What I Did This Weekend…

I defended my stance on the dirt pile after being called a “douche” for blogging about it on Friday. Fantastic vocabulary, Dave…all that law schoolin’ really paid off, huh? Just kidding, I’m totally cool with the 10th anniversary dirt pile. So cool in fact, that when the second pile was delivered yesterday morning,  I silently watched with delight while casting the hairy eyeball upon my unsuspecting husband.

He’s so romantical and stuff. Okay, I’ll fess us…he wants to build a flagstone wall so I can plant a pretty garden on the bald, weedy hill.

As the dirt pile (also filled with refuse) was dumped from the busted dump truck, I sat in the front seat of my sexy grey minivan. That’s right. I like to spend Saturday mornings with a cup of java and some Amor All wipes, scrubbing gobs of rotting banana and dog snot from its interior. I originally walked onto the porch with my cup o’ Joe intending to soak up the morning sunshine on a wicker chair. I don’t know, maybe it was Kate’s incessant shrieking or something that caused me to enter the minivan and start scrubbing. I was still in my pajamas… No, that’s not entirely true… I was wearing pajama bottoms and a bathrobe.

20 minutes into Scrub Fest and locked inside while the exterior was hosed down, I got hot. Really hot. So I took off the bathrobe and commenced Topless Scrub Fest 2011. But no one noticed because the doors where all closed. Dave finally peeked into a window and I saw his eyes widen with surprise. Somehow I don’t think that a 40 year old woman with bed head and coffee breath really fulfilled any naked car wash fantasies. Thankfully, the dirt delivery person arrived before Topless Scrub Fest began.

Then we went to Toys R Us. Again. 

Next, we purposely dragged the kids into this huge Goodwill in South Portland because they dragged us through Toys R Us. Smart, aren’t we? Tit for tat, man.

We scored a vintage oil painting (trés shabby chic) for $1.99. I’d show you a picture, but I’m too lazy and two cocktails into my evening and stuff. (No wonder no one tunes in to No. 7 anymore, huh?)

Vintage Californian Artist Oil Painting Period Frame

Not our $1.99 Goodwill oil painting, but you get the picture.

Today, we hired a new babysitter, drove to Old Port and inhaled a pile of sushi. Then, guess where we went? We went to Toys R Us. AGAIN.

It’s Gwen’s birthday tomorrow. So yesterday’s Toys R Us mission was held to uncover what the kid wanted. You know… since we totally forgot that she was turning 5. I guess we could have told her that the second dirt pile was hers, but I didn’t have the heart. From experience, I can attest to the fact that getting dirt for a momentous occasion sucks.

Anywho… we nabbed the last pink daisy covered Razor scooter, some Hello Kitty shades and a creepy puppy dog that wags its tail. The best part of our Toys R Us date was the discovery of some stuffed guinea pigs that simply must repeat whatever you say. Hecho in China. We taught the whole shelf to say, “Wazzzzzup, douchebag?”

I Say Chatimals Talking Guinea Pig

Then we left.
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That’s Not Appropriate, Mommy!

One thing I have never claimed to be is socially appropriate. I’m loud and involuntarily roll my eyes at other obnoxious people (notice I wrote ‘other’). If warranted, I’ll happily let you (and everyone around you) know that you are being an obnoxious jerk. To top it off, my humor is somewhat ‘off’ which sometimes causes problems for me with the other mommies that are slightly more mature in what makes them laugh. I’ve had some trouble mixing my sense of humor with child rearing. It’s really hard to tone things down after 30-something years of life sans offspring.
I’ve been holding on to this picture for awhile. I like it. It suits me. Sure, she’s smiling at you over her cup of coffee, but she clearly thinks you’re an ass. I sometimes fight the temptation to pass these words of wisdom on to people who don’t like some of my posts and feel quite comfortable saying so. Believe it or not, some of my posts are actual essays versus mortifying mommy moments and life ain’t always funny, folks. On the other hand, the coffee drinking bitch in the picture above is funny. To me at least…

The odd thing is, I didn’t realize that I had aged out of so many of the things that make me laugh. Perhaps because when we made a left turn onto the road of parenthood, I had no idea that six and a half years could move so quickly, and all while I was often in a zombie-like state. The process has been so gradual. Kate made a respectably sized tinkle in her potty this morning. This is big news. HUGE, even! We’re nearing the finish line of our six and a half year diaper changing marathon and I’m beginning to feel like I’ve been living under a rock, only I didn’t know I was living under a rock. It’s almost as if I got stuck in some weird time sucking limbo…no, maybe more like Ridley in those Aliens movies, I was put into a hyperbaric chamber and stayed the exact same while nearly ten years passed me by.

I was struck with this revelation on Sunday afternoon as I remembered that I used to love Urban Outfitters. When we lived in Boston, I could have had my mail directed c/o Urban Outfitters, 361 Newbury Street. Oh my GOD, I thought, how did I ever forget about that? What has become of me? Who am I? I drive a fucking minivan and lopped off all of my hair into a pixie cut. I’m a *gulp* soccer mom. I’m not going to deny that some tears were shed. I won’t pretend that I didn’t go upstairs to my closet and fondle stilettos that I haven’t worn in a year. I looked at my sad, dwindling wardrobe and decided that I was going to revamp and stock up. My laptop and I were on a mission to make me cool and pretty again. I thought, I’ll just pick up where I left off…

 Urban Outfitters
Joe can read now, so in the interest of a tactful approach to motherhood, I’ll have to forego the purchase of this one.
I….am….a…virg…virgin. Mom? What’s a virgin?
Oh…um, well… A virgin is an angelic being. See? See this halo right here?
Problem is, he’d go to school and draw pictures of angelic beings and call them virgins. It’s bad enough that the words “Pussy Pie” tumbled from his mouth on our ride home this afternoon. In a nutshell, the t-shirt is just not a good idea. Besides, I’d likely just buy it and wear to go running or sleep in it.
Urban Outfitters carries these funny coasters called Indelicate Doilies. Genius. My personal favorite?
“Don’t Stain My Table, Douchebag.” 
Urban Outfitters
I like to sit back and imagine what would happen if I had some of the mommies over and served each of them with a cocktail, one of these doilies and a smile. I think that most of my new friends in Maine would laugh, but you have to wonder…I’m going to stock up and then let you know how that goes.
Speaking of cocktails and other mommies. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that jello shots are no longer appropriate. Damn! There’s a whole entire book dedicated to them!
Urban Outfitters
Same goes for the “Beer Belt”. I’m thinking that the neighbors might talk if I wear this to the next block party.
Urban Outfitters

Bottom line? I’ve aged out of Urban Outfitters.
Please, make me feel better about my metamorphosis into a haggard, old mommy by clicking on the brown button below. Each click saves me from sagging boobies and erases fine line and wrinkles!
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