A facelift

Today I woke up and decided to give some love to my much neglected blog. I know that no one believes me, but I have upwards of 20 "draft" posts just waiting to be edited down (word minimums were never an issue for this ego maniac). Despite having more material than the Bible (yep, that was edited down too folks, God and I are both chatty, so much in common) I couldn't bear put them up on my broken blog, the ugliest blog to have ever been published. It pains me to think of all those surely genius posts about feces and puke just rotting away in a draft folder. And I have only my husband to blame.

When I first started blogging I asked my husband to get it up for me (that's what she said), because when I took my vows I thought I never had to learn anything about computers/internet again. He obliged me. Even when I said, "Why did you make it so ugly?" After very specific instructions and lots of annoying emails about .jpg files, he finally made it not ugly. And then it broke. I don't know where my pretty blog went, but it is gone. Somewhere in the inter web, tangled in all of it's beauty. Since then I have been pestering Matt to fix it. But here is where my blogs prettiness shows up on my husbands non existent scrambled to do list:

1)Sex
2)Sex
3)Food
4)Bailey
5)Computers
6)Those other Kids
7)The woman who folds my socks (that would be me, for all you slow readers)
568) The woman who folds my socks wants me to fix her blog. I don't know what/why. Not going to do it.

So I sat my lazy ass down and figured it out. I still don't like it and HATE my header picture, but I am calling it a work in progress and thanking Shabby Blogs for her amazing designs so my computer illiterate brain can concentrate on world peace (or how to get my jiggly ass in a bathing suit in 2 weeks).

Why the sudden interest in the bliggity-blog you ask? Mainly because if I spend one more minute on Facebook looking at your distant cousins bad wedding pictures I will surely send inappropriate emails commenting on the bridesmaids lip hair. That and my husband canceled cable, because he secretly wants me to go insane. How I am supposed to function without my daily fix of Jon Stewart or watching those crazy bitches on The Real Housewives of (I don't give a crap, just keep acting psycho).

Along with this new blogging phase I have decided to 86 the pet names, simply because it turned my stomach when my actual real life friends refereed to my kids by their made up names. It was cute and endearing, I know. But even I was annoyed by it.

Whoa, big change is happening. Who needs middle eastern revolutions when you have me?

Here is a name key, to make sure your brain never has to function:
Husband Face: Matt
K-Dog: Kaeden
Big J: Jackson
Itty-Bitty: Bailey

I will probably still refer to my friends by pseudonyms. They didn't ask for me to be all crazy and get plastered across the web. Where as the people I birthed (or married) I now control their potential google notoriety (insert evil laugh).

Congratulations, I am back, with a vengance, pages (AMAZING, I feel like a REAL webpage), and a butt load of material.

Merry Effing Christmas

The holiday season blows. I hate to be a grinch about it all, but it this year it does. I am usually Cindy Who and so excited about every stupid holiday song Husband Face is annoyed to tears. But this year we didn't even get a tree until today (usually it is purchased and decorated by the day after Thanksgiving, not joking). I am just not my usually merry self. I am guessing it is one or a combination of several of the following:

1. My daughter decided to pick up an emotional disorder. Awesome. Like having all of these crack crazed babies wasn't hard enough, I now have a two year old that twists her hair so often and forcefully she is balding. Diagnosed by my pediatrician as trichotillomania, he also said that the reason it is falling out now is due to the dry weather we are having. I am still on the fence about the diagnosis. All of my kids have twirllled their hair while falling asleep or watching tv, it is like their pacifier, so I am wary about labeling a 2 year old with 7 syllable anxiety disorder, seems a little intense. In the same breath, she does look like she is going through chemo. When we are out in public and I try to punish her all of the bystanders think I am Satan for reprimanding the poor cancer baby. Bitches, she is a stubborn little thing, not cancer ridden, move on. I can deal with a little baby pattern balding, whatever, but it has accelerated at such a rate that I haven't had time to cope with the situation. I am trying my best not to bring it up to her (if I mention it she gets really upset), she wears mittens duct taped to her pajamas at bedtime and always his a head full of leave in conditioner, however I think it has gone beyond repair and I may have to take her to get a pixie cut this week. Additionally, her twin brother has the hair of pop star Justin Bieber and she resembles a little alien. To sprinkle salt in the wound the only reason I decided to have a second child was the possibility of having a girl and my main excitement about the girl thing was the adorable hair accessories. I made over 50 bows/headbands when I was pregnant with the twins. Don't judge me. I was bed ridden and my hot glue gun was my BFF.

2. We are selling our home. Correction, we are trying to sell our home. We have had a few borderline offensive offers and what seems like a million people have seen it, but for the most part things are not happening like I had hoped. Fist of all, trying to prepare your home for potential buyers to come through and judge every carpet stain and smudged mirror is nearly impossible to successfully do with 3 kids nipping at my ankles. Then there is all the weekend projects we have to complete. I don't have a problem with doing all that stupid stuff so much as I do paying for it. Dumping money into a home you wish was out of your life is extremely painful. I neglected to mention that the main reason we are selling is due to our horrific neighbors. You think you have it bad with a barking dog or occasional loud party, oh no my friends, my neighbors are out for blood. They hate me, my kids, my dog, my car, etc... It is crazy and a whole separate blog that I will shout from the rooftops when this home is a distant memory. But the worst part is how much I love our home. It is cute and has a yard opening up to a park (key for the children to burn off energy before their strictly enforced naps). We bought the place as a foreclosure and put a ton of work into it once we moved in. And yes, we outgrew it the day we moved into it (I found out I was having the twins a month after we closed escrow) but I have always said that it has made us one of those close families, like the Cosby's, but white and poorer (a doctor and a lawyer, really, that is like the earning potential lottery).

Update: Since writing this my children have literally burnt down their room. Not joking, blog post deltailing their craziness is written, just need to add pics to complete the mess. The aroma of smoke hitting you as soon as you open the door should make this place a lot easier to sell.


3. The best friend has left the building. Actually the continent. She decided to go teach English to Korean children. I tried to convince her that my kids suck at English and to just stay in my garage, teach them some words or commas or whatever, indefinitely. Strangely living a metropolitan lifestyle in a foreign city sounded more appealing to her than my suburban one car garage. Whatever. This makes me seem codependent, but I am not, promise. By no means are either of us those type of women that must hang out every day and braid each others hair. Oh no, we mock those people. However, there has never been a year in my life (since I was 5) when we were not in constant communication with one another. We went through K-12 together and then remained in the San Diego for college. Hell, we even went to the same college. And know she has left me. High and dry for what has been presented as a year adventure, I have a sneaking suspicion will evolve into a lifetime of foreign men, countries and food. It is kind of gross/sad that I didn't have to cultivate deep relationships past the age of five, now I am reaping those consequences. South Korea has shitty Internet and is like a day and a half ahead of my time zone. We have also concluded that we are the only people using video chat for non sexual reasons and happy hour via the interwebs is near impossible. Additionally, I am so jealous of her Korean escapades. As much as I love living the housewife wet dream, it would be amazing to be able to pick up and just go live anywhere, just for the hell of it.


As a side note: I do have pretty amazing friends here. But I am a hard person to peg. The 25 year old mom of three little kids who curses too often, drinks too much and probably won't agree with anything you say just for the hell of it, is not the most popular girl. Moms don't want to be my friend because of the aforementioned reasons and people my own age have way too much free time on their hands and don't seem to really understand all the responsibilities I have everyday, regardless of the hangover...

4. We are sick. Always. This nasal headache (accompanied by a lovely hacking cough) will follow me to my grave. And the kids just pass it to each other like dirty hookers. No one in my family has been 100% healthy since the twins were born. It is zero fun spending money you don't have, for a holiday you don't believe in, while sick. Can it be January?


I know I will be fine and snap out of this funk, but this is my bitchy blog post. Tomorrow (or maybe the day after) I will post one about how my kids ooze cuteness or something humerous involving their puke. It has been a rough week/month/year. I am sure I will experience a Christmas miracle soon enough, but I wouldn't bet any virgin births on it.

Watch out 2010

The last night of 2009.

I have never made a resolution. Never. I thought it was petty and pushed by gyms and Jenny Craig. What can I say, I am a crazy hippie at heart. Three kids later: My life and body are a mess. Since I am, gasp, a stay at home mom, the days and my waistline continue to expand. I need a goal (in this case several goals) to keep me focused, and prevent me from turning into one of those sad women who doesn't shower in the morning because I think, "What's the point?"

Luckily, as a teenager with disposable income I purchased a lifetime membership to a gym, most of the other things I did as a teenager were not as advantageous to my future. I have zero excuses for not working out, aside from the three kids and budding social schedule. Once I decided to shed the pounds my happy ass has been carrying around for several years, the resolutions just wouldn't stop. Now, last year I spent the majority of my time making bottles and figuring out what shirt colors hide spit-up best, this year the babes are to a point where they need me, but occasionally maybe I can wear a black shirt (black=bad color to conceal puke) and further my career. Here are my overly ambitious life goals. They will not be completed in 2010, it might take years to achieve them all, but along with my crazy stubborn side, comes crazy determination and passion. So watch out 2010, I am going to kick your ass.

In order to not overwhelm you with all my New Year crazies, I am going to "release" a couple at a time throughout January. I know the suspense may be too much to handle, but, trust me, it will be worth the wait.

-Get in shape, not round. Oh, my nice jeans, how I miss you. I'm spending my winter in $10 jeans, and it sucks. Probably the biggest reason for the new found desire to "be fit" is because I don't want to rebuild my jean wardrobe. A lot of effort and money were spent on those jeans, which are now just getting wrinkly at the bottom of my drawers. Also, I know one piece swimsuits are "in" now, but really? They aren't that cute, and everyone knows you are just hiding your blubber stomach. Well maybe Kate Hudson isn't hiding a blubber stomach, but most beach goers in one pieces aren't wearing them for the fashion statement. Plus, can there be an uglier tan line? And, I know, I live in San Diego. Last summer, was not my finest time. I was an emotional fat mess, and I apologize to those who saw me in my bikini. I obviously was not thinking straight, can we blame this lapse in judgment on the lack of sleep and nearly dead sister? My current attack plan against my body, includes running (with my Goliath babies) and my classes at the gym. Seeing as we cannot afford to suck all of the fat out of my stomach, hopefully hard work will be enough.

Ok, and this is a bold move, but I am seriously considering posting "progress pictures." The first picture has been taken, and it is bad, really bad. But it is motivational, so I am tempted, we'll see.


The reason my jeans don't fit.

-No soda, limited caffeine. Why are the legal stimulates so hard to quit? I love soda, but I think the copious amounts I have consumed since the babies were born contributed to my weight gain and bad skin. Enough, adios dumb beautiful caffeine. It really is like a bad break up. I see him (Dr. Pepper) everywhere, and it feels so right when we are together, but he is bad for me. No we can't be friends, I love him too much, a clean break is better.

So far I have been doing pretty awesome. I think about soda all day, and we still have ALL of our stash in my fridge, but I have not caved. Granted, I grind my teeth and have developed some anger issues, but hell I am soda free!


The reason I need a soda.

-Eat like an adult. I eat like a small child. Well, better than K-Dog, who refuses anything that is not bread based and fried, but it is pretty bad. I am on a major organic, no microwave, good farm kick. This is what watching Ellen has gotten me too. I love animals, I don't want them to be treated poorly, but they taste so good. My happy medium is only financially supporting farms that let there cows/poultry graze, aren't given anti-biotic, allowed to flap their wings, etc. I know I sound like a crazy hippie, but have you tried organic meat? It is good, like way better than the normal grocery store junk. And the big "farms" are the biggest (40%) contributor to global warming. So, drive your hummer and run your TV all day, but eat (as Husband Face calls them) the "happy cows." I promise not to become one of "those" people who talks about my "green-diet" all day, and the environment, and how we are killing our planet, blah, blah, blah. I am way too interesting to talk about that crap. THIS is that rant, and I am now done.

Also, just so we all are on the same page, I am making an exception for In N Out, sorry cows. I am telling you all this because I know one day I am going to come home on a In N Out "high" and write a love letter about their patties. I don't want to feel guilty. Actually, I don't really eat out that often, but when I do I generally have some type of steak. I am not ready to give that up yet. Maybe soon. I will save as many planets and eat the "happy cows" as I can, but my heart will always be a crazed meat lover.

Along, with trying new foods, I am trying to learn how to cook. I know, who am I? Husband Face has always done the majority of the cooking, but I really don't need to eat chicken pasta anymore, my ass looks like the curdled cream (too much?). Which leads me to the conclusion, that I must cook. Thanks, to everyone who bought my cooking junk for my wedding. I wish I knew about the crock pot 3 years ago.



The reason I will do it all.

Top Ten Reasons I Love Husband Face

Us. Showered and shiny (very rare, take it in)


Sorry for the long hiatus. It has been hectic around my very small home. Between visiting my sister in the hospital(who is now home and doing well, fyi), preschool starting back up, work and the beginning of football season (Yes, I am including this in my "Reasons that I am busy rant," I spend an absurd amount of time thinking about/arguing about/watching football), oh and my children and husband and the eating and the bathing stuff, we are busy. Shortly after my last post I regretted writing it. I may seem bitter and and angry (in the post), but I am not. Really that fight lasted until the next morning and then was done. I have learned an important lesson: avoid blogging while angry (even though that is the fastest I have ever written). And sticking with the spirit of openness and honesty, as much as that post makes me cringe and feel like a crazy person, I am going to leave it up. This is me, good, bad and ugly. Enjoy.

In looking for atonement for my poor behavior towards Husband Face, I offer this post. As promised earlier, "The Top Ten Reasons I Love Husband Face."

1. He fixes my broken shit. Over the past several years Husband Face became handy. This was surprising, but awesome. While he will procrastinate and claims he cannot fix certain things (like my silver shiny piggy bank he destroyed in his clumsiness, which I nearly divorced him over) he somehow comes up with a reasonable solution (in the piggy bank situation the solution was copious amounts of glue).

2. Knows how to make me smile. That came out dirty. Clarifying: He entertains me. Whether it be his dry sarcasm or running around the house tackling babies, I am rarely bored when he is around. He is witty and smart with his humor. While I come from a background of loud talking smart asses, he does it (humor) in a much more subtle way, which probably explains why he is generally better liked than me.

3. According to Husband Face, he has superior genes. He claims that he cannot get sick. And while I have seen him sick before, it is rare. Unlike me, who gets sick if someone sneezes within a 50 yard radius of me. I am fragile. I am hoping the children get some of his super human anti-sick genes. This is also beneficial because he always takes care of me when I am sick. It is awesome. If being sick didn't blow so much, I would lick hospital floors to contract the swine flu. Matt lets me sleep all day and brings me toast with 7up and orange juice, while wrangling the grease monkeys. Perfection.


A couple of the children who benefit from the superior genes.

4. Unfortunately, after I get well he leaves, for a good job. I love that he is in a field where he will always have work. And while we can barely afford to support our family, here in America's Finest City (we would be living the good life pretty much anywhere else), he is employed. In a recession. With zero worries about getting fired. It is a major plus.

5. In addition to being employed, he is a genius. Please, don't tell him this. I like to make him think that I am the superior intellect in the relationship, but I am terrified to take any type of IQ test with him. I know he would win, but never want him to know that I think that, does that make sense? Sometimes (when I say "sometimes" I mean "most of the time") when he talks about what he is working on or a problem at work, I nod my head in understanding, but rarely fully comprehend. Lately, I just stopped listening and smile and nod like a goober. This is not an act of rudeness, but rather self-preservation, I NEED to think I am smarter. It is my thing. I am smart and witty, and he is lucky. Really I am hoping that I am the lucky one, I think of him as the next Bill Gates (who Husband Face recently explained to me IN DEPTH is really not that smart, but stole Windows from some other company, blah, blah, blah or was it Steve Jobs, damn it, I think it was, there goes that witty commentary).

6. When he is not being brilliant, he likes (or at least tolerates) snuggling with me. I am a not a needy girl, until I am. It is complex and hurts Husband Faces overly logical brain. I am independent and would rather die than have my husband speak for me in any situation, I am a control freak, I think chivalry is dead and I am happy about it, but I really like cuddling. There are many rules to the affection: not in public (unless I am drunk), he has to smell good, no half hugs (I must be able to bury my head in his chest like a small woodland animal), and I must initiate it. I hate being touched by pretty much anyone else, maybe my dad and children can hug me if I am having a really good or really bad day. But I have never been a hugger. My poor friends probably hate me for not using the acronyms BFF and Bestie often enough and have stopped trying to hug me years ago, but I am not affectionate, and kind of think it is ridiculous and sad (exception: if you are an adolescent, I realize your hormones are doing crazy things. Hugs not drugs, kids). Now that I am stressed out ALL day and have had a headache since 2006, I need snuggle time. And Husband Face always obliges me. He is like a big furry bear or Chewbacca (shout out to his nerd side). He hates snuggling and cannot go to sleep, conversely I cannot go to sleep without being cuddled. On most nights, he waits patiently for me to fall asleep and then gently sneaks over to his side of the bed. Dedication, people.

6. Along (and somewhat coinciding with) the hugging, he calls me pretty. While half the time I am have bodily fluid or condiments on my clothes, he says I look pretty. And when I was 7 months pregnant with twins and yelled at him for complimenting me he didn't take it back until I threatened to go into labor (and then he still said I look cute when I get feisty).

7. Husband Face, as much as he denies it and tries to avoid it, is a good dad. He can't help it. He loves those kids, and while he once yelled at our 2 week old daughter for screaming at 2am for four hours straight "for no foreseeable reason," he still sat there rocking her so I could get an hour of sleep. K-Dog is asks the same question 15 million times and Big J is generally attacking whatever Itty Bitty is playing with causing tears and screams, but every night he still comes home and plays with the mongrels and tries to help me contain the madness.


Nothing sexier than a man who knows his way around a double stroller.

8. Sometimes I am crazy. As previously mentioned, I was not hugged enough as a child (at least that is what I am blaming the crazy on). Somedays, for literally zero reason, I act crazy. I am a control freak and have serious issues. Husband Face makes sure to remind me that I am acting crazy and I need to check myself. Unlike previous boyfriends that tried to reign in the crazy, Husband Face has been the only successful one, the others have gone down in the crazy flames. I admire his persistence, and I am working on the crazy.

9. Along with my craziness, my need for constant compliments and affection (depending on my mood), I cannot cook (I know, I am quite the catch). Also, did I mention that I am the worlds pickiest eater (once again, blaming my childhood full of fast food and toast). If Husband Face is sick of the four meals I can cook well, he cooks for us and it is good. I am going to stop writing about this topic, because it makes me look like a horrible wife and makes Husband Face sound gay (he's not, by the way, case in point the three babies).

10. He is a good person. He is not mean-spirited and is gentle with his sarcasm (unlike some people he may or may not be married to). He is nice and genuine. I feel confident that he will never hurt me intentionally and that gives me peace. Also, "he would be good looking in Boston," (his words, not mine, so Husband Face, try to not fall in love with him).

If You Give A Mouse (or a Husband) a Cookie

Last Wednesday I decided to plan Husband Face a surprise vacation. He has been awesome helping me out since the twins were born, and I wanted him to know that he is loved and appreciated. I knew that our friends were going up to San Francisco for the weekend and thought it would be the perfect chance for him to get away from the chaos that we call home. I also knew that I would not be able to go since we have three children that need quasi-supervision, at least more than Google Video Chat can offer. I was bummed that I couldn't go, but was feeling like the best wife in history.

Not to be cocky or demeaning, but I am completely aware that Husband Face will never be able to surprise me as well as I did to him. He can hardly manage to get me a card on Valentines Day (this is not a joke, all I wanted for Valentines Day was a card, since we are supporting lots of mouths and they drain our souls and bank accounts, and he forgot. Knew it was Valentines Day, but forgot to get me a card. The last 3 birthdays he has either given me cash or a gift card, and he has never gotten me an anniversary present). All of that is fine with me. He makes the majority of the money in our household and he has never regulated my spending (partially because I am the thriftiest person in America, I get off on the Target Dollar Spot and partially because he trusts my judgement). I like giving presents. I know that sounds so corny and self-righteous, but it is true. I am a good person to get a gift from. I think it through and I am diligent. Over the past 5 years, I have bought Husband Face more "ram" and "video cards" (these are tech items that are little and generally silver that he freaks out about) because I listen and remember that he always says he needs more "ram," similar to how I mention I need a pedicure, but my toes are still neglected. I am feeling like this may sound like I am whining, I am not. I really do not care that I am not one of those pampered women. I have always been really independent and I think I would stress out if a Husband Face tried to lavish me with gifts.

That was entirely off point. Back to it. I pumped Husband Face up all week about his surprise. I did not give away any hints, he was completely clueless. I had him come home early on Friday and then blindfolded him and put him in the car. I drove through shopping centers and around the local college three times to confuse his sense of direction. It was perfect. We got to the airport (which he guessed because of the distinct geography we had to drive through and the roaring planes flying over head) and he was so excited to go. I had packed him a bag and his laptop, which included a long letter about how much I adore him and gushed about how lucky I was to have such a great life partner. It was ridiculous. A big ego booster for the Husband Face. Then our friends came over to the terminal and off he goes to San Fran.

The Surprise Unveiled:

Then I am alone. This is the first time in nearly 5 years that we have been apart for more than a day. Never have I spent a night alone. Friday night I couldn't fall asleep until 3am, because no one was snuggling me. Saturday night I was awake until 1:30am, and finally caved and let the dog sleep with me (wagging her tail in my face all night, she was stoked). The kids were actually really easy. I spent a lot of time going through bins of baby clothes. I went to the ICU to visit my sister a few times. My fabulous mother-in-law entertained K-Dog all weekend. I showered once. I remembered to lock 2 of the 3 locks in our home. I took out the trash once it started to reek. Overall I would consider me as a single parent a success. Not once did I talk to Husband Face sober, which is fine, I expected him to get belligerent. The night we video chatted he broke into a ballroom at the hotel in order to find free WiFi. He proceeded to tell me how much he loves me and the children for 20 minutes (it was drunk chatter ending in him dropping the laptop and nearly falling asleep). I am glad he didn't get arrested.

Sunday rolls around. I am thrilled that he is coming home. I spent the day back to school shopping for K-Dog, and cleaning the garage (one of the items on HIS list). I slowly realize around 6pm that I haven't heard from the crew all day. This worries me. They went on a Napa Valley wine tour and I can picture Husband Face and his buddies jumping off of the returning ferry. I know that much free wine is trouble for my lush husband. Husband Face is supposed to be at the airport by 8pm to make his 9pm flight. At 8pm one of the girlfriends calls me and sounds flustered:

Me: What's wrong? Is Husband Face at the airport?

My poor friend: No. He is wrestling in the pool with my boyfriend.

Me: WHAT THE FUCK?

My poor friend: I lost control 5 hours ago.

(I was right. The wine tour did him in. I can hear the them "playing" in the background. At this point I feel so bad for my friend. Not only does she have to deal with her boyfriend, my husband is just fueling the fire without a wife to contain him.)

Me: I am married to a teenager.

Over the next two hours there is a string of phone calls in which Husband Face blames ME for missing his flight (because I sent him on the amazing bay area vacation). I have K-Dog crying uncontrollably because he wants to see his Daddy, I am going through snuggle withdrawals and have been limited to talking with infants and small children all weekend so was desperately wanting adult interaction, even if he smelt like red wine and sweat. I am not mad that he missed his flight. That would be stupid. I am mad because he was to wasted and then missed his flight, neglected to call me, somehow blamed it on me and left me another snuggle-less night. Not okay. And when hormonal Italian women are mad we call our friends and cry...

I call College Barbie. And as I am describing what I would like in the divorce and how I never would be so selfish/careless and she basically says, "Bitch calm down, you love him" which I did, and I do. However, am still very much upset, but no longer wild and crazy upset. In lieu of a divorce, I am watching the new episodes of Mad Men and Entourage BY MYSELF and then DELETING them. Don't piss off your wife with access to the DVR, especially on a Sunday night.