Yes, I Do

Once A Man And Twice A Child

After my parents divorced, my mom remained single for many years. I remember once asking her at a young, tender age: "Mom, why haven't you gotten remarried?" She replied, "If I wanted another baby, I would've had one." I remember sitting there baffled by this, because, a man is a man. He can take care of himself. He is capable. He is mature. He is adult.
Psah. As if.
I have now come to know just what my mother was talking about. And it is infuriating. Here is a new quote/motto - whatever you'd like to call it which I have adopted:

'he who sits on his own ass while his wife slaveth away is deserveth of sideways glances, slanted eyes, glares and any profanity she throweth his way.'

I am not about to be dominated by anyone. I am not about to be in servitude to anyone either. If that means some people say 'she wears the pants in that family.' Then, so be it. This isn't 1954. It's 2006. My sisters before me didn't fight for me to wait all-a-flutter to clean up after any damn man. No matter how much I may love his lazy ass.
If the four of us contribute to a mess, than the four of us contribute to cleaning it.

So, ladies out there who have men that can do things without being asked, what is your secret? How do you get them to do that???? I've tried everything.

As a sidenote - I stand by this post & this one.........And Connor, in his infinite wisdom has taken cover at my mom's house this weekend. He's a smart boy. Wicked smart.

Lend Me Cheney's Bunker For A Week, Will Ya??

What is it with me? Now, remember. I've warned you all. I'm PMS'ing. And there is a chain of events that unfold every month that lead to the eruption of Mt. Bitchtabitha. I don't even realize it. I truly, truly have absolutely NO control. The only thing there is to do is put your nuclear reactive suits on and brace yourselves. I feel so sorry for my family. Really. Here's what happens:
I begin to get really tired - for no good reason.
I get very moody and irritated at the tiniest infraction, slight, strange look, or touch.
I want to eat EVERYTHING in sight.
My bumbo's (connor's word for boobs) become tender.
My stomach begins to feel upset.
I start obsessing about clutter, dishes, piles of laundry, how disgusting the house is. How I can't stand to live in a pig-sty, etc, etc.
I scream at the kids and tell them, "I'm tired of it!!!!" (whatever it happens to be).
And then I begin to clean like I'm the Tazmanian Devil on crack, speed and heroin.



It's really ridiculous. I mean, people think PMS is a cop-out. But it's REAL, baby. Ask my husband and my kids. I know that I need to suck it up. But it gets so bad. I feel like it's best for everyone if I go and hide in a bunker for about a week and then re-emerge. And like I said, I don't even realize it's happening until 'it' begins. Ugh.
So, if you see my wonderful husband OR my kids. Give them a hug, a smile and a pat on the back. Tell them everything will be ok. They'll need to hear a kind word or two to get them through this.

Watch Out!

Look, just so you all know.....not that I have a huge readership. But I'm on a PMS rollercoaster that is bound to take out a small village or 2. So, hang in there. This week may make for some interesting posting. Just know that some evil force has invaded and is taking over my body for the next few days or so. Poor Bryan. It's not looking good for him this week, either.