As seen at TargetMommy Needs A Cocktail at Baby Brewing buttonBuy the original here

Mommy Needs to Tweet

It's real time updates about who's trying to burn down my house now. Find and follow Mommy4Cocktails.

As seen on Good Morning America

Baby Brewing Button

Where is Mommy Needs a Cocktail

Categories

Archives

Meta

Contact Me

    Search

    trena b designs button

    Where, oh where have my car keys gone? Oh, where, or where can they be?

    June 26, 2008

    The car keys are gone again. What moron has one key to a car? Oh, that would be the moron who is still living in her basement because she is too cheap to fix her air conditioner and doesn’t want to pay $300 for a car key.

    Miss America/The Cake Lady: Why don’t you get a key made? I’LL pay for a key to be made.
    K: Um, it costs $300.
    MA/TCL: Not if you get a regular key.
    K: But I can’t find anyone to make one for me. Other than the dealership.
    MA/TCL: Oh, WE can find someone who will do it. I can promise you that.

    I’ll just save us all time now and tell you where it was the last time I remember. Hopefully The Husband will read this on his way home from work on the train and won’t ask me. The Baby got his grimy little paws on the wallet/key combo just after I gave Josh all my money. As I watched The Baby attempt to take everything out of the wallet, I snatched it away from him. And then everything goes to gray.

    Let’s face it. Today is just like any other day. Any other day except that I needed to drop off Kimberly’s shirts to her at The Party Store Logan’s Costco. Even Sarah tried to help me find them. She tried to help me find them by cleaning my kitchen. Sarah is Miss America’s sister. Nothing. But now all my dishes are clean.

    I called Chocolate Fountain Fairy Godmother.

    CFFG: At least if it was The Baby, you only have to look close to the ground.
    K: Actually I just found a wine glass on the top shelf of the cabinet above the sink. I’m gonna have to say all bets are off here.

    Miss America offered to take me to the train station to pick up the truck. She actually offered to take me all the way to Costco. Kimberly offered to come get the shirts. Sheesh. We were on our way out the door when L.A. drove past. She slammed on her brakes and the window came down.

    LA: What are you girls doing?
    K: She’s gonna take me to the train station to pick up the truck because I can’t find the car keys.
    LA: Does that thing even have gas in it (pointing to the parked Volvo)?

    She was referencing the other day when my husband was supposed to take the car to the train station so I could spend $9 in gas to drop stuff off at recycling. He couldn’t take the car because it wouldn’t start. It wouldn’t start because it was out of gas. HEY!!! $3.89 a gallon will hit you in the ovaries. I don’t want to pay that. Which meant the car went down to below empty and wouldn’t start. I have the $1.89 a gallon gas my husband bought way back when for the lawn mower but I’ll be damned if I am going to put gas in the car if I can’t even find a damn key to start it. Know what I am saying?

    K: No. No, it doesn’t have gas in it.

    MA/TCL: You haven’t put gas in it yet?

    K: Why would I put gas in it?

    I have been through three trash cans and have done everything shy of turning him upside down and shaking to see if they fall off of some part of him.  I’m giving it 24 more hours, then I’m taking the car off of the insurance.  I mean, I can be saving all sorts of money around here.  And the only thing I’m losing is my sanity.

    add to sk*rt

    No matter what you say, they still don’t believe you

    June 24, 2008

    Yesterday we spent the lunch hour(s) within the hallowed halls of PBS, banging out what we hope to be the last of the issues before we can get our blog rolling. I think it’s gonna rock.

    We spent the morning taking pictures. Even in my profile picture I am not alone. You won’t be able to see him but imagine The Boy standing just below the PBS head shot, gripping my hand tightly with tears streaming down his face, asking when we can go to PBSParents.org. And these people were worried that the marketing between shows wasn’t working?

    I can’t even be alone in my profile picture. What….the…..hell? I have taken to physically placing the kids in the other room and then running to the bathroom and locking the door behind me. I don’t really have to go to the bathroom that much during the day. I’m just trying to get away from them.

    Bless their hearts, people came out of the woodwork at PBS to help watch the kids while we worked. The Husband showed up because he heard Jorgie was coming. So we had two dads, seven kids and about 5 PBS people watching the kids. Weak link? A room with no door.

    So you would imagine my surprise when I saw one of my kids run by the glass window of the conference room. There are 7 adults to 7 kids and one of mine is toddling past as fast as his fat little legs will take him. And then there is another one. Also mine. Much faster. The meeting hasn’t even started yet and there have been two runners. Suddenly I see my husband dart past the conference room. I think he was yelling but I don’t know. He walks back past the glass carrying two children upside down.

    It’s at this point that someone mentions the colossal bruise on my forearm.

    K: Derek did it.
    Jen: PLEASE.
    K: I tripped coming up the steps.
    Pache: That’s what they all say.
    K: I took pictures. Just in case I need them in the future against him.
    Jen: Seriously?
    K: I tripped coming up the steps. I was carrying The Baby. But I did take pictures.

    The Husband walks past the door leading The Boy on a walk that can only be described as The Bathroom Walk. I’m guessing that the “poop” conversation favored by the older cousins has been an inspiration to the very impressionable preschooler. Suddenly The Baby darts past. By himself. And then Jorgie is picking him up.

    45 minutes of this and Derek had to go back to work. Heaven forbid my children play with their cousins at the premier source of SUPER WHY STICKERS! Now I have one on each hip in the conference room. They are both crying. And I’m wondering why we didn’t push that lock on the conference door. It’s no bathroom, but it’ll do.

    add to sk*rt

    It’s an error to miscalculate another’s golfing abilities

    June 23, 2008

    So my friend called to tell me what went down at her house the other day. It was a friend, not me. I swear.

    Her son was out in the back yard whacking a golf ball with a 9 iron. He’s actually pretty good. His family was surprised by his skills. His mother has a mean slice. His father? Well, you know.

    15 minutes into the practicing, the dad picks up the 9 iron. The mom tells him that he should just whack it as hard as he can. The dad says that he probably shouldn’t since the neighbor’s house is just through the trees. The mom looks at the trees, at the dad, at the trees, at the dad. She calmly replies that dad should just whack that ball.

    She has noticed the 4 inch break in the trees to the neighbor’s front yard where the neighbor has workers building something. She is sure the dad can’t possibly get “hit the green.”

    With that, the dad whacks the ball. Through that 4 inch hole in the trees. Which is a friggin’ lucky shot, people. I’m just saying. The workers fall silent as the ball smacks into something that causes a loud pop.

    The dad, the mom and the boy begin the low crawl to the front of the house. They find themselves covered in dirt as they creep through the grass. They can only hope that the workers still have their appendages, that no one saw the direction the ball came from and that nothing major was broken. Like the windshield to a Pious.

    Uh, huh.  Glad it didn’t happen to me.

    add to sk*rt

    Happy Father’s Day, Daddy-O!

    June 18, 2008

    My mother called the other day to ask how Father’s Day went. She wanted to be sure I had properly honored the father of my children, my baby daddy, the king of the house, the primo rooster.

    I was going to write my annual, beautiful, tear-inducing tribute to my husband on Father’s Day, but I was too tired. I was too tired because we spent Father’s Day doing what my husband wanted to do.

    I spent two hours holding up a 60 foot gutter with my head.

    First I would like to say, what the hell is up with the unigutter? I thought gutters came in sections. Sectional gutters. Pieces of gutter. And how did they get that 60 foot gutter to my house in one piece back in 1987? Did it come on the back of the truck with the rest of the house? When my husband asked me to hold up the gutter while he replaced the rotten wood behind it, I was all, are you crazy? Then Father’s Day rolled around and I had to do it. We put The Baby down for his nap, threatened The Boy with death if he climbed out the window and onto the roof with us and then we fixed that gutter.

    That bad boy was heavy. I was holding it up with my hands but that was too hard. The Husband looked over and saw me balancing the 200 pound gutter up with my head.

    D: Babe, it’ll take us 30 minutes tops.

    30 minutes tops? 30 minutes. THIRTY MINUTES. I should have known better. I have done fix-it projects with his father. Time is suspended in this family. But I was all, it’s Father’s Day, whatever you say. I blame you, Mom. The replacement wood was 1/4 inch too long and suddenly I heard the miter saw revving up on the roof. My husband doesn’t mess around. Why carry those boards back down to cut when you can cut them on a 40 degree slope of a roof while your wife is holding up the gutter with her head?

    My head now has a flat spot and I’m 3/4″ shorter. But by golly, that gutter got fixed for $16.27. I wonder if I could fix the A.C. for $16.27…

    add to sk*rt

    I think I hear the world’s tiniest violin playing

    June 11, 2008

    So you guys are so awesome. After I published that post I went back and reread it. Wah, wah, wah. The Cake Lady told me she doesn’t think the tree falling counts since it didn’t fall on my house. I think she is probably right. LOL. Don’t say anything mean about her because she was just trying to lighten the mood. She agrees that my life is horrible. Although from the thunder last night, it’s only a matter of time. I shall try all of your car-related suggestions.

    I’m speaking at Blogher. How ridiculous is that? You have one picture with this man and suddenly people think you are going places.

    it doesn't get bigger than Mr. Big

    But what I really want to do is to submit my funniest blog post for that reading they are having. So I thought I would get your suggestions. I don’t have a short list. I don’t even remember what I wrote. But if you have a suggestion, just leave it in the comments. Jen, you don’t have to leave yours. I know the red bra story is your favorite.

    I’m doing a Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party in Allentown, PA tomorrow night (Thursday). It’s at the cousin’s house. I’m sure she won’t mind if you wanna come. You should totally come. Email me and I’ll let you know where to be. And if you want to see how messy my workshop was before Susie Sunshine showed up and straightened my ass out, head on over to Work it, Mom and Mommy Needs a Business. Leave me a comment telling me if my clutter exceeded your every expectation!

    add to sk*rt

    At least we have our health (stop that coughing over there)

    June 9, 2008

    OK, you think I may have fallen off the face of the earth? Well, you see, there was the broken A.C. unit upstairs. Two techs later and a “thank you, ma’am, that will be at least $2100 to fix. And by the way, it doesn’t have any refridgerant in it. Which means that you have probably killed the only part of the unit that wouldn’t have needed to be fixed for another 12-14 years.”
    No problem. We know how to adapt. So what if that news came on the hottest day of the year so far. Three digit hot. Buy Mega Millions tickets and move down into the basement where the air conditioning still works. Actually it works on the first floor too. We are golden. Sure we’ll have to all sleep in one 10 x 10 room, a la Little House on the Prairie style, but it’ll be fun. An adventure, if you will.

    Then there was the big storm. The storm that my husband warned me about as I dropped The Boy off at his little nature camp at the local park. Tornado warnings? This isn’t Kansas, people.

    Until I came out of BJ’s. I saw it rolling in and I had that cart going at least 15 miles an hour. Everyone thought I was crazy in the parking lot but I knew exactly what was about to happen. I slammed the door with The Baby inside as the storm hit with rain pelting me and the wind blowing my shirt over the top of my head. That moment I knew panic. The phone rang and my husband told me that it was really bad. As I raced down the road, I saw huge bolts of lightning hitting what appeared to be the park where I had left my son. At an outdoor camp. I passed downed trees and practically threw up. I roared up to the camp to find the counselors carrying kids to the minivan to drive them across the lot to the concrete bathroom. I threw the kids in the car and raced home. Except I had to get out once to help a group of 10 people try to move a tree out of the road. We got home to find the power out. And apparently a tree in the back yard was struck by lightning and the top came down, taking out about 5 trees in it’s wake. And the fence. But it wasn’t on the house. It left a massive dent in the ground where it landed. Which is better than on our heads.

    Then the car broke down today on the interstate as the temperature hit 100 at 10:40 in the morning. I called the Cake Lady and she was on her way. Then my phone went dead. So there I was in the middle of 16 lanes of traffic, in 100 degrees, with two kids in the car and no cell phone. I stood by the car for 15 minutes before these really nice guys in a garbage truck stopped to help me. Maybe it was the tears streaming down my face that made them stop. Maybe they were just angels. I don’t know. I couldn’t get it together and one just handed me his phone. Who to call? There are funky rules about the interstate. You can’t just call a tow truck. It has to be a tow truck with some sort of agreement with the state. I rolled the dice.

    Operator: 911, what is your emergency?

    K: I’m sorry to call 911 because this isn’t an emergency but my cell phone died and I don’t know the non-emergency number for the police so I can call them because I am broken down on 395 in 100 degree temperatures and I have two babies in the car.

    Operator: Ma’am. That IS an emergency. Where are you?

    Not 90 seconds later the VDOT emergency assistance guys rolled up. I love my husband and all, but I think I could have kissed those 250 pound ZZTop looking guys who got out of that truck.

    My children? Everything is a friggin’ adventure. I blame this on my mother’s genes. The ability to see the excitement in even the most frustrating times. The guys left their truck running with the A/C on and I got in with the kids. The Baby? Just tried to drive the damn truck off the entire time. The Boy? Fascinated, OBSESSED with the handle to the window. WTH? That truck was so retro.

    The Cake Lady drove up, took the kids and upon extensive discussion with ZZ Top, I was off to Auto Zone to buy a battery and bring it back so they could put it in for free. For THAT? They got cigarettes, cold water and beef jerky.

    Sure my car died as I rolled into my driveway. Sure the battery solution that cost $84.95 isn’t the solution and I’ll probably have to park my car because it will be too much to fix. But bad things come in threes. And I had my three. So now I’m off to sleep LHOTP style in the basement. Unless that’s the sound of locust I hear outside my window…

    add to sk*rt