We’re diggin’ deep into subscription boxes and how I can’t wrap my head around it! Listen, like and follow via Subscription Boxes Podcast Episode 4 – Hot Mess Memoir
As my son slid gracefully down the basement stair steps, I kinda became envious and wanted to mimic him. Unfortunately, I did not have the same swan-like success. Here are the videos of him vs. me. 🙂 via The 10-Year-Old Vs. the 42-Year-Old – Hot Mess Memoir
If you want a game that tears families apart, play Monopoly. It will make siblings not talk to each other for days and children angry at their parents. Go on, I dare you.
Let me first say, I LOVE Monopoly. I have been playing it since I was probably 12. In addition to my Father owning a restaurant, he was also Real Estate Agent. This made him an automatic lover of Monopoly. Because he worked 70 hours a week, we would really only play it once a year- during our mini vacation to Port Clinton, Ohio. On the 1 night we were guaranteed it would rain, my dad would spread the board out as I fought with my sisters on which piece we would be. I always wanted to be the car. Who wanted to be the stupid candlestick? The candlestick is so stupid. This isn’t CLUE here peoples.
2.5 hours after the game began, I was cashing in every property and white, 1 dollar bill I had to pay my Father the Boardwalk rent I owed. I had clearly copped an attitude and was a little bitch for the remainder of the night.
Fast forward 25 years and I began to play with my oldest. A few years later I taught my youngest. Both caught on easily yet every single time we played ended in a meltdown. I even have the oldest on video crying and screaming.
“But I never LOST! You don’t know what it feels like!” It’s the funniest thing.
Today I had a plan that was fail proof and resulted in more time with my sons and bonding between brothers.
“Boys, I have a proposition for you.” I announced as they slayed another pirate in Assassin’s Creed.
“At 3 I want to play you both as a team. If you guys win, I will buy you Shamrock Shakes. If you loose, you have to clean the junk drawer.”
Both of them were on board in minutes and I thought I had finally found a plan where it wouldn’t result in sending one or both to their rooms.
At first both of them were on fire. They both rolled one dice each and always seemed to get doubles. They were buying up properties left and right. They were making bogus deals with me that I was gun ho about, just so I could loose and they could win.
Then shit hit the fan. For once, things went my way by every stupid roll of the dice. Actually irony kicked in and I guess things didn’t go my way, which was to loose. Every f’ing turn I would skip their 3 properties laden with houses. I would always land on free parking and collect the dough.
In turn, the boys had the opposite luck. They landed on the “income tax” 3 times in a row where you have to pay 10% of their money or $200. They went to jail twice. They landed on my railroads twice in a row then landed on my property where they were to pay me $200 but I lied and said only $100. When I said “don’t worry about paying me,” P became the martyr and wouldn’t hear of it. C began to cry at every roll. They took turns earlier reading the chance and community chest cards. Now they were fighting over who’s turn it was.
I tried to explain to them that what they thought was a bad situation wasn’t bad at all. Despite me having $700, they had 4 houses per property which equated to a combined total of $600. Did I do the math right?
“Can we just quit now and clean the junk drawer?” C asked.
“No! I want you to keep playing!” I was determined to loose more than ever.
“What? You want us to keep playing so you can watch us loose more?” P asked in a snotty tone.
“Oh my God, no. I’m just saying things aren’t as bad as you think they are.”
Then of course they land on one of my properties that has a house and I miss their houses again.
“I’M DONE!” P announces in anger.
C walks over and begins to clean out the junk drawer.
“Don’t you dare clean out that junk drawer!” I said firmly. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to work! I was gonna’ get you guys shamrock shakes regardless!”
Meanwhile my husband is muttering under his breath, “I don’t even know why you try this game with them. It’s always a disaster.”
Thanks for your words of encouragement. I was so frustrated. I just went up to our bathroom and cried.
After I composed myself, I came back downstairs, got my jacket on and announced I was getting shamrock shakes. I think my boys felt bad by now because P said,
“You don’t have to get them if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’ll get them. Just know, I think we are going to wait a few more years till we play Monopoly again. It’s not worth the meltdowns.”
Surprisingly, neither protested. Ok, so lay it on me…..tell me how much you HATE Monopoly and how long it takes. I can take it, I’m a big girl….but if you ever want to play……
I have no idea why I am obsessed with tiny houses. I flippin’ love tiny houses. I don’t know if it’s the ingenuity of the dwellings or the concept to live smaller so you won’t be house poor. Regardless, I’ve browsed hundreds of online tiny homes thinking, ‘could we do it?’
To have the best of both worlds I sent an e-mail to my sister with a Tumbleweed PDF that she should should consider a tiny home. Tumbleweed has an amazing collection of floor plans and there are a few homes that aren’t so tiny.
This was a win win situation for me. She could build a tiny home and I would live vicariously through her. Should the cramped quarters become too much, not my problem.
Surprisingly she responded back that her boyfriend’s parents told them the same thing and they could put their house in their backyard. I’ve never been to their house but I’m guessing it’s huge and I know it sits on a large piece of land.
Not to be outdone, I said she needed to build her tiny house in my backyard. My land is about the same size as a Tim Horton’s, minus the employee parking lot. I said this in jest, knowing that our HOA is anal and you must submit a bunch of paperwork just to put up a stupid shed.
Below is a screen shot of my sister’s response to suggesting she move to my backyard. When she talks about An, An is her boyfriend’s sister who lives at home because she has cerebral palsy. She has a tricked out wheel chair they lovingly call her command center:
“I am laughing my ass off right now but yes, that is a fair assessment.”
Against my better judgement, I promised my youngest I would take him to Build a Bear at Kenwood Mall in Cincinnati. By now we had 2 teenage girls in our group who were bored as hell so I asked them if they wanted to come along for the journey. They practically attacked me.
We piled into the SUV around 3 and headed North. 20 minutes later we were pulling into the Kenwood Mall and so was the entire population East of the Mississippi. I told the girls I would meet them in 45 minutes outside the Pottery Barn Kids. C and I checked the directory to find not only were we on the right level but we really weren’t that far.
15 minutes into walking we were confident that we clearly missed Build a Bear. Turns out the map was NOT to scale and we just hadn’t gotten there yet. We checked another directory in the wing to confirm this. 5 minutes later we were walking over the threshold of Build a Bear.
I’ve always had a thought about Build a Bear and it is this: What adult man applies AND works at Build a Bear? Build a Bear corporate, that’s fine, I get it. But when you are wearing an apron, with an Easter bunny rabbit in a nylon backpack, while dragging around a wiener dog on roller skates, that signals a mental problem.
“Can I help you?” Ken doll says without blinking, eyeing my youngest.
I push C behind me as a form of protection. “Oh, we are just trying to figure out what bear to buy. We’re good.”
“Ok, well my name is Ken. Lemme’ know if you need anything.” He says, eyeing my child like a sweater he wants, emphasizing the word need.
Then the cult magic of Build a Bear happens.
“Do you want a smell to put in your bear?” The bear maker asks, splaying her hand out to what looks to be miniature soaps.
“Nope, we’re good. I’ll just use perfume.”
After a minute, Bear Maker asks C what his name is and if we’ve ever been to Build a Bear.
“Do you want a voice for your bear?” She asks.
‘esus Christ, we just want the f-ing bear.’
C picks out a Boba Fett costume costing more than the bear. For Christmas he received a $10 gift card and I had “bear bucks” that were to expire 3.15.16 allowing this trip to be a little cheaper. He attempted to rally me for a $12 light saber in which I immediately put the squash on.
“Would you like to purchase a nylon backpack or just use the cub condo?” The teenage girl at the wrap desk asked.
“How much is the backpack?” I asked.
“C, you want a backpack?” I was willing to get this for him as he would be adorable with a bear hanging off his back.
“No. I just want the cub condo.” He said as if he was reaffirming his lunch selection.
“You qualify for a $10 gift card for only $5. Would you like that?”
“No thank you.” I said politely. I was officially loosing my shit inside.
Once out of Pedophile’s paradise and ready to head back to the our car I saw a unicorn. Not an actual unicorn but a type of person I’ve only seen 3 other times in my life- a midget.
She was walking along with her friends, completely animated. She had a super long weave and I really felt like the weave wore her and wasn’t proportionate to her body type. Then again, I really shouldn’t judge.
After we met with the girls and got in the car, one of the girls began to rattle off things she can’t stand. I don’t know how we got on the topic.
“I can’t stand clowns, sporks or cockroaches.” She announces as if she was telling us what extra curricular activities she participates in.
“What? Sporks?” I ask her, giggling at the randomness.
“Yeah, I was once hurt by a spork and have hated them ever since.”
“Well…what if you had a clown, using a spork to each cockroaches?” I said slowly so they could process the epically awesome concept I had just thought of.
“Yeah, no. On their own they are awful.”
“True,” I concurred.
Ok, I want to hear from people with children and people who remember being children or find they are just an adult child. I need some advice on setting up chores for my sons.
Almost daily I ask the boys to unload the dishwasher. You would think I asked them to unload the dishwashers of a cruise ship after the formal dinner. What the hell? In my mind I’m thinking, ‘listen up Thing 1 and Thing 2, this is like the sole job I give you. We have a man maid for cryin’ out loud coming every other week. So God forbid if you help me with the dishes.
And would you like to see the extra time they take for putting away dishes, specifically the Tupperware cabinet?
I love how the blue water bottle is balancing “just so” on the Pyrex measuring cup.
I think part of the reason why I’m so bad with money is because I never had an allowance to manage. My mother gave me the option of a fixed weekly income or a “do your chores, ask for it when you want it and a good portion of the time, I’ll say yes.”
My father tried the allowance thing till I became a smart ass at the age of 11.
“Your gonna get $2 whole dollars every week as an allowance.” My Father declared.
“Oh wow, your too generous dad. Perhaps I could take those $2 dollars and buy 1 schrunchie a week at Rite Aide. Or I could save up for a banana clip. The possibilities are endless with this sort of wealth.”
He gave me the evil eye, tucked it back into his money clip and declared there would be no allowance. In fact, we would now be working for free.
‘Yeah, we’ll see about that,’ I said under my breath on my way to ask my mom to take me to the mall.
So here I am now with 2 completely ungrateful children who find the dishwasher a challenge and always “forget” that I asked them to clean something.
I need suggestions people! I found this great website: My Job Chart and we used it until the boys got their Nooks and were like “screw you mom, we got what we came for and we are outtie.”
So I’m thinking like $5 a week for the oldest (10) and $2 for the youngest (7). Oh my God, I just said a $2 allowance. I’ve turned into my father. No, I’m worse then my father. I got $2 in the 80’s. With inflation, $2 is now what? $10?
Here are the basic chores I would love to see them do:
- brush teeth (trust me they struggle with this)
- make bed
- unload dishwasher
- feed Chi-chi
- fold 1 load of laundry a week
- sweep the floor
Not enough chores? I’m open for suggestions. What did you guys do? God, I want to be the kid again and not worry about this stuff.
I was working on a post this evening when received a text from my sister S with a property her and her boyfriend are interested in. For anyone that doesn’t know, my younger sister has entered the housing marketing ready to buy and I’ve posted 2 of the houses, both which didn’t happen (one sucked and the other was scooped up). Here is that posting: Hot Mess House Hunter Homes to Choose From
The post I was working on went COMPLETELY out the window once I went online and checked out this house. OH MY GOD! I have never, in my life, seen a house that has remained so ridiculously outdated. It’s like a movie set. It’s like a time warp but a time warp with Liberace. I quickly began to snag pictures of the house and I am so excited to show you guys this hot mess that I can barely contain myself.
I would imagine this house to be like the crush your best friend has on a bad boy in high school. Sure, he’s needs work and he’s hot in his own kind of way. Your egging it on but in the long run, you know it’s wrong and in the back of your head all you hear is DANGER!
You guys ready? I give you the Brady Bunch House:
Would the Golden Girls consider this a lanai? Check out the indoor hot tub…
Do you think that is a fountain?
Let’s talk about this side of the living room for a moment. Again, is that another fountain/garden area? Did Liberace throw up in here? Look at the wall candles….
All the provisions one needs should Liberace show up: a piano, feathers, naked statue and candleabra.
E.T. phone home…..
Every well respected home needs an Asian landscape mural on the wall and saloon doors:
This was Barbie’s room before moving out…..
This is almost a deal breaker…..
I’m sure the former tenants cried while making love in this room since it’s like angels and clouds colliding together…..and I also feel as if I’m at a funeral parlor in this room.
Friday Evening-Adult Meltdown
My weekend started off awesome at 5 PM on Friday when I realized I had locked my keys in my car. I was scheduled to take my youngest son to movie night at his school in 1 hour. The movie they were showing, Inside Out, didn’t start till 7 but concessions opened at 6 and I wanted to make sure we got good seats and something to eat. I live a solid 40 minutes from work and another 10 minutes from his school so obviously this put a kink in the plans.
As soon as I saw the keys between the seats, I had a minor adult meltdown as I slammed my open hand on the window and screamed “damn it”! I was almost in tears because my son was really looking forward to this event and I didn’t want him to miss it.
Sulking, I walked back into work, slammed my purse on my desk, got out my AAA card and called them.
“Ma’am, I have your account pulled up but it shows here that you didn’t renew your membership last month.”
More great news.
” How much is it going to cost to renew?”
“If you want just the basic membership like last time, it’ll be $66. If you want to be able to use it instantly that will be an additional $20.”
I was in a hurry and in no mood to negotiate so I just accepted the charges like a little bitch and gave her my card number. I already spent $500 on my car at Tire discounters this week so hell, what’s another $88 at this point.
Friday Night-My Own Private Hell
One hour later I’m in my car speeding East. C and I arrived at the school 20 minutes before the movie was to start. As I came upon the gym entrance I took a deep intake of breath at what was before me.
On just about every surface was a blanket, pillows and hundreds of children, all under the age of 8, jumping up and down, running, laughing and screaming bloody murder. Surely this will be gym time in Hell.
After realizing my mouth was wide open in disbelief, I shut it promptly and continued to walk the 8″ path made for egress. To my right was my friend who taught here. Completely forgetting all filters, I asked the following question in my most serious tone.
“How do you teach everyday?”
“What?” She asked. She obviously couldn’t hear over the Chucky Cheese like atmosphere.
“How do you teach these kids everyday? I would slit my wrists.” I said looking around like I had just been involved in an accident.
“I mean….what the hell?” Was my classy finish.
She just gave me the same grin I seem to get quiet often these days that read, ‘I’m polite so I am going to smile because I don’t have an answer for her.’
C and I laid our blankets down in a 2′ x 2′ empty spot behind a grandmother and her daughter. If we laid our heads down in the aisle I spoke of earlier, we may be actually able to lay down and not sit up the entire time.
We made our way to the hallway for concessions. The line extended way farther than it should have. After a solid 5 minutes of waiting and a substantial number of people behind us, C decided it was the right time to announce he had pee and he had to PEE NOW. I was screaming inside. I know we were at his school but I did not feel comfortable letting him walk to the restroom alone. Some of these parents looked like they had just crawled out from under a bridge and I was not about to trust them.
After his 3 minute potty break I was pleased to find the line had moved not at all. I was now behind 3 middle school girls. One of the girls was channeling her inner obnoxiousness by not standing still for a millisecond, loosely holding a can of coke and on occasion, tilting it while she talked just around my $450 boots (I can’t afford $450 boots, huge discount).
“I tell my mama to shut up all the time!” She proudly yelled over another girl in the group, clearly trying to get some sort of WT street cred. I officially did not like her.
‘This little brat is going to spill her coke on my shoes and there is no way in hell her parents are going to replace them. I’ll probably be beat up in the process of demanding this, by her.’ Thank God it never came to that.
In the middle of nowhere, one of the smaller girls in the group that was eclipsed by coke girl looked at me and said, “I like your sweater.”
“Thank you,” I responded and continued to type on my phone.
Coke girl then took her free hand and placed it on my shoulder.
“I just want to touch your sweater.” She said smiling like a
“Why did you do that? What did you put on my sweater?”I said quickly checking for stains or a kick me sign.
Giggling she said, “no reason.”
The little girl piped up again, “she wanted to give you the cheese touch.” The cheese touch is basically the modern day cooties.
“Well as long as that is all she gave me, I’m good.”
“Can I have a hug?” Coke girl asked.
“No, I would prefer not,” I responded.
One last train wreck I want to call out that happened when we were leaving the school. As we walked into the hallway, a mom and a tiny little boy were standing outside the gym, probably waiting for someone.
“Hi C,” the little boy said to my son.
“Hi,” my son responded.
Just as I was finished folding up the blankets into a more manageable load I looked down at the boy. Not only did he have 1 ear pierced, he had both pierced with 2 large faux diamonds! Not only was I amazed but I was disgusted on so many levels.
“Does that little boy go to your school C?” I asked after being out of earshot of him and his poor excuse of a mother.
“Yes, he’s in kindergarten.”
“And those are real pierced ears?” I asked.
“Yep!” C responded shaking his head. You could tell he was proud that he found something that shocked me.
“Unbelievable.” I said under my breath.
Saturday- At Some Point My Car Drove Over an Ancient Burial Ground
To round out the 2 trips very expensive trips to Tire Discounters this past week, irony thought he would have more fun with me and my car.
Saturday morning I had a Doctor’s appointment. It was only 15 minutes away so I left exactly 15 minutes before the scheduled time. I got in as I normally do, clicked my seat belt and checked my rear view mirror. Just as I was looking into it, I saw a mouse scurry up the backseat and into the seat belt hole.
I LOST MY SHIT!
I unbuckled my seat belt, jumped out and went screaming into my house.
“You just can’t calm a woman down,” my oldest declared after I told him and my husband what had happened. This was some sort of joke going around with him and his friends. He decided to try it out on the situation.
I gave him “the parent look” coupled with the evil eye.
“Do you feel that is an appropriate comment to make given the situation? I will ground you for a month if you say something like that again. Try me.”
He quickly excused himself.
Fortunately when my husband got a broom out to feel around for the mouse, the mouse quickly vacated by jumping out and hopping across our yard.
‘Great!’ I thought. Now that little ass hole is going to give snakes a reason to come to my house-food!
So that was my weekend friends. Today was a combined total of 4 hours of soccer, grocery shopping, washing of a soccer backpack that P got even dirtier just hours after hand washing it, 3 loads of laundry, and many other exciting chores.
I know, I know. I live the life of a kept woman.
How was your weekend? Did you have a mouse in your car too?
Last night I received the following text from best friend.
On occasion I get random texts such as these from her and its code for my children are driving me crazy. E is my best friend for over 25 years. We met in middle school and couldn’t be more different. I was into fashion and while she was still rockin’ what I like to refer to as the Buster Brown Hair for the past few decades, our humor has easily kept us together as best friends.
As E and I became mothers, I appreciated that she wasn’t a fake mother. Her actions weren’t, and still not contrived. What I mean is you know that mother who has approximately 75 Pinterest Boards all dedicated to things like playful kids snacks or activities to do instead of playing outside or soccer mom craft ideas? That mother!
There is nothing worse then going to a kid’s birthday party and the kid finding out the “swag bag” that they are used to getting has now been replaced by an adorable pinterest craft that oddly resembles a stick figure. Said stick figure is made out of string cheese, grapes, a mini pringle cup and pretzels. My kids look up at me with a ‘what the fuck?’ look. I give them a knowing nod, subliminally telling them, ‘I know.’ Sadly that example came easy because that is exactly what they received in lieu of candy and party favors a few months ago.
“Oh how adorable,” I cooed to the mom, meanwhile thinking in my head ‘really ass hole? Really? Fruit?’
In addition to my best friend being honest when it comes to being a mom, I love that she is feels comfortable sending me texts like the above. I, in turn, send very similar texts:
“I’m in fetal position right now, sucking my thumb and rocking back and forth.”
“I am an empty shell. I am hiding in the bathroom right now.”
All I’m saying is no one should EVER fault a mom for saying motherhood is tough, or complaining or drinking an entire bottle of wine after a tough day, no one. Additionally, no mother should feel like they have to do some stupid craft to keep up with the delusional mother who feels this is the only way to show love towards your kid.
If I had to pick a slogan for motherhood, it would be the Peace Corp slogan: The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love.
Can we just take a moment and discuss how ungrateful family members can be when it comes to what you’ve cooked for them? Here was the first part to my two part declaration of how I hate to cook in case you want to read it: Cooking to me is like cleaning the toilet.
Below is a list of items that have been pissed on by at least 1 or more family members at some point. Not because they weren’t cooked properly but because the below did not resemble a chicken nugget.
- Mashed potatoes
- Macaroni and Cheese (oh sorry, let me be clear: non-Kraft Macaroni and Cheese)
- Filet Mignon
- Chicken Parmesan (this is ironic to me as it is a gigantic chicken nugget on top of spaghetti)
- Spaghetti (this has been removed though now everyone likes spaghetti)
- Bacon (like spaghetti, now everyone likes spaghetti)
In addition to hating to cook and my children having the discerning palate of a hobo, my husband grew up with a mother that not only loved to cook but would use sour cream, cream cheese or both as the basis for all recipes. In turn, telling my husband we are having grilled chicken and vegetables is like telling Rob Kardashian we are having grilled chicken with grilled vegetables. I’d imagine the reaction to be equal disappointment.
My mother in law has learned the hard way that I do not like to cook. Over the years, she has asked that I bring one of the following to family events:
- Orange Juice
- Sister Schubert Frozen Rolls
- Brick of cream cheese
- Tub of sour cream
Obviously I can’t screw this up though I have brought the “wrong” Sister Schubert Rolls and have paid for it with comments throughout the day.
So how about you? Do you like to cook? Do you hate it? If you like it, what is it that you like about it?