Monthly Archives: September 2012

Eyes

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So, D, my five-year old is learning to read. This has been interesting. And sometimes things get dicey. First of all, let me say, I could never be a teacher. I simply do not have the patience. But my hubster, my word, he has the patience of a saint.Last night I was on the peripheral (read: kitchen) loading the dishwasher, putting away the leftover tater tot hot dish and keeping one eye on my 2-year old who was generously applying lip gloss and eye shadow  to her petite and filthy face.  I can overhear hubster and D reading a book about bats (the kind that soar through the sky and eat those pesky mosquitoes). Now I have no idea what words are on each page…but I am certain what she read is NOT part of the Kindergarten curriculum.

It went something like this:

D: “I. See. A. Bat.”

Hubster: “Sound it out. Does that word look like bat to you?”

D: “No. Ah…ah…”Hubster: {encouraging her as she clearly has the right sound since the word she is trying to read is “eyes”.}

D: “Ah…ah…asshole?”

Hubster: {Doesn’t even flinch*} “D, try again.”

D: {continues on with help from her dad…} “ah…eyes. EYES!”

*meanwhile, I choked on my Three Buck Chuck and felt the need to excuse myself. I also took mental note to discontinue calling the construction workers that block me from entering my neighborhood day after day for the past nine months “assholes”. And while I’m being honest with myself, I will try really hard not to refer to the soccer mom in her overgrown Lexus SUV that blocks the entrance to the parking lot of D’s gymnastics an asshole either. Instead I will call her “eyes”.

-H

Marie Claire Mag

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Sunday Funday.

The hubster is permanently affixed to the couch furiously switching between Fox NFL Sunday and NFL RedZone also while scrolling  through his Fantasy League stats on his phone and displaying an array of emotions from intense joy to overwhelming pissyness…This is also the first time I have EVER seen him multitask. But that’s a side note.

So, with all that action going onto distract him, and with my two-year old passed out in the chair on top of the iPad because she was watching those annoying little Wonder Pets, and my five-year-old playing an educational game on my phone designed to help her learn numbers and math (the voice of the teacher robotically repeating “2 and 2 make 4” is enough to make me drink. Before noon. On Sunday.) I decided to take some time for myself and catch up on my reading.

I promptly made a bloody mary and grabbed my newest Marie Claire mag. That thing is chocked full of good stuff. Fashion, beauty, romance, world views (including an article on the women in China which was incredibly fascinating to read). I settled in on the opposite end of the couch as hubster and flipped from the back of the magazine toward the front (as all people read a mag, right?)

And that’s when the hubster proves he is a multitasking genius. I was stunned. He was not only changing channels, studying his phone, eating nachos, but! BUT! he was looking over my shoulder and checking out Marie Claire.

“Is that the old lady’s version of Cosmo?” said the darling apple of my eye. Wow. It left me speechless until I could muster up the energy to pull my ancient 33 year old ass up off the couch and vacate to a room with a lock on the door. Let my Sunday Funday commence!

-H

This. Is. Happening.

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So. After a lot of discussion, and a significant amount of drinking (mostly from our flasks, in public places) we decided we need to document our lives. For the working mothers like us. The men who think we are awesome (or whom we think should think we’re awesome). And the single women secretly coveting our lifestyle.

We’re kidding, of course. Sort of.

It’s the teaching our daughters why moms are allowed to use a curse word from time to time (and why they can’t until they are doing their own damn laundry). Getting them up, fed, dressed (so they don’t look homeless), and out the door with the lunches we lovingly packed with haste. Meanwhile we’re shoving on our heels as we hop into the car to take them to daycare/preschool/kindergarten, with the goal of making it to our desks before the boss arrives. All of this causing us to pull out our perfectly coiffed hair (just kidding, most days we’re lucky if we get a shower in) that made us realize that our lives are fucking hilarious. Well, at least we see the humor (or we’d lose what is left of our sanity).

Disclaimer: The blog you are about to follow (trust us, you want to) isn’t going to be PC. It might rub a few people the wrong way.  If you can’t handle a fair amount of foul language, sarcasm, and telling things like they truly fucking are in the biggest small town in Minnesota, then thanks for checking us out, but this isn’t the place for you.  On the other hand, if you like what you’re reading, please share us with your friends!

-H&N