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?
Sincerely,
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.
Friday, February 22, 2013
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.
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!"
Me - "GET ON THAT BUS! I LOVE YOU!"
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 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!"
Me - "GET ON THAT BUS! I LOVE YOU!"
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
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.
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.
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