Who Made This Mess?

I woke up the other day to the sound of hubby’s phone playing the ringtone assigned to his carpool buddy. You know that riff that starts off the “Old Time Rock and Roll” song? So I picked up the phone, intending to take it to hubby, only I couldn’t find him. As I’m searching the house, this phone is still ringing, repeating that same riff over, and over and over again. And again. I’m thinking, go to voicemail already!

This stupid riff is starting to get irritating, I try to answer it myself, but it won’t answer. Grrr. So I start scheming ways to shut the damn phone up, and I think of removing the sim card! Only he has an iPhone, and removing the sim card is not so easy. I start slamming the phone down on the table trying to make the little slider pop out, and finally make some progress. Only the phone is STILL ringing!!! Seriously, what the hell do I have to do to get this thing to shut up?!!

I’m practically running around the house in a street rat crazy fashion, frantically trying to shut up the “dun dun dunna dun dun” racket coming from this hellacious phone! In true “Phoebe fighting the smoke alarm” style, I start cramming it under a couch cushion. I’m on my knee’s, shoving this phone under a cushion while pulling the other couch cushions on top of it to muffle the sound, when hubby finally makes as appearance. At this time, I see through the living room window, his carpool buddy also drives up, phone still attached to ear. This sight drives me absolutely ballistic!

So ballistic, that I wake up FOR REAL and realize that this whole time it was the alarm on hubby’s phone playing that annoying riff that makes me want to scream every damn time I hear it now. I jump out of bed with the wrath of hell, grab the phone and run into the office. Wagging the phone in his face I recount the whole story, to which he starts laughing.

Later that day I actually found the story funny. But because it was one of those dreams that was so real, it took me awhile to calm down! Lol!

I have yet another story for the “That Mom” chronicles this week. The scene of our current incident was the local Baskin Robbins, with it’s tiny customer seating area, tiny tables with only three chairs crammed against the wall. The boys and I were at one table (table for three please), and Miss Chica who wouldn’t dare suggest that we embarrass her at all was sitting at the table next to us pretending to mind her own business, when Slobber starts with the sexy talk again. So as I’m explaining to him that since he doesn’t really know what sexy means, he shouldn’t talk about it, he busts out the question…..”What is sex?”

DUN DUN DUNNNNN

Oh well that’s lovely, lol, guess I should have seen that coming at me a week ago! How to appropriately explain what sex is to a six and eight year old without giving them too much ammunition? Quietly explain that sex is something grown-ups do to make babies. That seems innocent enough. It also seemed to satisfy their curiosity for the time being. While I was purporting my ingenious explanation, a mother walked in with her daughter and they started choosing what ice cream they wanted. Just as they are walking behind us to pay for their ice cream, Boogie makes the following announcement; “When I grow up I’m having sex!”

Next thing I know, the mother is practically dragging her daughter out of the store.

Score for “That Mom!”

Thanks to my ever loving children, I am once again, “that mom.” You know the one. The mom that all the other mom’s talk about behind her back because her children have done some heinous misdeed, or she has yelled at them in public a little to “white-trashishly.” I have not one, but two incidents for your reading pleasure., to which I say to people who would have a hissy fit over these; calm the hell down and get a grip!

I’ll start with Slobber first, since his is the most recent and less ongoing. We are pretty open with the kids if they have any questions regarding their bodies, in hopes that when they become teenagers they will return the favor and not feel like they can’t talk to us about important stuff. Recently the word penis has been made welcome into the boys vocabulary. Now penis is a pretty funny word to begin with, but to the boys, being 6 and 8, it is freaking hilarious. And of course, as dutiful parents, we told him that he should not talk about his penis, or penis’s in general around other people because other people are sensitive to such matters. But boys will be boys. Now to throw in a not so random fact, that Slobber loves the song “I’m too Sexy,” and you can probably see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Over Memorial Day weekend, all the neighbor kids were playing together in our shared back yard, and Slobber told the neighbor girl (who is ten), that he had a sexy penis. She in turn told her mom that he said this, and they marched themselves over yesterday (yes, it took 24 hours for the report to come in) to inform Grandma what had happened the previous day. All I can say is seriously? He is six, it’s not like he really has a sexual agenda with a girl who seems to feel the need to constantly pick on him; or that he even knows what a sexual innuendo is. He said it because he thought it was funny. To him it’s just the name of a body part, he could have said he had a sexy arm and it would have been just as funny to him. I think this is an awesome time to reinforce the rule of staying the crap away from the neighbors kids.

Now, on to incident number two, with Miss Chica and her boyfriend. I have been Sweet Thang rides home from school so the little love birds can share those few precious extra minutes together. They sit in the very back seat of my sexy minivan(the one that has so many miles on it that it sounds like a diesel truck ), they hold hands, and every so often he sneaks a peck on the cheek to Miss Chica. Miss Chica is too shy to let him kiss her more than that, not to mention that I would be swerving the car every which way trying to bang his head on the window if he did. Not to mention the fact that there are two little brothers twisted around monitoring their every move and announcing it; totally condusive to a twelve year old make out session.

From what I am told, his mom asked him if they had kissed and held hands. Sweet Thang only replied “yes” to both questions, letting on no more details. So naturally his mom went straight to twelve year olds making out in her mind, and now he can no longer have a ride home with us, nor is he allowed over at our house. I told him that he needs to fix this “issue” with his mom, and set the facts straight. I don’t want her thinking that my daughter is a slut, nto that I would allow such behaviour. But when he tried to tell her, she didn’t believe him. I told the kids to get me her email, and I would email her about it. His mom is a nice person from what I have seen, but I’m afraid if I try to talk to her in person regarding this I might just lose my temper *gasp*.

If I don’t get an email address, then I’ll just have to talk to her at the school carnival while she is volunteering. It might be totally inappropriate, but it just might produce results.

Now here’s hoping my neighbors get their underwear out of their back end and doesn’t press sexual harassment charges on my six year old!

I just noticed that when I upload posts from my iphone, that it uploads it for the date I started the post, not the date I actually published the post. Which is weird, if you think about it, but at the same time not. I mean, when I post a new article, it files it by date, not when it was published, so most likely people are not reading it. It just looks like I’ve had the same post up there forever. Fabulous.

But all that is at an end now. I have officially killed my iphone (3rd one in a year by the way), so can no longer post from my phone. I decided to get a Blackberry to replace it, and while it doesn’t have all the plush goodies my iphone did, it has good functionality. That being said, I am slowly growing to love it as much as I did my iphone, and am understanding why it’s referred to as a crack-berry. I can’t seem to put it down! It just feels so good in my hand!

So anyway, hopefully I will be able to find a way to upload posts from it. I really enjoy being able to access my blog from where-ev-ah!

And if you want to read a post that was misfiled and is newer than Hittin’ da Nip, then read here!

As most of you know (if you’ve been keeping track, most likely not), we have two cats. Two cats who rule our bedroom. Because scratching the hell out of the arm of my couch just isn’t enough to satisfy one’s desire to shred the everliving crap out of something, they have a cat tree taller than my husband, and one of those cardboard scratching boxes that you spread catnip on and the kitties luv it.

I bought a brand new bag of catnip a few weeks ago, and have been giving the cats a pinch every day. They were loving this. But fatty….I mean Fuzzy, decided to get greedy. Hubby came into the bedroom the other day to find the bag busted into. I should actually say, chewed into. There was catnip flippin’ ev-er-y-where. Including all over the cat rolling in the big middle of it all.

That cat so so stoned I’m surprised she could breath, let alone walk. Every time I walk into the bedroom she is laying on the floor, where the catnip bag exploded, practically comatose. She doesn’t even look up when you step over her. That is what you call happy.