It’s one of those days where everything has been a battle with the kiddo.

I know it’s my fault for succumbing to the temptation of the bulk candy aisle at Winco and buying Halloween gummy worms. However, I have no idea where Piddy Poo got the idea that they belong in his yogurt. Tantrum ensued when I said No.

I made my son’s room, in his words, “The coolest freakin room ever!” (yea, we are working on halting the use of the word ‘freakin’ But I am pretty proud he uses it in right context.) But now, he does something – like, say, oh – taking all the eggs outta the fridge and breaking them on the kitchen floor then refusing to help clean it up. Sending him to his room does nothing. He chooses to go to his room actually. He knocks crap over, disobeys and looks at me before I say anything “Guess I go to my room mommy.” And off he goes. Into his room. To play.

He’s always been very fond of being naked. Now that he can get undressed by himself he is naked as much as possible. When he wanted to make toast this morning, I said Sure. He opened the brand new bag of bread, turned it upside down and they all fell out. I yelled “What are you doing?!?” He got his little pouty face on and yelled back “I take my pants off!” And so he did, he also included his underwear in that. There he was standing in just a tshirt and I told him to help me clean up the bread, he yelled back “I take my shirt off!” And so he did. Now he’s buttass naked. I say, “Put your clothes back on!” his response “I go to my room! I take gummy worms!”

“Get in your room! Don’t come out until you clean up this bread and put some clothes on. And NO gummy worms!”

“Fine Mom.” And off he storms.

Three hours later, he starts yelling “Mommy” I go in there, “I pee’d on the floor.” He didn’t need to tell me, I could have guessed it was pee I was standing in. “Why did you pee on the floor?” Never mind that his bedroom door was wide open the entire time or that the bathroom is right across the hall. “‘Because I can’t come outta my room until I pick up bread and I don’t wanna pick up bread. No wear pants either.”

Sigh.

It’s five hours later and he’s still buttass naked in his freaking cool room screaming for gummy worms.

Flatter Me

When I was 7, I was on a really crappy t-ball team coached by my mom. Mom would yell “TouchDown!” when we crossed home plate. At the end of the year, we got an awesome pizza party and a trophy.  It’s still the only physical trophy I ever got.

My next trophy came at the age of 19, when I won the local Hawaiian Tropics contest that was held in a casino. It was immediately taken from me when they found out my tan was a spray tan. As in they read my paperwork. Spray tans were in their infancy ten years ago. And they weren’t as freakishly orange either. Still safer than a tanning bed though.

When I was 22 I did a beer chugging contest, at a bar, on Halloween. I won free beer and the phone number of this dude who became my hubby. Best. Trophy. Ever.

Now that I’m 29, Trophy Gods feel it’s time to bless me again. And when I say Trophy Gods, I really mean Jill the Trophy Goddess and writer of my new favorite blog Yeah. Good Times.  We both get called Snarky Bitch all the time,  but I assure you there are many more reasons why I love her, like:

• Laundry piles verbally abuse her as well.
• Sometimes accidents do happen, unintentional, with a frying pan.
• She had my dream wedding; In the back of a limo at a drive thru chapel in Vegas
• We have the same issues about raccoons.
• We are stay at home moms that decided working from home could be a good idea. Her clients offer her tequila. Mine offer me new ways to ask WTF?

This is my first and only blog award. Ever.

Honestly, I thought someone hacked Jill’s twitter account (@jillsmo) to give me an award. I was pretty certain I was going to get roped into a Nigerian Ponzi Scheme, but in fact it really is an award. Given to ME.

I’m not sure what the ‘Versatile Blogger Award’ means, and I don’t really care, so don’t ask. I know it’s an award that can’t be taken away from me like the evil Hawaiian Tropic people did.  It could mean that I was smart enough to know possible warning signs of a Nigerian Ponzi Scheme or just that I’m insanely awesome. With emphasis on the insane part.

Now, onto the important part.

Rules for winning this award
Thank and link back to the person who gave you the award.
Share 7 things about yourself.
Pass the award along to 15 other bloggers who you recently discovered and think are fabulous.
Contact the bloggers you chose and let them know about the award.

7 Things About Me

1. I have a deep phobia of pink milk. Like Strawberry Milk,. I also mildly freak out about Banana flavored milk. It really does wonders on my psyche.
2. I’m not a picky eater, I’m a very particular eater. Especially at restaurants. If the menu says the shrimp is seared, and it comes out sauteed, I will pitch a fit. If the menu says Risotto and its not made with arborio rice, it will get sent back. And god forbid I order cheddar on my burger and I get American cheese. People don’t eat at restaurants with me for this reason.
3. I have a serious problem dropping $14 on a roast for dinner, but no qualms about a $14 martini. Mmm… Martini.
4. I firmly believe that most of the worlds problems could be handled by a swift junkpunch. And yes, a junkpunch is exactly as it sounds.
5. Vegas is my favorite city in the world to visit. I also haven’t been off this continent, so take that at face value.
6. I collect Starbucks location mugs. If you are incredibly awesome and want to send me one from your awesome locale, please contact me and I will gladly send you my address and pray you’re not a crazed stalker. I also believe Starbucks is one of the happiest places ever.
7. I had spinal surgery when I was 12. I have two titanium rods that align my spine. Which is awesome with all the new airport security measures.

Newfound Bloggy Blogs

A Bun For My Oven

Another Lunch

Crazy Adventures in Parenting

Ooh breathe, just breathe

Sarahs Running Adventure

Operation Jack

Dorthy Bites Toto

Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva

The Megalomaniac Mommy

Flatter Me

We do several dances around this house.

The Happy Dance; Which consists of Ellen like moves and butt shaking. Used primarily when I feel some sort of parenting accomplishment like getting the kid to pick up his toys without a bribe or when I actually have a moment to myself (Never mind that I’m locked in the bathroom pretending to suffer from massive bouts of diarrhea)

The Poop Dance; Which consists of the kiddo and an extremely full, poopy diaper. He spreads his legs apart and thrusts his hips making the poop go back and forth completely permeating the air. While this is highly entertaining to watch it’s such a bitch to clean up.

The PeePee Dance; I think every toddler does some variation of this. Grabbing their junk while shifting weight between legs. This actually isn’t just reserved for toddlers. I do my own variation of it and its frowned upon heavily by other adults. This was brought to my attention at the local park that it has this sort of ‘pedophile’ look to it. Normally I would be irritated by it, but it only supported my idea of developing “The Preggo Lady Diaper.” It would have a tagline of “Getting you prepared to change diapers, by changing your own.”

The Holy-Shit-A-Seattle-Team-Scored Dance; This is most often done by the hubby. And with football season underway hopefully it’s a dance we see every Saturday as the UW Huskies score and on Sundays with the Seattle Seahawks. Even though I still think the Seahawks coach, Pete Carroll is the devil. I have issues rooting for a man who sold his soul for wins and defied the rules which has now led to USC not eligible for rankings. While it’s a good thing for the Huskies, the integrity of this man is the equivalent of a full diaper; Piss and Shit.

My point being is that everyone has dances that they do to, every family has some sort of ‘dance.’  Of course mine have some sort of focus on poop. Most of my blogs involve poop somewhere. I don’t know when poop became such a normal talking point of mine. But what are some of the dances you do around your home?

This is my "Police Man Dance."

Flatter Me