Stumbling & Bumbling

Supermom?

I startle awake and look around myself, bleary eyed and disoriented. I wonder what has pulled me out of sleep and reach over the bed to Mike, only to discover rumpled sheets and a still warm pillow. Ah, today is his early day on the ambulance and he is already gone. My turn to get the kids ready all by myself. I listen for a second and can hear the high pitched babbled conversation that signifies two very awake toddlers. I squint at the time display on the clock and realize that I am late, late, so very late.

Crap.

What to do first? Get the children up and ready or get myself ready? Realizing that they are happily content in their room, speaking in their indecipherable toddler-ese, I decide to take a quick shower. I know that if I were to get them ready first, my shower would be interrupted at least 5 bazillion times;  the shower door will be thrust aside and a small head poked in inquiring "What are you doing, mami?" "Can you get me juice/cereal con leche/candy/bread/my toy?" So, I jump in and take a super fast deluxe shower. In 5 minutes I am toweled off, and half dressed. Why half dressed? Because I have no pants. None. The only pants I have that are clean and pressed are sitting in the dry cleaners. Ok a skirt! Skirt, skirt, skirt WHERE ARE MY SKIRTS???? Ah ok here we go....sheeeeeeeeiiiiit it needs to be ironed. Ok well that can wait, as I hear the babbling ratcheted up to near hysteria levels coming from the kids room.

I run into their room, dressed in a shirt and my underwear, hair still wet and scraped into a barely manageable pony tail-like contortion.

"MAMI!!!!!!!" "HI MAMI!!!!" - I am greeted by two happy bouncing boys. Literally bouncing on their beds, hard enough to make me wonder how strong those beds really are and if the mattresses had a voice, would they be pleading to "make it stop, PLEASE MAKE THEM STOP FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY!!!???"

I send Nicky off to the potty while I wrestle Seba out of his Dinosaur Pj's, which immediately starts the howls and cries of "NOOOOOO I want it" because if he could, he would wear that pajama shirt with the dinosaur skeleton emblazoned across the chest on a trip to the freaking VATICAN, if I let him. Because that is his absolute favorite Pajama. For this week, anyway. Further wrestling ensues and a minute later and I have one fully dressed toddler, now consoled by the fact that he is wearing his favorite cookie monster shirt and shorts set.

I turn to look for Nicky only to find that he has not returned from his potty excursion. I go into the bathroom and encounter toothpaste. Everywhere. Attempting to squeeze the toothpaste onto his Wall-E toothbrush has turned into a fiasco. There is toothpaste on the floor, his hair, the toilet, and oh look, on my shirt. Super mom kicks into gear and I clean up the mess, strip off my shirt, give Nick a quick shower while simultaneously brushing both sets of teeth AND my own, get him back to the room, dress him and then we all run out to the living room. Ok, we are good on time. The babysitter is picking them up in 5 minutes. I throw the diaper bag together, I get their lunch (leftovers from last night) and snacks (cheese, apples a banana and granola bars) milk and sippy cups all ready. I congratulate myself as she rings the doorbell and I run downstairs to let her in. I am triumphant! I got everything ready on time!! I am SUPERMOM!

Why is she looking at me like that through the glass on the door? Is she...is she laughing? I reach up and smooth my hair as I unlock the door. As the cool breeze from the street wafts in I realize why she is laughing at me.

I am standing in my doorway wearing only my underwear. Sigh. Another day. I wave at my neighbor.

fin

Searched

I am a freak. I can't believe I didn't know this already, and perhaps you did, seeing as how you are reading my blog and have probably read it before. Why didn't you tell me that I was a freak that is writing not an innocent "mom-blog" but rather a blog that is full of EROTICA? How did this escape my attention? Now I am running through my past entries and seeing them in a new light, specifically I am seeing them through an EROTICA-infused light. Ohmigod didn't I entitle on post "Adult Themed"? The clues have always been there, haven't they? I am staggered. 

What brought this realization that I am an author of erotica was a wonderful little gadget called SiteMeter. If you scroll down a bit, you will see a little button for Sitemeter on the right hand side of the page. What does Sitemeter do? Here I will explain: Sitemeter provides tracking and and counter services so I can see how many hits I have gotten, and from which part of the world people are currently logged onto and reading one of my formerly thought to be inane and now known to be EROTIC posts. Its nifty and good for my ego when I see that I have gotten a couple of thousand hits from all over the U.S and from far flung places like Japan, India and even a hit from Antarctica. I wonder how in the heck these people have found my blog and sitemeter tells me. Often, I get hits when I comment on other peoples blogs and enter my web address; that is pretty much the standard way anyone gets traffic. I also have my tried and true followers who check in everyday for a new post and who don't hesitate to berate me (lovingly) when I have been slacking and haven't posted anything in weeks with comments like "WTF Gina, get on the ball and write something funny already! Make me laugh bitch!!! (cracking whip)

Other than being directed to my blog from my comments on other sites, Sitemeter also lets me know when I have been found via a search engine - even going so far as to tell me exactly what string was used. Many times its something completely innocent like "mom, blog, poop, babies, toddlers, books, World of Warcraft..." etc. Lately though, a darker theme to the redirects has emerged. Instead of babies and toddlers I see that people have found my blog through some sexually charged search strings.

Witness:

1. Visitor 1,195 found my blog through a Google search string that consisted of "bathtime for big boys humiliation story" Oh. My. God. I mean I know that I have used all those words in my posts but never did I think that I was subliminally writing about "bathtime for big boys [and their] humiliation stories". I am glad that the big boys referred to are clean but am sad that they felt humiliated. Forgive me! I knew not what I was writing!

2. Visitor 1,895 also used Google (doesn't everybody?) and found this here blog by typing in "Testicle Stomping". Now I know that I am writing not only erotica, but VIOLENT erotica. Its been a real eye opener. I wonder if Anne Rice, writing as  Anne Roquelaure (her erotica- writing alter ego), often pops into Google and types in "Testicle Stomping" to read my blog for new tips for her latest erotica-based series. I mean will she write something like the erotic Cinderella story she wrote before only this time it will feature a mom blogger that has a secret erotic life? Will I get royalties? Oh wait, Anne Rice has found God or something and is no longer much fun. Poop.

3. Visitor 2,004 found my blog using google blogsearch - proving to me that that person was indeed looking for erotic blogs - by typing in "embarrassing skirt story". Ok, not so bad right? I did indeed post about an embarrassing skit story just a few days ago. Sadly, the searcher didn't stop there because that same user (I can tell from the ISP) also found my blog by typing in "humiliation spanking bad girl skirt moan". People, am I writing about moaning? Who exactly was moaning in any of my posts? Do I have secret posts that I have forgotten about or that I have secreted away in the endless posts that highlight my complaints of poop, early morning wake ups, fevers and strange conversations? 

Maybe this is my true calling and I should start writing erotica. I seem to have a gift for it. Now I am wondering exactly what kind of traffic I will get because of the use of the words "Erotica", "VIOLENT erotica"and "moaning" featured in this entry. Uh-oh.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, REPEAT NO EVIL

Yes I am back again with yet another embarrassing tale that can be used as further proof that I will be winning no 'Mother Of The Year Award' for good old 2009.

My potty mouth is legendary, well at least to me it is. I am absurdly proud of the fact that I can work a curse into just about any thought and sentence at the drop of a hat. Wait, let me redact that last statement, or at least edit it to meet today's needs; I am absurdly proud of the fact that I used to be able to work a curse into just about any thought and sentence at the drop of a hat.

Now that I have 2 children whose little brains are made up of tiny recording components that seem to capture only the worst things that come, unbidden, out of my mouth when I am in a frenzy of finding lost keys (they were in the freezer), cleaning up dog vomit (Dog: Why must you always vomit on the rug? Why? What is wrong with the hardwood floors or the easy to clean linoleum?) or picking poop out of my EYELASHES when Seba sharted as I was changing his diaper. (The unbidden word that flew out of my mouth then was, I believe, "FUUUCK!")

So getting back on track, I have a potty mouth that I have curbed to a certain degree around the kids but which I seem to let loose on many an occasion - the contents of which are immediately downloaded and saved for future reference in two toddler brains. Aside from my own slips, Mike doesn't have an angel’s vocabulary per se, and then there are the songs on the radio. I can’t keep up!

Case in point:

1) The "Coño" incident

2) The incident that occurred in the car yesterday after he picked up the kids from the sitter's house as related to me by Mike this morning:

Mike: So this douche cuts me off and I have to swerve a bit to avoid him hitting the car, so I say "FUCKING ASSHOLE!" and then I hear Nicky echoing me from the backseat "Yes, dada. What a fucking asshole. That's right! " (Nicky ends most of his sentences with a "that's right!")

Me: Sheeee-it. We have to stop cursing around them.

Seba: (standing behind me unnoticed) "Sheeeee-it!"

Aside from copy cat incidents of the spoken variety there are the incidents where the children will re-enact something they have seen their father do. I am placing this one squarely on Mike since I don’t go around lifting up the skirt of his dress and saying "Wooooo - Mommy's butt!" in front of the boys. Because damn, Mike in a skirt is a scary thought. So, yes, Mike felt compelled to do this to me today in front of both boys and now they think it’s just so funny, so hysterical to do this to me all the time. It didn't help that they were chastised in a half-assed manner by their widely-grinning father who wasn’t exactly oozing any dissatisfaction at their antics.

Now to sum up what I have learned from these experiences:

1) Make sure the kids are finished pooping before removing diaper and leaning in close to wipe poop residue from little behinds.

2) Stop cursing.

3) Do not listen to the radio anymore or let Seba happily sing along to the unrated version of “Boom Boom Pow” by the Black Eyed Peas, who have sneakily thrown in the S-word all over the place.

3) Do not wear skirts while in public with my kids. Ever.

Halloween Horror

Oh damn, sorry all who attempted to read this post and were confronted with random words and snippets of sentences. I think a demented squirrel hacked into my account and decided to shake things up a bit. (Shakes fist at imaginary squirrel) Seriously- let's pretend it never happened, shall we? READ ON! ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the mother of two boys I know what's in store for me in terms of Halloweens to come. Monsters, fake blood, vampire's, aliens, dinosaurs, possibly some (shudder) Power Rangers costumes etc etc. No big deal, says I, I ain't no wilting violet! I can roll with the best of them! This coming from a person who cannot watch a mildly scary movie- in fact! IN FACT!- I can't watch a scary MOVIE TRAILER or a freaking commercial for a scary movie with out having nightmares. Check my bookshelves though, and you will find everything that Stephen King ever wrote as well as many Dean Koontz novels and my favorites- The Zombie Books. What? In the scary images vs. scary IMAGINED images the scary images win. I am a complicated person.  Shut-up.

Ok, getting back to the original point of this entry; I know that having boys will entail various creepy gory skeletons, disembodied hands, zombies, Frankensteins, and loose eyeball filled Halloweens for many years to come. I am cool with that. However, since my two boys are still too small to pick out their own costumes I have the power to dress them in any cutsey costume I want. The whole point is to get to pictures of them in said cutesy costumes so in a few years when they have their best friends or girlfriends over I can whip out the pictures and embarrass the hell out of my sons. It's why I had kids. The entertainment factor alone makes it worth while. Besides, I have to get them back for covering me in their bodily fluids so many times now that I have a) lost count and b) am not grossed out by picking human feces from underneath my nails. Therefore I picked out some really adorable outfits for them last Halloween and have done so again this Halloween. Last year they were bears, Seba was a koala and Nicky was a brown bear. Behold:

This year I continued with the animal theme and Sebby will be an adorable elephant and Nicky will be a 'Cuddly Lion' (Pics below are not of my kids but were taken from the internet catalog I ordered the costumes from):

   

Seriously people, how freaking cute are these costumes? I was so excited when I found them on sale (thank you, thank you, thank you, sale Gods) that I promptly ordered them. The box came last Friday and I eagerly opened it up. And then I was confronted with this:

gifninja.com Create custom animated gifs at gifninja.com!  

(taking a deep breath)

 

If there is something that I can't stand its clowns. I hate clowns. Detest clowns. Abhor clowns. And a scary clown? Freaks. Me. Out.

Seriously, who at the costume warehouse confused "Cuddly Lion Toddler Costume" with "Give Your Mother a Goddamn Stroke Born Out Of a Ridiculous Fear Of Scary Assed Clowns" costume (in size 'T' for teenagers)????!!!!!???????

 

I am happy to report that I received some of the best customer service ever when I called about the mix up. They were so nice, in fact, that they let me keep the scary assed clown costume and immediately had the missing Cuddly Lion costume shipped out to me. I am happy for all of that but what exactly am I going to do with the clown costume? Dudes and dudettes, I can't even look at the thing. Anybody want it?  Please???? TAKE IT!

Coño

The word coño is a bad, bad word in spanish. In my mind its not as bad as "F*ck" but not as benign as "Damn". Just as you wouldn't want to hear your toddler drop the f-bomb, many a Latino parent doesn't want to hear their toddler say "coño".  Unfortunatley for me the baysitter just called so that I could listen to Nicholas repeadtedly saying "Coño, coño, coño!".

Oops.

I know I said it last night when he was playing at my feet while I was washing dishes.

Now he seems to have developed toddler Tourette's and is shrieking the word at the top of his lungs at our babysitter's house. Did I mention that she is a Latina, too? Oy.

This little episode reminds me of a hysterically funny post from Miguelina's blog sometime last year.

I must control my potty mouth.