Ass Biting -- It's Not Funny! OK, It is...

The quickest way for a mother to get her kids' attention is to sit down and look comfortable. It seems that every time I sit down to relax, they have an issue...
"Mommy, I'm thirsty", "Mommy, I want a snack", "Mommy, I have to go potty", "Mommy, my brother bit my butt!".
WHAT?!? Did he just say his brother bit his butt?!? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!! LMFAO. Oh wait, that's not funny.... YES IT IS!!!

Now W1 is sobbing and distraught because he is in terrible ass-pain and his mommy is laughing at him. *stop laughing, stop laughing*
Trying to compose myself I manage to have this conversation with my oldest son:

"What's wrong baby?" *snicker snicker*
"Brother *sob* bit me *sob* on the butt!"
BWAHAHAHA!
*hysterical child* "STOP LAUGHING!"
*OK, it's not funny..stop laughing*
"Mommy, why are you laughing at me?"
*stop laughing, stop laughing* "I'm not laughing at YOU, Baby" *giggle*
"Mommy, you're SO MEAN! Stop laughing!" *runs away crying*
"Come back here, Baby, let me see your boo-boo".

I unveil his bum and *Holy Crap* his brother bit him HARD! The little vampire child almost broke his brother's skin! Poor baby. He is really hurt and I'm laughing at him. *worst mother of the year award right here* So, to make myself feel better, I put the vampire child in time-out for biting and post this on my facebook:

W1 just ran up to me crying, "Mommy! Mommy! Brother bit my butt!". Then he got pissed at me for laughing. I feel kind of bad now because I looked at his butt and his brother bit him HARD! It almost broke the skin. I hope I never have to explain why he has a bruise in the shape of teeth marks on his butt. SMH.

W1 is feeling better now that he got some sympathy from mommy and returns to his room to play. Now the big question is: why did W2 bite his brother's butt??? And, was I totally mean for laughing?


© 2010 CJH

BC is my new BFF

For someone who never intended on having kids, I am truly blessed to have spawned three beautiful boys. There are many reasons why I have decided to stop reproducing, but today *reason #421* probably takes the cake.
As a mommy of boys *AKA demon spawn*, I am somewhat accustomed to *adapted to existing condition; being in the habit or custom* being assaulted pretty much on a daily basis *hourly*. Today's assault sent me over the edge of "maybe I'll have one more" to "F@ck No! I'm never having kids again"!
Let me elaborate... Driving home from picking up W1 and his carpool buddy from school *against my better judgment* I decided that the nice thing to do as a carpool mom would be to swing through the Mickey D's drive-thru and treat the boys to lunch.
I should have known better than to hand food over to four boys in a moving vehicle, but I wanted W1's carpool buddy to be able to eat his 59 cent cheeseburger before we got home.
As I pull up to the drive-thru, I ask each boy what he would like, a hamburger or cheeseburger. They all agreed on cheeseburgers, so cheeseburgers it was.
After picking up the order, I hand cheeseburgers to each boy. W1 and his buddy are content and eat their cheeseburgers in a polite and clean way. W2 and W3 are not as content, but still unwrap their burgers and start to nibble away.
I am halfway home thinking that I just may make it home in peace when it happens... I hear an ear piercing shriek come from W2 along with a sobbing, "I don't want a cheeseburger, I want a haaaaambuuuurger!" Of course I respond with the "You chose a cheeseburger, it's cheeseburger or nothing." At this point, W3 *the baby*decides that he doesn't like pickles and *SPLAT* a pickle get tossed to the front of the vehicle. Ummmm....NO! Throwing is NOT okay! "Don't throw!" I tell the baby. He responds with a giggle and some food spitting. *gag* At this moment I decide that ignoring the behavior is the best way not to encourage anymore food throwing or spitting from the baby. *Oh man, I was wrong* I'm racking the improv parenting manual in my brain for how to deal with the cheeseburger/hamburger issue with W2. I decide on good ol' reverse psychology which *surprisingly* works with W2. *sucker* "No, you can't have that cheeseburger." I fib. "But I want it!" responds W2. Yes! It worked. Again. *I wonder how long I can play this game* I think I have won this battle.
Victoriously I whip the truck into the driveway, when *SMACK!* I get hit in the face with a cheeseburger! What! Oh F@ck no! That brat child did not just throw his cheeseburger at my head! I am pissed. *Stay calm. Stay calm.* I turn to address the inappropriate behavior when *SMACK!* I get hit in the face by yet another cheeseburger! Apparently the baby thought that it would be funny to throw his too. "That is not OK!" I yell with ketchup and minced onions dripping off my face. I am so pissed at this moment that I do not know whether to laugh or cry. I evacuate the vehicle of all children and proceed to send my hubby this text message:

"I'M F'N PISSED! I JUST GOT HIT IN THE FACE BY 2 CHEESEBURGERS. WHAT A WASTE. I AM NEVER BUYING THESE LITTLE ASSHOLES MCDONALDS AGAIN!"


As if getting hit in the face with cheeseburgers wasn't bad enough, the added insult to injury is that I have to clean up melted cheese, mustard, ketchup and minced onions from all over the inside of my vehicle. *UGH*

Here are a few more reasons *just today* that Birth Control is my new BFF:
* Boys do not come with a snooze button.
* Locking your bathroom door does not ensure that the door will not be opened.
* Realizing that I need a plunger in all the bathrooms so I don't have to search for one during potty emergencies.
* Fruit Loops ALL OVER the floor.
* My three-year old biting my five-year old on the butt *blog post to follow*
* Broken changing table.
* A bottle of water being poured into the top of a floor lamp = nearly electrocuted children
* Nap-time negotiations
* Realizing that all this happened and the day is only half-over *FML*

My kids are the reason I wake up each morning, the reason I breathe, and the reason my hair is graying, my house is a mess, and that I'm crazy.


© 2010 CJH

There's Quitos In My Butt

Just read the most hilarious text message from the hubs:


W2 said There are 'quitos' in his butt.
I said, "W2, there are no quitos in your butt."
W2 said, "Yes there are...I can bear them."
But he claims that chocolate milk will get rid of the quitos...
Kids???!!!???

*quitos = mosquitoes
*bear = hear

We need some chocolate milk! STAT!

© 2010 CJH

Herding Cats

Wanted: A Ring Master to help direct my traveling circus of munchkin spawn AKA my three boys. I swear it would be easier to herd cats than get them anywhere in a timely fashion. Trying to get three boys up, fed, dressed with shoes and socks on and out the door is about as easy as nailing jello to a tree!

© 2010 CJH

Flaming Poop Cake

It was a Friday night. I had just gotten off work. The hubby was returning from a week long business trip. What to do? What to do? Me and V decided to throw an impromptu birthday party for the hubs. It started off fine, but when you mix fresh organic veggies and artificially flavored margaritas you end up with a little bit of crazy...and so, the flaming shit cake was born. You know, cuz nothing says "I love you" like flaming poo.
© 2010 CJH

Confirm The Kill, Dammit!

I am not afraid of many things *except deep water* so I find it quite interesting *and hilarious* when I am caught off guard by a fear I never knew I had. I am not afraid of spiders *just incredibly annoyed by them* and I have never really had a problem with bees... but WASPS! Apparently I am terrified of them. I was never afraid of wasps when I had my occasional encounter with them buzzing around outside. It's when they are INSIDE that I totally FREAK OUT. So here is how the "wasp freak out incident" went down:

I am sitting on the couch watching the idiot box with my awesome friend V.
I notice movement out of the corner of my eye and say...

ME: V, What the EFF is THAT!?!
V: That is a wasp! *V runs screaming into my bathroom and locks herself in*
ME: KILL IT! How do we kill it? We have to get it out of here!!!
V: I'm deathly allergic to wasps! I'm not coming out until it's DEAD!
ME: Woman! How do I KILL IT!?!
V: Oh Jeez, you wuss, I'LL kill it...and I could DIE from it!
ME: Good, kill it then!
V: Aren't you a bad-ass Marine or something? Why are you afraid of a little wasp? *FYI: It was not little, it was freakishly HUGE!*
ME: I've never been afraid of wasps before...I don't know... *Me shaking in my boots scared of the stupid wasp*
V: Oh Shit...it crawling up into the valance. *V removes gets her flip flop and smacks the wasp*
ME: Oh shit oh shit! You're just pissing it off!

At this point I am so terrified that I am coming up with the most idiotic ways to kill the stupid wasp...it must die, or it will revenge sting us in the middle of the night for pissing it off...

Kill Attempt 1: Flip Flop Smooshing = FAIL
Kill Attempt 2: Spraying it with Pine-Sol *we didn't have any RAID* = FAIL
Kill Attempt 3: The Good Ol' Fly Swatter = FAIL

Pretty much all we did was piss this thing off even more. It was an Arnold Schwarzenegger wasp! This effin thing was limping around with a broken wing and jacked up toes saying "I'll be back" with his buggy eyes.

This is the point where I realize that our resistance is futile, and I must call in some back-up.
Who cares if it is 11 O'Clock at night? I called in the big guns, my neighbor P.
That was an awkward conversation:

ME: P, are you awake?
P: Uuuhhh, yes.
ME: What are you doing right now?
P: Nothin'...just watching some t.v.
ME: I need to ask you a huge favor...
P: Yeah...
ME: OK...there's this huge wasp in my house and I can't get it out and we are trying to kill it and it just won't die and I really need you to come over and kill the wasp. Kill it, P! I need you to kill it or it is going to sting me or one of my boys in the middle of the night! I just know it! We've pissed this thing off pretty bad. You just need to come kill it! PLEASE?!?
P: Uhhh...ok. I'll be over in a minute. *P chuckling at me*

So P comes over armed with his big-ass flip flop. *what's up with using flip flops as bug killers?*
Obviously the flip flop attempt is going to be a big ass fail, so I suggest that P finds another way to kill the thing quick without pissing it off even more.
P rummages through my utility closet and emerges with a step stool, flash light and wooden broom.
He attempts to climb on the step stool ,but it is too short to see the wasp from. I push the coffee table over to the window and P stands on top of it armed with a flash light and witch broom. *P is not a little man, so my coffee table is bending in the middle at his point*
P's got one arm extended in front of him with the flashlight shining on the wasp, and he has the broom sighted in on the enemy *looking like he's a javelin thrower in the Olympics* He thrusts the broom at my window blinds and with a "CRASH" it's done.
He hops off the table and says, "It has to be dead now...it could not have survived that." I'm like, "Confirm the kill, P. I can't sleep until you confirm the kill."
P responds, "it's dead, trust me." I've learned from experience not to trust someone when they say, "it's dead, trust me". Anyway....
P takes a break to use my bathroom, when I see a busted up and pissed off wasp crawling out of my window valance!

ME: P! It's not effing dead! Pinch it off and come kill this thing! It's NOT DEAD! It's NOT DEAD! KILL IT! KILL IT!
P: Alright alright...jeez..
ME: We need a confirmed kill on the wasp, ASAP!

So P kills the stupid thing and proceeds to dump the carcass on my living room floor so I can inspect the remains to ensure it's DEAD.
And, yes, the thing was FINALLY dead.
I was able to rest easy that night knowing that we were safe from any psycho wasp revenge stinging in the middle of the night.

But now I am slightly mortified that I was that scared of a wasp. Who knew?

P.S.
Here is the confirmed kill on the wasp:

© 2010 CJH

My Kids Are Cooler Than Your Kids

It was another one of those days where I looked at my laundry list of chores to be accomplished and felt defeated. It seems to me that no matter how much I clean, I have children following me around hell bent on making it look like I haven't cleaned in weeks! *not cool, I know* But, somehow, my boys always seem to find a way to redeem themselves. And that is why my kids are cooler than your kids.
Let me elaborate... dragging myself out of bed feeling sorry for myself, I hear a ruckus coming from the middle child's room *my boys' names all start with W's, so from now on I will refer to them as W1, W2, and W3* Anyway... there was some awful, but intriguing, noise coming from W2's room. Most of the time it is a frightening experience investigating loud noises from my boys' rooms, but alas I had to check. I open the door and peek in the room and, to my delight, my rockstar kids are putting a full-on rock performance of Iron Maiden's 'Hallowed Be Thy Name' for me in their room. *Bonus points for singing my favorite metal song of all time* W1 is the lead singer *using my hairbrush as a microphone* W2 is on drums *turned over toy buckets with the toys tossed out of them* and W3 is a crazy background dancer *AKA running around in circles* Even though I highly suspect my kids are trying to send me to an early grave most days, I am lucky to have the coolest kids ever *cooler than yours, even*
Feast your eyes on the coolest kids on the block:



© 2010 CJH

You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Post Is About You

Well, *sad for you* it's all about me.


To whom it may concern... I am a hot momma of three boys *kill me now* a wife of a Marine *OOH-RAH* and a member of the Armed Forces myself *the blue side*
After being told for the bazillionth time by my friends and family to write a blog, I am now sitting here in front of my computer horrified because I have nothing of importance to write about.
So, I will just tell you that if my children don't take their naps I am going to lose my effin mind! The oldest is in his room pretending to sleep *good enough for me* the middle child is trashing his room, and the baby is throwing stuff down the stairs. Oh what fun for me. I love being a mom *no really, I do* No matter how much I love my children, I have to admit that I would rather be at work. Seriously. I consider work a vacation from this pit of despair *AKA being a SAHM* I used to feel guilty when working mothers would cry about how much they wish they could stay at home with their kids. Well, I don't. And if I get another pitiful look of disdain after telling someone I would rather work than stay at home, I swear on my hot pink pointy-toed pumps that I will slap a bitch.
Other things about me:
* I'm slightly OCD.
* I call myself a Conservative Hippie *oxymoron, I know*
* I'm a very giving and loving person, but don't piss me off because I go from 0 to Psycho Bitch in 3.9 seconds.
* I like to throw things when I'm mad *see above*
* I love my job.
* I make a camouflage utility uniform look smokin' hot.
* I'm a good dancer, especially Latin dancing.
* I'm a MILF. My husband calls me his MIF. *figure it out on your own*
* I'm a CONTROL FREAK.
* I love shoes! *especially pointy-toed pumps*
* I have a dirty mind and appreciate 'that's what she said' jokes.
* I like lists *ya think?* I live by lists. If it is not on my list, it doesn't exist.

That is all.

© 2010 CJH