Good Morning, Wait-there is an EAST Coast?

As my dear friend Kelly put it, “Girl, you are causing quite a stir…” My umbrella is up and ready for the screaming idiots…

Who knew they even had newspapers on that other side of the country?

I kid. I kid. I know that odd state is actually “mid”west. I mean, if you can’t be part of the real west, where I am, you might as well be part of the “mid”west.

I’m actually a little sad. I wanted those nice Chicago Sun-Times people to put my photo next to Robert Novak’s. I had specially trained my photo to stick it’s foot up his photo’s ass. Oh well, next time maybe.

Kraft Singles, Not Just for lunch

I need to know how to get Kraft Cheese out of hair

Chia Mania

Chia PigI may not have succumbed to the hellish marketing ploy that is FLOAM, but I did give in to the omnipresent Chia Pet.
I am weak. My son wanted a Chia Pet and I made sure Santa delivered. A fucking Chia pet.

How bad could it be, I thought? Afterall, it wasn’t Moonsand (did you know it won’t dry out?) and it wasn’t a Bedazzler (although that Tanny or Tawney or whatever the crapass her name is will not be happy with me) and it grows an actual plant. At least, I think it’s an actual plant. Or moss. Or some sort of “Mexican” something that seems to look like the weed they pull out of the cracks in my sidewalk. Anyway, growing stuff is science-ish and that’s a good enough reason for me.

Like I said, I’m weak.

So now that we’re a few days past the main event and all the major toys have been played with over and over again, we’ve busted our Chia pet (the pig version) out of the box for a day of weed growing fun.

Or not.

Turns out you have to soak your Chia for 24 hours in water. Ok, fine. Out comes the tupperware and in goes little piggy and some H2O. I’ve got a disappointed kid, but he got to hold it for a bit and then drop it ever so (not) gently into the bowl.

Day 2 of Chia mania and we’re ready to rock. I dump out the bowl of water (which is now an odd shade of green) and put our Chia pig on a plate. I quickly scan the seed packet and see i need to mix the little balls with water. And then let them soak for another 24 hours.

Shit.

Ok. Ok. So I soak the seeds and explain, yet again, that Mommy wasn’t really paying attention to the days long process that is a Chia planting and we will have to wait to spread the seed-like gel substance tomorrow.

Day 2.5 of Chia mania and I decide the seeds have soaked enough and we’re going get this hog good and coated before I lose any more counter space to this weed monstrosity.

Kid knives and my cheese spreader are taken out of the drawer and we’re off. Count Waffles put all of two globs on the Chia and he was bored. Princess Peanut, on the other hand, is covered in Chia gel and is having the time of her life globbing what can only be described as gray poppy seed jelly on our teracotta piggy. Some go in her mouth. Many are in her hair. And I’m wondering if I call poison control for “mexican moss” ingestion.

While the Count plays with cars on the kitchen floor I clean the table, the child, and the Chia. This crap is stuck to everything. It’s in my wood floor grooves. It’s in the tiny cracks on my table. It’s stuck to the Princess, my leg, the cat.

…but…the asstacular fun that is Chia is now coated and sitting on my counter. And if either child asks me, yet again, when the “flowers will start to grow” it might very well have a Chia-uicide tonight after small people get put to bed.

We’ve already offed the Chia Alarm that came as a “bonus” in the box. It sang the Chi Chi Chi Chheeeeeeeeeeeeaaa song a little too often. It’s battery met an untimely (get it?) and totally “accidental” death late Christmas Day.

I’m not above offing the pig. But if I can smoke the Chia Moss, I might let it stick around.

Dammit.

I was so proud of myself for going to the gym today that I came home and ate the rest of the Christmas fudge.

Dammit.

I also worked really hard to keep the kids from watching tv today. They played most of the morning in our playroom, quietly. I just assumed they were fine without Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Cars, and Doodlebops because of the mound of presents Santa left. Turns out they spent the morning hiding behind the Christmas tree sneaking candy canes, M&Ms, and swedish fish.

Dammit.

I happily sang to myself earlier while putting dinner in the crockpot. Not only had I remembered to take the chicken out of the freezer the night before, but I was thrilled to have remembered to get the slow cooker going at 9am. It’s now after 3pm and I just noticed the crockpot was never plugged in.

Dammit.

I’d go take bath or have a drink or something, but my daughter has fallen asleep (3 hours later than she should) on my chest and won’t be moved.

Dammit.

Xmas Swag

I love it when my man listens.

The man knows what I like

Uggs Roo

…and then I made the mistake of asking my dear, wonderful, superb gift-giving husband if he had any gifts to show the blogosphere:

Had you tuned in 3 seconds earlier, you'd see Aaron's Penis

And yeah, the kids got some crap too. Too much. Including that fucking Elmo I swore I wouldn’t buy.

All of that said, I’m not sure there is anything better than watching your own children wake up on Christmas morning and react to Santa’s bounty. Seriously. NOTHING. BETTER.

MERRY HOLIDAYS AND A HAPPY HO HO!

Santa Sighting!!!!

Santa Sighting!!!???!!!

Let me clear my throat…

Once again I’ve written a piece over at the Huffington Post, and once again many readers are taking it completely the WRONG WAY.

Because I have spent time wondering what Barack Obama’s wife might be thinking, I’m being accused of being “creepy,” a “white bitch,” and my personal favorite “tacky.”

The point of my post was to tell Michelle Obama that whatever their family decides to do, there are many of us out there that will support their decision.

Just to be clear, YES, I want Barack Obama to run for President. Yes, I think the first woman president (Hillary) or African American president or ANY president could be the target of hate groups. YES, I think a black man or woman would be at an even bigger risk. If you think there are not nut jobs in this country, you are living in a fantasy world. And if you think a woman or the first black president wouldn’t be a prime target, you are OUT OF YOUR MIND.

I’m sorry, but how can the Obama (or Clinton) family NOT weigh that as they decide?

YES, I do think it would change the world if Obama ran and won. Simply because he would be a FIRST. Just like Hillary could be a FIRST. That changes my world. That changes HISTORY.

Go ahead and stick your head back in the sand if you think racism and sexism are things of the past. And believe you me, that elephant was not brought in the room by me, it’s been there since the beginning of time. I’m just putting it in the open because ignoring it is retarded.

And for the record, I hope I would be brave enough to change the world if given the opportunity, what I’m saying is I wouldn’t begrudge the Obama family if they decide not too.

Do I think a woman or African American President would die if elected? Dear God, I hope not. I hope we’ve come far enough that it would never happen. But we’re all stupid if we didn’t acknowledge it’s a very real possibility.

Whew. I feel better now. Thanks for hearing me out. I was just losing my mind with some of the comments over there. My letter to Michelle Obama was meant to show her that as a mom, I understand. And that she has my support. Not to be creepy or tacky or evil or overly worried about a family I don’t personally know.  I worry about many things. And this is one I just chose to write about because, again, as a mother I can’t imagine what she’s thinking.

It takes special people to change history. I hope they are these people, but it’s a heavy burden. One I’m not sure I could carry. Could you???

Jesus is a GIRL

Count Waffles the Terrible is adamant that Jesus Christ is a woman.

Apparently the preschool, preholiday puppet show included “a baby girl, a donkey, star people, an angel, clouds, and a blue guy.”

When I tried to tell my little guy that I was rather certain the “baby girl” he spoke of was actually a baby boy, he stopped me.

“No. No. Mom. No. It was a girl. I saw it. It was a girl.”

Funny I didn’t even question the inclusion of “star people” or a “blue guy” in the nativity, as far as I know there aren’t any scientologists at our preschool. Or smurfs. But Jesus? A GIRL? Hell yes that got my attention. Seeing as one of my favorite feminist cartoons depicts a nativity scene with everyone peering into the manger and exclaiming “IT’S A GIRL!”

Later on in the day I asked the Count again why he thought the baby in the manger was a girl. And the feminist household I covet had it’s image shattered into pieces, by a 3-year-old;

“Mom, I knew it was a girl because all she did was cry and whine.”

Ouch.

So in the spirit of the season, please, please, please, go listen to this wonderful rendition of O Holy Night. Sung by some guy. Please, promise me you will listen to the end. Promise me. Now. Then return here and tell me how much you love O Holy Night and Jesus as a woman.