Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark

Did you ever see that old movie? It was released in 1973. It is one of the scariest movies I have ever seen. It traumatized me for years.

I believe I was ten years old when I saw it on a rainy, Sunday afternoon. It was a perfect day for lounging on the couch, under a blanket, watching movies. My dad, of course, was in charge of what would be watched. He was one of THOSE dads. The kind that controlled the television when he was home, whether he was watching it or not.

From the second the eerie music started, I was frozen in my place. I was scared shitless, but I couldn't stop watching. I pressed myself deeper into the couch and peered from under the blanket. I was convinced that I would never sleep again.

Our house was an old one. We had a small, dark closet under the staircase. I swore it was the place that those THINGS from the movie lived. I wouldn't go near it. When it became night, I would run past the door, I was so afraid that I would be grabbed and pulled in.

I don't know where I thought I'd go, once I was pulled in. The closet could barely hold an adult. But as a kid you think ANYTHING can happen.

I just read recently that there is a remake in the works and will star Katie Holmes. The mere mention of the movie sent goosebumps down my arms. Can you imagine how terrifying that will be with today's special effects?

I can tell you this, I WON'T be buying any tickets to the theater for that show. No Way. No How!

Wanted: Information On A Great Boot Camp

It happened. ALREADY.

Yesterday, as I was in battle with my daughter, which is not an unusual event, she said IT. I couldn't believe my ears. I really didn't expect her to utter those words until she was at least 12 or 13. She is only 5.

The fight du jour was about proper attire. I told her that she could not wear her shorts and flip flops to school. She insisted that she wanted to. "It is raining and cold today," I informed her. She wasn't budging. I guess she gets her stubborn ways from her mother, because neither was I.

As we stood in the middle of her room, glaring at each other, I thought how hilarious the scene must look. This gorgeous, munchkin of a child, with the full attitude of a teenager, was trying to brow beat her mother.

I told her to get dressed, in the clothes that I had given her, and not to leave her room until she was ready for school. I turned to walk out and that's when my future flashed before my eyes.

With one hand on her hip and the other pointing to the doorway, she yelled, "GET.OUT.OF.MY.ROOM!"

I am seriously fucked in about 10 years.

I'll Pick Up The Pieces, If I Have To

Have you ever wanted to vent on your blog and couldn't? Was there ever a situation that got so deep under your skin, that you needed to just let loose on your keyboard, but you couldn't? You couldn't because you were unsure if the parties involved read your blog?

Well, that is my current plight.

The frustration and disgust I am feeling is beyond words. In the grand scheme of things, "it" is truly none of my business. I have no say in the matter, however, I feel scared and worried of the possible consequences from, what I feel, is poor judgment of one individual and denial from another. Unfortunately, this lack of common sense won't fall back on these individuals but that of someone else. Someone I deeply care about.

I feel the need to distance myself from those involved because I can not tolerate what I see and hear. I have offered my advice and have gently stated my opinions. All this falls on deaf ears.

I honestly wish I could elaborate. I wish I could find some answers to my dilemma from you, my faithful readers.

But sadly, I can not.

I must respect the privacy of the one who is close to my heart. The other two? I could care less about their "feelings". As far as I'm concerned, one has none; for to feel, you would need a soul.

All I can do is sit by and watch. As I do, I will be hoping for a happy ending.

What It Is All About

One Day She'll Figure It Out

After numerous attempts to have my daughter pick up her belongings on her bedroom floor, I gave her one last warning. "Do you really want this punishment?" I asked her. "Do you REALLY want me to collect it all and put it in "THE" basket?"

As typical as you can get, she crossed her arms and turned her head away. Up went that snotty, button nose of hers.

"Okay, have it your way!"

I began collecting her dolls, their clothing, and her books into a big heap. She just stood there with a big grin, really not caring a bit.

I refused to let her notice that this was getting under my skin. Does nothing phase my children? Grrrrrrr.

I picked up her beloved Ty Beanie Baby. It's a cream-colored Siamese Cat that she calls Kitty.

"Noooooooooo! Not Kitty!!" She pleaded.

"Too bad girlie, I warned you. "

"Oh Yea?!" She threatened back.

She stomped over to her bookcase and plucked up her toy cell phone. She then turned toward me, flipped it open, and shouted, "That's It! I am calling 911!"

snort.

"Hello? 911 lady? E-rest her!" She demanded as she pointed accusingly at me.

snort again.

"That's right. E-rest M-O-M!" She spelled out, I guess, in case they needed to write it down.

She snapped the phone closed and slammed it down on her bookcase.

She glared at me while I contemplated giving her Kitty back. I mean what a performance! How could I possibly deny her the stuffed animal now that she had called the cops on me?

I picked Kitty up by the tail and walked toward R. I dangled her precious toy right above her adorable head and then turned and walked straight out of her room, making sure to shut the door tightly behind me.

Give it back? Did you REALLY think I would?! MUAHAHAHAAAAAA!

Hit and Run

Last night the boys asked me to take down their bunk beds. So, with that, comes rearranging their entire rooms so all of their shit stuff fits properly. I was in the middle of putting their Wii games back onto a shelf when I heard a muffled BANG.

I thought one of the kids was getting into something, yet again dropped something on the hardwood floor downstairs. I went back to picking video game boxes off of W.'s bed when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement on the street below.

At first I wasn't sure what I was looking at. A man, probably in his late fifties to early sixties, was parked VERY close to my husband's truck. The man, grayed and wearing glasses, quickly emerged from his silver minivan and inspected our Honda.

"MOTHER F'ER!!" I shouted as I watched him look around from left to right and then over both shoulders.

"He's going to bolt!!" I thought, as I realized what was transpiring right before my eyes. I began banging on the window to get his attention. I wanted him to know that I was witness to his actions.

He didn't hear me and he jumped into his car.

"OH NO HE DIIN'T!!!"

I ran down the stairs and out the front door. My neighbor from across the street was already on foot and was sprinting down the middle of the road yelling for the man to stop.

Too late. He was gone.

I looked at the side of the truck. It was scratched and dented down the driver's side. It had been hit with enough force to push the back end into the curb.

I was LIVID!! Bastard was probably drunk. I was thankful my children weren't playing outside. Upon thinking this, I became even more enraged.

So listen here MR., I know I've seen you before. I know you either live in town or are close by. I know what you look like, what type of car you drive and it's color. I also know that your license plate begins MS. You must have damage on the driver's side of your minivan, just so you know, we've contacted all of the local auto body shops. They too will be looking for you.

We WILL find you. You had just better hope my husband sees you first.

Weekly Winners ~ May 10 - 16

Canon PowerShot SX110IS

My beautiful niece.

"THE" Dress

From Her Love

Only 7 More Years Until His Prom

Please visit Lotus at Sarcastic Mom for more Weekly Winners!

If It Weren't For BlogHer Ads In My Sidebar (This Post Would Be Nothing But Expletives)

Please feel free to insert, the obscenity of your choice, whenever you see an asterisk.

I went outside to mow the * lawn. I pulled the stack of one gazillion * resin chairs out of the * shed, because, of course, the * lawn mower is in the BACK of said shed. I wheeled the mower out and grabbed for the metal whatchamacallit that you need to hold to start the thing up. The * whatchamacallit wasn't there. I also noticed a frayed wire was dangling just above the ground.

WTF?

Yes, that's exactly what I texted Mr. Schmitty. Apparently, the * whatchamacallit is a safety latch. He said that it was broken. REALLY?! Thanks dear, I had no * idea.

He told me I needed to pry two metal pieces apart and rig something in it so the mower would start. He didn't tell me that the * little metal pieces are attached to a * spring that is next to impossible to pry apart.

My hand slipped. I gashed the top of my * right hand. *****!!! It immediately swelled but looked worse than it was. I'd take care of that later.

I tried again.

I did it. I jammed another piece of metal in between the pieces. It held. I pulled the rip cord, and I started the mower. Yippee!

I went to the front yard. I pushed a nice even line through the tall grass.

The * motor died. *****!!!!!!

I went to pull the * rip cord again. There was this strange piece of metal, like a small clamp, at the bottom of the cord.

"That doesn't * belong there!" I said to myself, though probably out loud at this point.

The * clamp should have been at the top of the * cord, near the * handle. It was to prevent the cord from going into the lawn mower.

I yanked on it to pull it back to the top. It wouldn't * budge. I used pliers. NOTHING. The cord and handle lay on the ground. I tried the * pliers one more time. I pinched my pointer finger. I dropped the * pliers and stifled a scream. A huge blood blister appeared.

The sun suddenly disappeared behind the clouds. I swore I heard a rumble.

THAT'S * IT!!! All I could imagine was standing there, in ten feet tall grass, bleeding and bruised, with a dead mower, looking like a drowned rat. Not this lady.

If it weren't for the fact that I am the only adult around for my children today, I'd be typing this drunk as a * skunk!

Git R Done!

Mr. Schmitty is in training for a new position at work. He has been away since LAST Sunday. Now, before any of you stalkers out there get the idea to come by and take advantage of an on-her-own mom, I must warn you that my house is equipped with deadbolts, an alarm system, and a dog. Plus, my spawn children stomped all over my last nerve this past weekend. That being said; At this moment, I am not afraid to rip ANYONE limb from limb and then beat them to death with their own extremities. I suggest you think twice.

But I digress.

Mr. Schmitty is the type of guy that never, EVER thinks ahead. I know, is there any OTHER type of man? Anyway, he isn't exactly proficient in planning a damn thing. It's spring, it's rained, and the sun is now shining. The grass? Is about ten feet tall. I'm afraid I may just lose my daughter in it if it doesn't get cut soon.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am far from a girlie-girl that refuses to do that type of work. I actually enjoy mowing the lawn and do so quite often. I'll plug my ear buds in, crank up the iPod, and totally ignore the kiddos. It's the peace I crave.

But what was my hubby thinking? That I could do it ALL?! I've got three demanding, active children and a dog to deal with. Did he think I could pull off being Super Mom, House Manager, AND Landscaper? I just can't wear THAT many hats at once.

I guess others have noticed that I've kind of let the lawn go.

I heard Ruby barking (surprise, surprise) yesterday. I looked outside and a man was walking up the path to my front door. I stepped outside and asked if I could help him.

"Hello ma'am," he said with a very distinct southern drawl. First of all, when EXACTLY did I become a ma'am? Oh how I hate that! And second of all, where in the world did this guy come from? I live in Joisey...that accent certainly wasn't native.

"I own a landscaping company and I was wondering if you might need my services."

You might be thinking my prayers had been answered. But let me give you a bit of a visual description.

I looked from the man standing before me, then to his truck which was polluting my neighborhood idling at the curb, then to his partner who was lounging back against the passenger seat with his feet on the dashboard, and then back to this LANDSCAPER. I bit my lower lip so I would only smile and not burst out with a, "BWAAAHAHHA!"

Did you ever see Larry The Cable Guy? Well, I am quite convinced he was at my house yesterday evening. Either that or he has an identical twin brother.

The truck looked much like this one, though it was red and the bed was filled with mounds of grass and dirt instead of old tires. There were also about three lawnmowers tossed into the heap.

His partner? I'm pretty sure was this guy:

"Um....thanks but my husband is going to take care of it. But I appreciate you stopping by."

"Okay, ma'am." Grrrr....he said IT again. "Have a nice evening." He put his cigarette between his lips. And as he turned he hiked up his jeans by the belt loops, something I was quite thankful for, as I seriously did NOT want to see any crack.

So, today? I'm thinking I may mow the lawn.

Justin Timberlake & Andy Samberg Do It Again!

I saw this last night and died laughing.
Happy Mother's Day!!

This is just SO wrong in so many ways....but absolutely hilarious!!

Just In Time For Mother's Day!

A new season of Survivor is taking applications.

Survivor: Father Island

• Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.
• Each kid will play two sports and either take music or dance classes.
• There is NO fast food.
• Each man must take care of his 3 kids; keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, and complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of 'pretend' bills with not enough money. In addition, each man will have to budget in money for groceries each week.
• Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives, and send cards out on time.
• Each man must also take each child to a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment and a haircut appointment. He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Urgent Care.
• He must also make cookies or cupcakes for a social function.
• Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside and keeping it presentable at all times.
• The men will only have access to television when the kids are asleep and all chores are done.
• The men must shave their legs, wear makeup daily, adorn himself with jewelry, wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, keep fingernails polished and eyebrows groomed.
• During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, back aches, and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but NEVER once complain or slow down from other duties.
• They must attend weekly school meetings, church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting. They will need to read a book and then pray with the children each night and in the morning, feed them, dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair by 7:00 am.
• A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: each child's birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothes size and doctor's name. Also the child's weight at birth, length, time of birth, and length of labor, each child's favorite color, middle name, favorite snack, favorite song, favorite drink, favorite toy, biggest fear and what they want to be when they grow up.
• The kids vote them off the island based on performance.
• The last man wins ONLY if...he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment's notice.
• If the last man does win, he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years eventually earning the right to be called Mother!

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL OF YOU BEAUTIFUL MOMMAS!!! MUAH!

Update: For You Curious Types

WARNING: Just for you, Jennster....the following post may be hazardous to your mental stability!

My last post showed a few pictures of some creepy little dudes. Many of you wanted to know what the HELL they were. So, here is a short Entomology lesson. (And no, I am not that smart, I did just Google, "study of insects" to find the proper terminology.)

"As per Wikipedia: The Rhaphidophoridae or Cave crickets have very large hind legs with "drumstick-shaped" femora and long, slender antennae. They are brownish in color and rather humpbacked in appearance, always wingless, and up to two inches/5 cm long in body and 10 cm (4 inches) for the legs. As the name implies, cave crickets are commonly found in caves. Occasionally, they prove to be a nuisance in the basements of homes in suburban areas."

Nuisance really isn't the word for it, especially a few years ago when the mo' fo's nested in our crawl space's insulation. We were INFESTED with them. Every time I went into my downstairs bathroom, I quite literally got the shit scared out of me. I'd be sitting there, minding my own business, and one would come jumping AT ME!

"Given their limited vision, cave crickets will often jump towards any perceived threat in an attempt to frighten it away. Their large hind legs allow them to jump high and far."

Not only that, but they are extremely fast. They can jump and land sideways on things so its very easy to lose sight of them. I find the best way to deal with them is to whip a towel at them, like you would to crack someone in the butt. Works like a charm.

"To avoid starvation, they have been known to devour their own extremities, even though they cannot regenerate limbs."

Okay, that's just plain disgusting and a whole lot of freaky.

"Their long legs have caused them to be more commonly referred to as "sprickets" or "spickets", a blending of "spiders" (whose legs they resemble) and "crickets"."

That's exactly what they look like. It's as though a spider and cricket DID IT. That's probably why I get so frantic when I see one. A big old spider looking thing that JUMPS AT YOU while you are sitting on the john is enough to scare the Bejeezus out of anyone.

So there you have it. The answer you craved. Now, Jennster? Are you ready?

Wait for it............

SHIVER!!

In The Mood To Spring Clean

It's amazing to me how easily a family can accumulate stuff. So.Much.Stuff.

I've got this nesting thing going on lately. Everywhere I look, I see clutter. I hate clutter. I am a true believer in "A place for everything and everything in its place".

Yesterday, I threw on my old clothes and sneakers and opened up the crawl space doors. I dislike the crawl space and usually make Mr. Schmitty deal with it. But he was unavailable and I was itching to organize. And seeing as its my nature to be impatient, I decided to suck it up and get to work.

The crawl space is about four foot something high, so I can stand, but I need to duck my head and bend my shoulders forward. It does wonders for my aching back. It is also damp and dusty and usually triggers a slight allergy attack. I pulled out all bags, boxes, and containers, as quickly as possible to minimize my sneezing and to avoid traction.

I was also afraid I would see one of these:

Shiver.

When I was finished, I climbed out and began to make piles. Keep. Toss. Sell. You know, like that show.

I told the kids that they could split the money made on any toys we sold at a garage sale. They all want the new DSi. I figured that was a great bribe incentive to get rid of some of their junk.

Yea, well, I'm a dunce. The minute they started seeing some of the old toys, which I must say were in great shape, they started yelling, "I want that! I love this!"

Now, my crawl space is spotless, except maybe for these:

SHIVER.

The rest of my house? EPIC FAIL!