Go the fuck to sleep - my version

The sun is up. Just barely above the horizon. I rub my eyes as I roll out of bed. The morning rituals must be taken care of.

The husband's at work and the kids are being fed. Please eat nice and give me 10 minutes. I just need to rest my weary eyes.


I lay on the couch as visions of who lives in a pineapple under the sea dance through my head. As I am about to drift away, I feel it. A gentle tap on the should followed by my softly spoken name.

What?! You're hungry? Didn't I already feed you today? I need to go the fuck to sleep!


The children are fed and just one game they want to play. Just one, I say.

Sorry, you lose. Now let me go the fuck to sleep!


They jump and they yell. They fight and they cry. Just leave me alone so I can go the fuck to sleep!


A drink you say? I bought you juice boxes and placed them within your reach. It's no different than the Kool-aid in the fridge. Don't make me pour when you can reach your own box. What don't you understand? I just need to go the fuck to sleep!


The husband is home. He asks what's for dinner. Why doesn't he understand how hard it is to think? I just need to go the fuck to sleep!

I serve up their plates while I sulk in my own. I'm so tired I can barely get the fork to my mouth. I hope the husband can keep them entertained. I gave up on sleep, but 10 minutes to rest my mother fucking eyes would be nice!


It's quiet for a moment and I'm starting to like it. Then I hear it. The little brats want to eat yet again! And only I can get them a snack. Shit! How much food can they fit in those tiny bodies?! And why don't they understand their dad also has 2 arms. He's quite capable of doing things, too! I just want to go the fuck to sleep!


The sun has now set. It is done for the night. I tuck them in tight and turn out the light. Slowly I creep out of their rooms and down the hall. My own bed is whispering my name. I lay myself down as I hide under the covers. Dammit, it's time! I can finally go the fuck to sleep.

Friends don't let friends...

Do each other's hair.

I recently read a blog post about bad hair. My hair is nothing short of a hot mess! I'm sure it wouldn't be so bad if I got a haircut more than once a year. Add that to this crushing heat and humidity and it's a nightmare. Even a ponytail doesn't help!

stupid baby fine curls that aren't long enough to be pulled back

Anyway, this blog post reminded me of a time I was stupid enough to let a friend fix my fair. I'm not sure if fix is the right word, but I'll stick with it for now. It's too damn hot to think straight!

I was in fifth grade I believe and sleeping over a best friend's house. It was your typical grade school girl sleepover. We watched a scary movie that made us want to stay up all night. Stupid Carrie! Since we couldn't sleep, she asked if she could do my hair. My hair was always long and I rarely did anything with it. I agreed. Even after she pulled out the hot rollers.

We turned on a lamp, not only so she could see but to most likely keep hands from punching through the floor. Again, thank you Carrie!

My friend sat in an arm chair and I on the floor between her legs. With a roller in one hand, my friend gently grabbed a piece of my hair and rolled it. And rolled it. And rolled it. She kept rolling until I could no longer feel my head. Damn those things hurt!

As those rollers were working their magic in my already wavy hair, we chatted about boys, our favorite band (NKOTB, thank you very much), and whatever happened to be the latest gossip among our class.

It was finally time to pull those suckers out of my hair (thank god!). After each one came out, I thought I heard a chuckle coming from her. I wrote it off as my mind playing tricks on me from watching the movie. After the last roller came out, my friend grabbed a pick and began to separate each curl. Her laughter grew louder as she continued to pick away at my hair. I finally asked for a mirror.

Have you ever watched a dog show? Random, I know, but bear with me.

Sometimes they have poodles in those shows. Of course each and every one of the dogs in those shows are groomed. I always thought the poodles looked the most ridiculous. Most of them were shaved, but only in certain places. The rest of their bodies had big poof balls of fur - at the tips of their tails, tips of their ears, around the mid-section (what the hell?!).

What my friend did to my hair put those dogs to shame. If I was in those dog shows with my new 'do, I would have won hands down in the grooming category. On either side of my head were giant dirty blond poof balls of hair. I looked like Princess Leia, but with poof balls, not braids.

This, my friends, is why I no longer let friends "fix' my hair.

My child

Is not autistic.

I am not in denial. I am merely pointing out facts.

I'm not even sure if he even knows what autistic means, even though he's been surrounded by it 4 days a week for the past month, as well as throughout last school year.

Last year my children's school added a new classroom - the autism resource room. This autism room has a half dozen students of Kindergarten age. Throughout the school year, the "normal" (I hate that word!) Kindergartens would include the autism class in as many activities as they could.

This summer a new program was created. The autistic students would team up with their "non-disabled peers" (school wording, not mine- I think that's a little fucked up) for a 4-week summer camp. The plan was to have all the students, total of 10 work together, interact, and hopefully learn from each other.

This summer camp is now coming to a close. I believe is was a huge success. Every morning I would watch all of the students bounce into the school. After a few hours I would watch them all return to their parents, smiles on every single face. My son would tell me all about the games he played and who he played with, which was almost everyone in the camp, autistic and not.

I am so grateful that he was granted this opportunity. I want my children to be involved with others who are not like them instead of seeing them as inferior.

Every morning my boy was so excited to go to camp. He was so happy. Except...

Yes, there is a downfall. My boy seems to have picked up some bad habits. He has been screaming. In the house, in the car, and anywhere else we go. After a few days I finally thought to ask him why he was screaming all the time. His answer, because T screams at camp.

T, one of the autistic children, is the sweetest boy. Almost every day he would show me his bright red tennis shoes. How they still look brand new is beyond me. My boy's shoes look like they've been to hell and back. Twice. As sweet as T is, he is definitely a screamer. He can also be somewhat defiant, which now makes me look at my own child in a different light. Defiant doesn't begin to describe how he's been this past week.

Today is the last day of summer camp. I am hoping by next week, my boy's behavior returns to how he was before. Still stubborn, but not as defiant. And definitely not screaming. If it doesn't, I don't know what I'm going to do.

If I tell you

For the past few PYHOs, Shell has talked about judging others, something I know I am guilty of. I think everyone is guilty of this and if you say you don't judge, you're lying. The only difference is, some are respectful enough to keep their thoughts to themselves.

I am not an expert, nor do I claim to know all of the answers to much of anything, but I do know what I believe. I believe that many of us judge in order to make ourselves feel better about our shortcomings.

I started this blog so I would have a place away from family where I could write about my own fears and shortcomings. I don't want to talk about my kids over here, but I still do. My kids are my safety net. I may feel alone in the moment, but I know other parents have had those days where all you do is scream because your children refuse to listen.

My kids are not the only part of who I am. I have fears and doubts. I have had experiences that still haunt me to this day. I have my own beliefs that I do not express when they may differ from yours. I could write about all of that here. Yet I don't.

I am afraid of being judged.

If I tell you my kids have had cookies for dinner, will you tell me I am a bad parent?

If I tell you some days I would rather crawl back into bed than play with my kids, will you tell me I'm just trying to get some attention?

If I tell you about the night I almost lost my husband, will you chastise me for not trying to prevent it?

If I tell you I'm not sure if there is a God, will you turn and walk away, or preach to me to prove your beliefs?

If I tell you 2 men or 2 women should be granted the same rights as me and my husband, will you shake your head in disgust and tell me how wrong that lifestyle is?

I may mention these things, but fear holds me back from taking it further. I have never received a negative comment, but I fear if I write more about my feelings and beliefs, I will have one. Or many. Or maybe none at all - do you not care or did I scare you away?

I constantly worry about myself and my family. I stand firm in what I believe, except for religion.

I also wear my heart on my sleeve.

Get the hell out of Dodge

The boro where we live is rather small. Approximately one square mile. The side we live in is often thought of as the better half because the other end is closer to the city.

I'm not sure how much truth is in those thoughts, but I do like the side we live on better. We are within walking distance of the grocery store and more important, the coffee shop. Very little happens here in regards to the negative, which is how I like it. Although certain recent events have me reconsidering where we dwell.

Over the past 2 months, the police have visited the house across the street no less than 5 times. Almost every time I have been outside with the kids. I swear we really were playing and not spying! Being that we were outside, words were heard. Words such as PFA and custody. It's nothing major and certainly none of my business. I will say I am tired of seeing the police. Especially when I have a 5 year old who screams out the window , "Look, mom! The cops are at that house again". Nice, right?

It appears that things may have calmed down across the street, but now there's drama next door. An ambulance has visited them 3 times in the past week. It's nothing major from what I am told, and that's good. What worries me is the kind of people who might be living in that house.

At first they seemed quite nice - mother and daughter. We chit chatted a few times and one day the mother offers her daughter as a babysitter. "She loves kids". I am all over someone watching my kids so the husband and I can go out. Until...

A few days later I over hear the daughter talking loudly on her front porch about how high she was from some pills. Well, there goes the babysitting offer! Unless she has something to make my son sleep. Kidding! Maybe.

I have also overheard fights about alcohol and missing pills. These are the people my kids live right next door to. Seriously?! They are, for the most part, really nice people, and things could definitely be a lot worse, but still.

Now who has that money tree so we can go by ourselves a new house?

Are they better next door?

Flip flops.

Black, brown, and navy. Cloth straps. The plastic ones hurt my toes.

From the first warm day of Spring all the way into Fall, those are what can be seen on my feet. They are my favorite shoes. The evidence can be seen in the white stripes that cross one of the few parts of my body that tans.

The soft grass tickles my toes. I am care free.

The sun beating down warms my feet and my heart.

The rain and the puddles make me slide and feel like a child.

When the skies turn gray and the air becomes cool, my flip flops are pushed to the back of the closet. I say farewell as I dig out my boots, buried under shoes I no longer wear but can't bear to part with. My boots, tight on my legs, make me feel safe and secure.

The beige ones glide over my feet and slide up my calves. I turn down the tops to show the world the soft fur. The tan ones hurt when I first put them on. I always forget to wear thinner socks. I rest my foot on the table that holds a tv while I pull the laces tight. I double knot them just to be safe and watch as the balls at the ends of those laces bob when I walk.

My black ones are a newer addition. They are meant for the snow, but are oh so sleek and shiny. I tuck my jeans in and lace them up tight. Are they "in" in the fashion world? I'm not sure, but I like to pretend. I'm one of the cool kids now.

I love all of my shoes in their own special way, but sometimes I'd like to toss them away. When my heart hurts and my temper boils, I wonder what it would be like in someone else's shoes.

Would they make me feel safe and secure, in a new and better way?

Would they give me the courage to say what needs said?

Would they make me feel happy when all I want to do is crawl under the covers and hide?

I am care free, safe, and secure with what I put on my feet. But sometimes I wonder. Are the shoes better from the closet next door?

I worry, even when I don't have to

A night out with friends. I am ready to go. I wave to my kids as we drive away.

I wonder what they will do while we are gone.

From the passenger window I watch the fields pass by as we head down the highway.

I wonder if my son is still watching the bulldozers digging up Grandma's street.

We stop at Subway for dinner. Five dollar footlongs for all!

I wonder if my kids are eating their pizza. It's not from our usual pizza shop.

We arrive at the concert site and quickly open our beers. We chat as we watch those around us stumble to the ground.

I worry about what my kids are doing. Are they fighting? Did someone fall? They are quite clumsy.

We make our way in to hear a favorite singer. The music is loud as we sing along.

I worry my kids are watching too much tv. Did they choose a show not allowed in our home?

The music is over. We find our way back to the car. Traffic was light in the direction we chose. The back roads are dark, but they have an advantage.

I worry that my kids are still awake. It is much past their bedtime, and they don't like the dark.

From the passenger window I watch the fields pass by as we head down the highway. The fields that were once covered in sun are now peppered with the gentle glow of fireflies.

I worry about my kids, but I know they are safe. They are surrounded by family and I by my friends. We will always be there to keep each other safe.

Pour Your Heart Out

*to answer the question as to what my kids chose to watch- let's just say my 5 year old now knows the theme song for Cops!*

Rockin' with my knight in shining armor

Mommyfriend Lori and Tina from Life Without Pink have teamed up to create Project Marriage- an interactive love movement designed to get back to the simple joys of marriage and the love that brought you there.

This month's challenge was to not only have a date night, but to avoid talking about the kids while on your date. The date part was easy. My sister-from-another-mister, the husband, and I had been planning out last Wednesday night since May, when Kid Rock announced he was coming to town. At first I was worried about not talking about the kids. It's something I love to do. But once the alcohol entered the picture, the kids were the furthest thing from our minds!

Date night

Sheryl Crow was also touring with Kid Rock, but we weren't interested in her. We chose to empty our cooler of tasty beverages while she played her show. We talked about things going on in our lives now as well as things from the past.

While we were talking, we realized that alcohol can be an ugly thing. When Mike's Hard anything claims to have a punch, the advertisers aren't kidding. Mike kicked my ass! But just when I thought I had it bad, we noticed a couple making their way to the venue. The girl was up against it! She could barely stand let alone walk. Security quickly swooped in to check on her, followed by the police. Once they showed up, her man bolted! Glad I wasn't her on so many levels!

Once Sheryl had played a good number of songs, we decided we should make our way in. We found a spot on the lawn where we had a good view and could be easily found if any of us had to leave for a drink or bathroom break.
Kid Rock

Before we knew it, Journey was being played. Once we heard "born and raised in South Detroit", we knew the show was about to start. The next few hours were full of screaming, singing, and dancing. I'm honestly surprised any of us had a voice by the end of the night. Especially after Bawitdaba. Flames were flying on the stage and Kid Rock revealed all of his sexiness by taking off his shirt.

By the final song, Born Free, I realized that the three of us had sobered up for the most part, but that wasn't the case for other people there. I was trying to get a video of that last song because the pyrotechnics were just awesome. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a man. He was so nicely waiting for me to finish before walking in front of me.

When I lowered my phone, he came over to talk to me. I don't remember much of what he said because it was loud, but I did mange to catch "computer", "face page", and "tree house". This was when the husband swooped in to make him move.

The guy began to shake my husband's hand as more gibberish spewed from his mouth. He obviously had no interest in leaving us alone. Since he refused to listen to my husband telling him to move along, the husband knocked his beer out of his hand and pushed him away. Thank goodness for my knight in shining armor because that was the one and only time of the night where the cops were no where to be seen!

Minus a few bumps in the road, which are par for the course, the night was amazing. Just like with the 2 previous times I've seen Kid Rock, his show was exhilarating. Seeing him with 2 of my favorite people made it so much better. I can't wait until our next concert experience in August.

I would like to point out that my friend also has a child. We all managed to make it through the night without talking about any of our kids. Until we got back to my mom's house and found my son sleeping under her boyfriend's feet!

I don't like to lose


I love them.

During football and hockey seasons, one can find me on my couch, head to toe team colors, eyes glued to the tv, and possibly profanities escaping my mouth.

During soccer season for the kids one can find me as close to the field as I am allowed, maybe more. Camera in hand, cheering my kids on.

Even though I'm not always very good, I often like to compete with myself. After all, apps in the Android Market Place were meant for me right?
hello 3 versions of Angry Birds!

I've also been known to compete with the husband. Tennis. On the Wii. Because I suck at it in real life.

What I do not like to compete with is the husband's job.

We have been married for over 9 years and I have competed with his jobs since the beginning. The first of those jobs called for early mornings and late nights. Quite often I would fall asleep before he even came home. That job, while it may have sucked, was our life line. With a new baby, I could not work. I couldn't ask him to change something that we desperately needed.

With his current job, he is aways on call. Something breaks? Here comes the husband to swoop in and fix it. However it is rarely an easy fix. Computers rarely cooperate when you need them to. The office hours are thankfully closer to 9-5. Actually 7-4. Even if I didn't take him to and from work, he would almost always be home for dinner. However, work does not stay at work. His smart phone is his lifeline and his computer could pass for our third child. The husband often babysits programs to make sure they continue to work.

He loves his job and I am so glad for that. Finding a job you love with good pay is not always easy to attain. As happy as I am for him, I do not always love his job. If it comes down to dinner out with the family or fixing something for work, work always wins.

I understand he has to do what he has to do. This job gets our bills paid. We are finally at a point financially where we can buy ourselves things we want, but may not necessarily need. Many good things for the husband, as well as me and the kids, have come from this job. And I hope there will be more in the future.

But I don't like that I have to compete with the job.

And I don't like to lose.