“It’ll never happen to my kids”.

I can honestly say that to my best knowledge, I’ve never known anyone who has done heroin. Continue reading →

I swear to God they drive me Goddamned fucking crazy sometimes all the time. FUUUUHHHUUUCK!!!! FUCK. FUUUUUCK. Oh boy.

Note: I’m trying really hard to “temper” my temper as I write this piece. You’ll see what a good job I’m doing as I’ve left my initial thoughts in.

What is it about afternoon naps that are so terrible, you little shits? The Dublets are now at the age and stage where they don’t feel that they need to nap and increasingly, 2 or 3 times a week, they protest. #1 tried this shit before and lost the battle (See Nap!) and now it seems they’ve ganged up on me and are giving it another whirl. Well tough shit too bad small people, you need a fucking NAP! The whole reason you are bursting into tears every five seconds when the slightest thing doesn’t go your way is that YOU ARE TIRED! You even tell me you are tired with all the snot and spit stringing from your nose and mouth, tears pouring down your bright red little face. What’s the problem? (see I’m NOT Tired for more on this topic).

I get so pissed off when I have wrestled them into bed for their afternoon “quiet time” and they fuck around the entire time. I really, really need to use my “quiet time” to finish my work for the day and when they don’t sleep, it all gets fucked up. Yes. It’s about me.

And few things boil my blood as much as trying to jam a large amount of work into a very small amount of time and having two annoying children distracting me. My fingers are flying over the keyboard, my brain is on fire, I am focused, I have no distractions. Apart from the TWO FUCKHEADS WHO ARE JACKING AROUND RIGHT ABOVE ME.

And by the way, no wonder you hate nap time so much, you spend the entire time yelling out “Muuuuuuum, is it time to get up yet?” Then you’ll inevitably topple something off your bookshelf, pull your clothes out of your drawers, wreck the blinds or crap on the floor. All you need to do is lie there, quietly, until I tell you to get up. Simple.

And we’re not talking about hours and hours here, just one hour is all I ask for. One.

You don’t even have to sleep! I don’t care what the fuck you do in there, just stay in there and shut the fuck up have some down time so I can have some down time. And without fail, after a full hour of bullshit, you’ll fall asleep. Just about five minutes before we have to be somewhere. Fuck it. We’re not going.

Jesus.

P.S. Of course, when I started writing this, all hell was breaking loose up there. Now, silence. OK, on I go.

All of my working career, I’ve lived in fear of being fired. Stemming from built in childhood fears of what losing an income would mean to the well being of my family, I’ve at times, been paralyzed by this irrational fear.

When I say fear, I mean “wake up in the middle of every night in a cold sweat” type of fear. One that doesn’t ever go away, fear. One that eats up my confidence, fear. One that drives my performance to the highest levels and even though always successful and a producer, I can’t shake, fear. Let’s just say it’s always been on my mind.

Well, how’s this for irony? Now, I have a job that is impossible to get fired from. I’m a mother. I get to keep this job….forever.

Some days, I’m begging to be fired.

But, I’d undoubtedly want to be re-hired again within the week.

Masochist.

So here’s what lies ahead for me this coming week.

Dub leaves tomorrow morning (Sunday)and returns late Friday night. Approximately 120hrs. Of me. Alone. With my kids. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I’m not all that excited. But I get it.  Dude has a job to do. Job makes our money. Go do job. It’s how it is.

To celebrate Mother’s Day early, we went out for breakfast for the first time, I think ever, with our kids this morning. We haven’t done it before as it has always been easier to chill at home on the weekend mornings. PJ’s till 10am, graze through breakfast, kids and cartoons, me and Dub with the weekend news program and our social media. We catch up on the week and relax.

Honestly, we always thought it would be a giant PITA (Pain In The Ass) to take them out for breakfast but last night I thought, you know what, I’d like someone to cook me breakfast tomorrow morning. So we went. At 7am. Which was about an hour after they woke up and it was a giant PITA. I’m in no hurry to ever do it again. But I did eat pancakes for the first time in over a year. That was yummo. Pure carbs and sugar. Perfect.  We were home by 8am.

So, next on the agenda I am spending the entire day by myself, doing whatever I want. Alone-alone.

Dub doesn’t seem all that jazzed, and to be honest, I don’t blame him. It’s brutal spending the entire day with these two fucktards. They fight, make a huge mess, demand attention and service, rarely give you a moment’s peace and are RELENTLESS in their quest for activities. There is usually poop or bloodshed and all the while you are cleaning and doing laundry making food and picking up the house. It’s hard spending an entire day with them. Which is why I don’t want to. I just want one day alone.

So today is my Mother’s day and I’m about to go have a shower and get dressed. Then, I’m going to go shopping, have sushi for lunch, lie on the beach, read a book, paint my nails, talk on the phone and listen to music. I plan on not wearing my watch and being on no particular schedule at all. I’ll return home to find an enormous mess, a cranky husband and two over tired children. Then I’ll make dinner, clean up, get kids to bed. You know the drill. But that’s OK.

I. Can’t. Wait.

And tomorrow begins my 120 hrs. Wish me luck.

414 days.

I have spent the last 414 days and nights with my kids. Dub has traveled for work during that time, but me, I’ve spent every single night with them. Well, apart from one when we went to a wedding back in Michigan last summer and they spent the night with my parents. So, 413 days. No wonder I drink. Jesus.

Dub and I had the opportunity to spend the night in La Jolla at a wonderful resort this past Saturday. Our friend offered to come and stay with our babes and look after them…..so we went. Alone. WAHOOOOOOOO!

Note: this decision was not one I made lightly. I trusted her with the lives of my babies. It was serious. And she is usually who I go and drink wine with after my kids have mentally beaten me during the day and I don’t think I can take one more minute. And she’s seen both of my kids melt down in EPIC proportions…..and Dublet #2 is still only 89% potty trained….and she still offered. How’s that for a friend.

Driving out of our neighborhood, it occurred to me that this was only the second time I’d ever left Dublet #2. Ever. My heart was stretched between total over-excitement at the thought of having 24hrs to ourselves and nervous anxiety at the thought of them being without us (and me without them). I wavered for a minute and then I turned to Dub and said “STEP ON IT, BABE!” and we peeled out toward the coast.

Our goal for the weekend. See how high we can get that bar tab and how late we can sleep in. Both missions fully accomplished after spending the entire afternoon and evening at one of the resort’s lovely outdoor restaurants, initially enjoying the Southern California afternoon sun and then sitting in the lounge chairs by the open fireplace as the stars came out.

We sat there, by the fire for hours. Chatting with various nice people, being friendly to harried looking parents with small kids the same ages as ours as they tore around the place, trying to stop little hands from grabbing drinks and flaming logs. We met a couple who were together again for the first time in a month. He’d just returned from his third (and shortest) deployment. They had five kids at home. They got it. We quietly picked up their tab as we left. God bless them on so many levels.

We observed, eavesdropped and people watched for a bit, but mostly we just talked. To each other. Uninterrupted. For hours. And we had lots of things to talk about! I’ve heard of couples going out to dinner and talking about the kids all night, and sure, we talked about our kids a bit, but not much. We talked and laughed and enjoyed spending time together, like we did before we had kids. I made Dub snort his drink out his nose and he made me laugh until I almost peed my pants.

After dinner, the waiter brought me a lovely warm blanket with my (probably 8th glass of wine) and cleared our plates. It was such a lovely evening. The stars were clear, the breeze was soft, the fire was warm, the overhead strings of clear bulb lights were swaying. Just perfect.

We slept in until 8am. I know that sounds really early to all the people without kids but to us it was a huge sleep in. I spent over an hour on Pinterest (oh the luxury!!) Dub slept more. Then we wrapped up in the plush hotel robes and watched Oceans Eleven while eating a wonderful breakfast in bed. We lounged around, doing absolutely nothing until 11:59am and checked out at the last possible minute.

I didn’t wipe anyone’s bum. I didn’t cut up anyone’s food. I didn’t yell at someone for being naughty. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t wipe crayon off a wall or wipe milk up off the floor. Noone threw punches, pinched or bit anyone and the only one who had a time out was me and Dub. Just me, with my guy. It. Was. Awesome.

And of course, as much as I LOVED my time away……the closer we got to Dana Point…..the more I looked forward to squeezing two sets of pink cheeks and getting sticky kisses from two small people. And boy was it good….and then a fight broke out, a tantrum ensued, a timeout was handed and we got on with our lives.

Cheers.

It’s been pretty cool witnessing my babies learn to communicate over the last four years. From the babble to the first words and now to the fluid conversations, I love being let into their little worlds.

Dublet #1 has been wowing me lately, not only with her lust for learning to read and write but with her amazing grasp of the English language, the thought provoking questions and the observations and my GOD can she talk. And talk. And talkandtalkandtalk. And TALK. She talks so much that we often have to tell her to close her mouth to stop the words coming out. She just has so much to say. To be fair, she comes by it honestly, she’s from a long line of talking women. Certainly doesn’t get it from her Dad.

I remember my Mother commenting to Dub that he didn’t talk very much. It was when we had first started dating and he was probably still deciding if he could cut his losses and run. He looked at her and said “Well it’s because I can’t shoe horn a word in”. That went down in the history books as one of the all time funniest things anyone has ever said to my Mother. I still laugh when I think of it and she still mentions it to this day.

Something #1 inherited from her Gramps (my Dad) is her new found love of telling jokes. She thinks she’s hilarious, much like Gramps and will tell the same joke over and over again and God love her, she’ll crack herself up every single time. Just like Gramps. Bless. Here’s her new favorite:

#1: Knock knock.

Me: Who’s there?

#1: Banana.

Me: Banana who?

#1: Knock knock.

Me: Who’s there?

#1: Banana.

Me: Banana who?

#1: Knock knock.

Me: Who’s there?

#1: Orange.

Me: Orange who?

#1: ORANGE YOU GLAD I DIDN’T SAY BANANA?

Her delight is palpable. She yells out the punch line with absolute glee and cackles to herself. Even did a thigh slap. I love it. She’s always on the lookout for new material. stay tuned. My girl.

On the other hand, #2 is still getting the hang of language, often using the wrong words, ever emphatic, and causing great delight between me and Dub. He calls the blender the “maker”, his tricycle his “bik-a-cle”, his penis his “winker” and is constantly talking about poop. Here’s where he’s at:

Dublet #2: Mummah!

Me: Yes baby boy.

Dublet #2: I poop.

Me: Ummmm. Did you poo in the potty?

#2: Noooooooo

Me: Where is it buddy?

#2: I wide my bik-a-cle.

Me: Where did you poop, dude?

#2: In my ea-ah. HAHAHAHAHAH! (like a crazy person).

Me: Where. Is. The. Poop?

#2: You can fiiiinnnd iiiiit.

Me: Oh Jesus.

He’s either really, really bright, or really, really stupid. TBD.

P.S: The poop was in the toilet. Where it was meant to be. He was just fucking with me. Jerk.

Hi to all the newcomers to Thank God For Wine!

Please enjoy my last year’s worth of motherhood experiences….with wine. On the right side of the home page you’ll see a list in blue with the most recent posts itemized and then older posts are grouped by month. Take the time to peruse, there are some real doozies in there.

You should know, and if not, you’ll find out rather quickly that I swear A LOT in my TGFW blog and don’t sugarcoat. It’s real life. Enjoy.

As always, I love your comments and your LIKEs on Facebook.

Cheers,

Happymarnie

There aren’t many times I feel that I’m vastly under dressed for an occasion. And honestly, I’m usually not. My mother always taught us to dress nicely, even if just dashing to the supermarket. As a result, I’m always put together, pay attention to what I’m wearing, make sure my family is presentable and everyone will be comfortable. Gone are the days of impractical shoes but I have absolute confidence I can look cute in flip flops if necessary. In fact, I’m more likely to feel over dressed, than under dressed. But that’s OK.

Yesterday we went to an event for the Long Beach Grand Prix that Dub was invited to through his work and we found ourselves surrounded by some pretty awesome characters and although technically “under dressed”, they were certainly over dressed for the occasion.

Now, if you were invited to a Grand Prix party on a 70 degree Sunday afternoon, on the 18th floor of a ritzy Long Beach office building overlooking the down town race track, that had a well organized “Kid’s Activity Play Room” and was called a “Family” event…..what would you wear?

Dub family: Kids had nice, tidy outfits on (#1 a sleeveless tunic tee and butterfly leggings and sandals. #2 long denim shorts, collared tee and the cutest Adidas zippy jacket and his ever present brown Puma’s) not formal, not scrubby, just practical and cute. Dub had a nice polo shirt, khaki shorts and his white Puma’s. I wore a long maxi skirt and a black racer back tank. We all looked nice and Sunday California Cool…..

Granted, most of the other party-goers were dressed similarly. There were a lot of people who bought their kids or parent’s and it looked like we all could have been at a nice family picnic…..until the sluts showed up. And then the party was overtaken by 20-something-year-old women with big fake boobs, Botox faces, fake tans, flowing long hair extensions, rubber injected lips and skin tight dresses. Their shoes made me hurt just looking at them. One of them was wearing a skin tight black and white vertical striped UNITARD. With a belt. The others had variations of either wide elastic or zippy leather dresses, just barely longer than their vagina’s. And platform pumps. All of them had black or nude patent leather platform pumps.

I’ve often walked past Cache in the mall and wondered who on earth buys those clothes? I now know. And I also know they don’t need a fancy cocktail party to wear it to….

They moved in a pack. They uttered words like “li-eeek” and “raa-iiight?” and “yaaa”.

They swarmed the young male executives like twenties were falling out of their pockets. And then we watched the painful conversation attempts.

“Err Maa Gaaahd, this place is, li-eeek, saa aaaasum! What do you do?”

They didn’t eat.

Dub didn’t know where to look.

#2 could see straight up their skirts just by looking up.

In the bathroom #1, eyes wide, announces in a loud stage whisper….”MUM. HER DRESS IS SO SHORT I CAN SEE HER UNDERPANTS”!!!!! Which was totally inappropriate on #1′s part. The young lady, clearly, was not wearing underpants.

It occurred to me that times have changed.

Perhaps the outfits and venues were different for me in my twenties, but now, instead of being the young girl primping in front of the mirror with her friends, I was someone else.

I was the mother in the handicapped stall with her 4yr old daughter saying “come on sweetie, you can do it. No, don’t hold on to the toilet seat, yuck. OK, pee pee please. it’s OK. Come on. Come ON. Good girl.”

I like it better.

We drove back to Dana Point, giggling the whole way. I wonder if they felt over dressed……

I have a theory based on my observations of the last three months of pee wee ballet class. It’s definitely not  “P.C” nor is it based on any concrete scientific research.

Short, bendy little girls who can do the splits and cartwheels with ease will grow up to be cheer leaders, belong to sororities, have moderate intellect and marry into money in their early twenties.

Tall, non-bendy little girls who can’t touch their toes to save their lives and are forever skittering around the dance floor, slightly off the beat like newborn giraffes will be lawyers and doctors.

And there you have it.

I used to be very busy.

I used to earn a lot of money.

I used to think my job was very important.

I used to have different priorities. Continue reading →

That is IT!

I’m never vacuuming again.

While I was chasing dog hair around in the family room this afternoon my children lost their minds. It seems that because he hadn’t put me through quite enough trauma in the last week (or infact in the last 33mths), he pulled this shit. He single handedly opened the heavy window in our second story bedroom and pushed the giant screen out….onto my car. Continue reading →

Well fuck.

Spring break.

Runny nose. Cough…..

Cough, cough, cough….gasp…..

Gasp….cough…gasp… Continue reading →

I’m not going.

I’m un-American I’m told, I know, but it just sounds terrible.

We live down the road and I don’t care.

What is this fascination with Disney in this country, hell, not only this country, in the world. I have met real, live grownups who have Mickey Mouse ROOMS in their house. There is a house next door to my friend’s, with a stained glass window in the front of….you guessed it….Mickey Mouse. Mickey Mouse is one of the most popular TATTOO’s to get. Now that’s commitment! What. The. Fuck? Continue reading →

Yep. Big boy “unner-pants” is what’s up in our house. Dublet #2 is now potty trained. Pretty amazing, actually, especially after our disastrous first attempts (See Quitter and Underpants for our efforts to date). Continue reading →

There are times I read something that is so much like something I would write, I have to stop and think, “Wait, did I write that??”

This piece by Amber Dusick sounds so much like me, I’m frightened. Enjoy!

Parenting: I quit

I detest talking on the phone. If you get a phone call from me and you aren’t my mother, sister or one of my two best friends, be assured the house is on fire, someone is dead or I need to make an appointment with you.  Continue reading →

I often think if I had to bullet point my day, people would look at me like a crazy person. Tell me if I’m wrong. Continue reading →