.

2.  By 9 O'Clock this morning toys have fallen on my head from the loft, one kid did a nose plant from the couch, one is "sledding" through the house in a box, the cats have decided that the freezing rain and snow has GOT to be better than whats going on inside the house, (BTW, the cats have never even been outside), one has found batteries to something that came out of something in the bedroom (cough cough), Momma Giraffe looks like she has been "rode hard and put away wet", which brings me to my next point.

3. I'm talking to a (half) stuffed giraffe. The worst part? I CAN RELATE to the way she feels, and the way she looks. "I understand, and were not even 1/4 of the way through the day. We'll tackle this together."

4. The bathroom situation: They have their own bathroom. Oh, but they peed on their seat, so they have to use mine. Can you guess what happens next? Of course they pee on it and walk out without wiping the seat, or flushing. Oh, they did wipe their tush though... with one square.

5. I am watching the last icarly episode ever. I am REALLY in to it too. My eyes are glued to the TV, and even though I should be paying attention to the kids and answering them, this is what's happening instead.
"Ssshh! Carly's dad just walked in! Hes taking her to the dance!"

Bonus: I have yet to shower.

 If you liked this or not, please "Like" and "Share" my Facebook page, Dirt Machines. Maybe someone out there can relate to some of this shit.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

An introduction from a real mom and her dirt machines.

Well, here goes. I'm writing my first blog (or Journal) ever. By no means am I a writer, or a comedian. I actually just own a small insurance agency. Well, once I tried an Improv class, but as I was waiting at a bar for it to begin, a couple martinis and a couple good songs later I didn't make it there.
My name is Rebecca. I have two boys (dirt machines). One is 7 years old, (Paul) and the other 4 years, (Alex). I also have a partner, (Angie), yes the domestic kind. Did I ever think that I'd be sitting here writing a mom blog? NO! Did I ever think I'd be carting around two little dirt mongrels around to soccer, karate, and swim? NO! Did I ever think that at my young age, I would actually FALL IN LOVE with my minivan? ... NO! NO! NO! And to be serious with you (which won't happen often), would I have it any other way? NO! I love my little snot monsters with everything inside of me. Even when Paul comes to me with serious questions like, "Momma, how did you give birth?" and "Mommy, why is your belly so squishy?". I love being a mommy most when Alex says, "Momma, your legs have a lot of holes in them." (cellulite), or when he tells me that I need to put on more makeup.
Introductions are hard. I would usually start off with a good Laffy Taffy joke. Oh, what the hell. "Why did the orange stop in the middle of the road?" "Because it ran out of juice!".  Pretty lame, right? I didn't used to be. I used to be a real HOOT to be around.
Let me tell you the REAL reason I've started writing. It relieves ALOT of stress, and because I obviously have the cutest family in the universe and everyone needs to know. I'm THAT mom. The kind I cannot stand.  Instead of introducing myself and my family, (BTW, if anyone knows how to turn on the spellcheck, let this girl know), I'll introduce you to my day. You might have a better understanding of why I'm writing. (or crying out for help)
6:00 AM (5:00 AM, if I decide to workout, so let's just call it 6 AM)
7:00 AM. SHIT! Mom slept in.
Yelling from the bottom of the stairs, "BOYS, WAKE UP! MOM SLEPT IN! YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!
A minute and a half later, "I NEED TO HEAR MOVEMENT! PAUL! CLOTHES! NOW!"
Paul - "I hate school! I have nothing to wear! You need to buy me clothes! These jeans suck! I hate long sleeved shirts! I'm sick!" (All in one breath, mind you)
Alex - "Im hungry!"
Someone manages to spill an entire gallon of milk all over the dining room floor, and uses a paper towel (or the cat) to clean it up. I ignore that this happened, and hope that Angie notices when she gets home.
10 minutes before the bus arrives, Paul - "I'm starving!"
At this point  it's time to head out to the Alex's daycare and then to work.

(We pick our battles when it comes to fashion in our household)
8:45 I show up to work and work (boring) until about 5:00 PM and come home to this:
Paul - "Momma, Allison keeps running away from me when I try to ask her out, so I'm in love with Teresa now. I need new shoes"
Alex - "Momma, I'm hungry!"
Angie - Hides under the kitchen table with a glass of wine for her and one for me.
We start the evening. (I don't have time to tell you about homework, dinner, all the neighbor children that show up, bath time, or bedtime. I'll leave that to your imagination)
If you were able to actually sit through this, I'd like to thank  you and apologize at the same time. Maybe you'll learn to like me. Maybe you won't. Either way, share me with your friends, just in case there might be one more Momma out there that understands me and my dirt machines.
-Rebecca and the Dirt Machines.

My children gave me IBS and a nervous disorder.

Let me explain-
The pregnancy: Im sure all you moms out there can relate. Am I the only one out there afraid to pee, cough too hard, laugh too hard, or sneeze in fear that I could harm my pride and joy? How about those Lifetime movies? The opening credits bring you not only to tears, but a sobbing mess of emotions. They scare the PISS out of you. But actually, at a certain point in your pregnancy, EVERYTHING makes you pee a little; coughing, sneezing, laughing, farting. Am I accurate in this? Anyway, a movie about someone kidnapping your baby from the hospital and raising him as their own. I had nightmares about this happening. I still do as a matter of fact, and my boys are way past being kidnapped from the birthing floor. One last thing on the subject, is how big you get. I was a house.. no seriously, a house. More like a mansion overlooking an ocean. (because everything made me pee)

Here's a picture of me only 7 months pregnant with Paul. I gained 74 pounds with this one, and 72 with the other. I was a MANSION. I thought he was going to kick his foot right through my belly button at times.
The birth: You think laughing too hard or sneezing will accidentally harm your blessing? HOLY CANOLI, how am I going to push this 9 lb human being through my BODY without harming him?? Thats how it works though. Alot of drugs (because I wasn't going to be naive and kid myself) and alot of pushing and praying and looking over your doctors credentials one last time is how it happens.
Here's where the real nervous disorder comes into play though. After the sleeping, eating and pooping, they start MOVING! They roll over, and crawl, climb and walk. Then they walk into things. They fall off of the furniture it took them 15 minutes to climb onto. It doesn't matter how many times they fall and get hurt, and get bumps and bruises, it's always like the first time! They start to scream and you panic. But just as you reach for the phone to dial 911, they just stop. They repeat this process over and over again. You repeat your process over and over again. I could write a novel about all the bumps and bruises and scrapes and goose eggs, but I'll tell you about my UNLUCKY shirt instead.
A few months ago (wearing my unlucky shirt), I come home to find out that my 7 year old fell off of his scooter and dislocated his elbow. Of course it took a xanax and a glass of wine before anyone will tell me that he's on his way to the hospital. We beat the ambulance there, BTW. (I did not drive) After the normal questions that the doctors ask you in the ER (did you push him down the stairs, twist his arm off, duct tape him to a wall and beat him) you know, those questions, we found that he's double jointed in both elbows. Maybe this is a little drastic, but for while I couldn't take my eyes off of his limbs or let him walk around by himself. 

Last week (wearing my unlucky shirt) my 4 year old runs into the corner of his dresser and gashes his head open. Of course I wasn't told about this one either. (until I arrived home and saw blood ALL OVER his clothes) I panic! And I don't take my eyes off of his skull or let him walk or sleep by himself for a while.
You know what the best part is?? There is only MORE to come! And then girlfriends or boyfriends. Maybe a pregnancy scare or two. I literally cannot wait for them to have children of their own. Holy Crap! I sound like MY parent.
I wish I could stay and chat all day, but my kids are moving around and Lifetime is on my TV.
If you like these a little bit and want to read more, or if you don't, feel free to comment below. For more quotes, funny things my kids do and photos, go like my Facebook page, The Dirt Machines

Is the bush greener on the other side?

Interesting title?

I was reading a blog by my favorite mom blogger, Baby Sideburns, and it really got me thinking.

The blog was about how she wished she liked vajayjays. She made alot of valid assumptions, like how your cycles eventually sync up together and how if you find one close enough to your size you can share one AMAZING closet, how you can keep the thermostat on 78 degrees, and how you dont have to worry about falling into the toilet because some A-Hole left the seat up.

Well, Karen, as much as I love you and secretly wished you really DID like the hooha, I'm going to have to burst your bubble on this just a LITTLE bit.

Every day I wake up next to the most beautiful creature on this planet. My partner, the only creature on this planet that has the patience and stomach to WANT to deal with my crazy life and my crazy boys and my crazy mother and on  and on and on and on. But anyone out there that thinks that being in a lesbian relationship and sharing clothes and makeup and purses and being best friends has got it ALL wrong! We are pretty much married. We live together, raise our kids together, never shower together anymore and fight over dishes and cooking, taking the kids to karate, swim and soccer, and the CALENDAR. She half listens to me, says okay, and then says later on, "You never told me that." I wont make myself out to be the saint in the situation. I do the same thing to her. We have one boy running around the house half naked trying to show guests how big his penis gets in the shower, and another one running around dressed like the blue transformer shining a flashlight into your eyes in exchange for a sugary snack. Literally the only time we have to communicate before 9 pm is through text (which we should take advantage of more often due to our often miscommunication). If you  haven't read my introduction yet, it will give you more details on how our days work at the house, and how were pretty much the same as any married straight couple with children.

Next, The CLOSET. This is always a fight. Yes, she gives me 3/4 of the closet, plus the walk in in the guest room / office / storage facility / second playroom / adult hiding spot (because faking IBS doesn't work in my house, because my kids have figured out how to MacGyver their way in to the bathroom), but that's not enough for me. I like her clothes too, but I'm not allowed to wear them. HELL NOOO! If she so much as finds one of her polos on my side of the closet, smoke will almost literally come out of her ears. Anyway, we have SUCH different styles. She likes to be comfortable and wear jeans and t shirts, polos or button downs. I, however, have a full row of dresses. And another row for skirts. And another row for gaudy, floral, lacy tops.

The SYNC - UP! No bueno there! For a while we did sync up, and we thought, "YES! Only one "down" (probably not the best adjective for this discussion) week instead of two!" That's when we were still new, and made time to "bump fur". (that sounded really crass. Ill leave it) Now when we sync up, we both become fierce, raging lunatics. And we don't DARE invite anyone over that is cycling the same time we are. We simply let her know that we are at capacity and to stop by next week. Well have a vodka playdate or something. Now this happens about a week before we start. Angie gives me a certain look when I walk through the door and I think, "Oh good, Ill be starting soon." We stock up on tampons, chocolate, boxes of wine and get ready for the Apocalypse to arrive. We do, however, cuddle up to an entire DVR full of Lifetime movies. (And cry through every opening and closing credit) We cry ALOT as parents, BTW.

And my last two very small points that Ill share really quickly. I don't get to leave the thermostat on 78 degrees. I WISH I could, but she ALWAYS comes behind me, turns it way down and then nags at me about living in an actual oven (Ive thought about sticking her in the oven once or twice). And the toilet seat being left up? I have two (semi) potty trained boys. I say potty trained because it doesn't matter how much older they get, they always have to experiment on how many different ways they can pee, and whats the most efficient way to do it. HOLDING IT! That's how. Not only do we fall into a pee soaked toilet bowl, but we have to smell the walls every morning too. Whatever you do, do not distract a boy that is peeing first thing in the morning.

We do have alot of fun, though. I like to think of her as my soulmate.... and she is my soulmate... the only person on Gods green earth that is capable of my..uh.. lets say personality.

For me the bush is much greener (in a good way?) on the lesbian side, maybe its greener on the OTHER side for some of you, though, and thats okay.

Whether you have a penis or a YaYa, or you're a man with a YaYa, or a woman with a penis, we don't get to pick who we fall in love with. It just happens. When you least expect it to. Trust me.

If you liked this or not, please "Like" and "Share" my Facebook page, Dirt Machines. Maybe someone out there can relate to some of this shit.