When parents FB

Dad: "Why argue one of the two best human pleasures? Food. The other, I will leave you to answer."
Me: "LOLZ" *clears throat*
Dad: "And chocolate is a food, so try again."

He knows me far too well.

When you lick your own butthole, you forfeit the right to be a picky drinker.

Riddle me this:

Our cats have almost always had a strange aversion to a particular water bowl. We have two matching sets of bowls: one pink and white, one multi-colored, and we fill one of each with food and one of each with water. 99% of the time, the water in one bowl will go completely untouched, and sometimes, both will be untouched if there are floaties or kibble in them. Her royal spoiledness:

and her slightly less intellectually gifted sister-friend:

are puking, pooping, rug-tinkling, bug-eating, lactating-boob-licking, disgusting beasts. And yet, we somehow happen to have two Super Sweet Sixteen monsturds on our hands who will not have it any other way than theirs. It takes talent to be both disgusting slobs AND picky prissy bitches.

Today, Hubby reads me something off the great intarwebz: domestic cats, evidently, have an instinctual aversion to water bowls placed beside food bowls. This is supposedly because cats in the wild will not drink water anywhere near a kill that they are eating, because the water might be contaminated from the kill.

You know, because cats are so much smarter than we give them credit for.

And because there's no possible way a dead animal, in itself, could contain potentially disgusting and dangerous bacteria.

And also because neither of the two aforementioned priss-pants have ever done anything less than sanitary.

Or clever.

I'm going to go move their food bowls away from their water bowls. And then I'm going to spend the day gradually adding small floating objects just to dick with them.

My kids are awesome...

said almost every mother, ever.

Seriously though, I thought in the spirit of dealing with depression and anxiety and stress rather than succumbing to it, I would make a list of everything I could think of spur-of-the-moment that I love about my babies... to counter the things that drive me bonkers.

1. They are practically incapable of being without me. Which, while extremely frustrating when I need to do stuff, is a bond that I am thrilled and grateful that my babies have developed with me. I am the biggest part of their world. My arms are the ones they want when nothing else makes them happy. My voice is the one they want to hear singing when they can't fall asleep. I am Mommy... to be that person to these perfect little beings I helped create, and protected, grew and nurtured inside my own body for almost 36 weeks, is a greater blessing and gift than I have ever received.
2. The once-gummy, now-toothy grins they give me. Sometimes it's for no reason other than the fact that I looked at them. I don't care why they smile at me, I just love that they do and every single one of those smiles is perfect and precious.
3. Baby giggles. They started as cooing, graduated to chuckles, and now are full-blown belly laughs that are so contagious they'll have everyone in the room laughing with them. Whether it's tickles or playing peekaboo through the bars of the crib (like I did with Dex tonight, who was sitting up in his diaper and squealed, laughed and fell over when I popped up to peekaboo), that laughter is the cure for any level of crappy day.
4. The now-rare moments when they sleep on my chest. Sometimes I have to sneak and pick them up while they're already sleeping to get them to sleep on me, but every so often, they will grace me with a warm, snuggly baby zonk by drifting off in my arms, and I can sit and watch their eyelids flutter and listen to their deep, even breathing. There truly is nothing in the world more relaxing and joyful than holding your sleeping infant(s).
5. How Eli likes to pat my face when I feed him. He feels my facial features (<- this, previously a typo, said "facial feathers". I want you to think about that long and hard, and how terrified you are now that you've pictured it) and pats my cheeks, and it's absolutely darling... when he doesn't poke my eyeball with a fingernail.
6. How different they really are. Dexter is already on the verge of crawling and is sitting up by himself. Eli is babbling in full, consonant-laden conversations with his toys. Their laughter is subtly different. Their cries are different. Their voices in general are different, as are their personalities and preferences While Eli is not yet mobile, and Dexter does little more than yell rather than babble, watching them grow and develop at their different paces is fascinating and beautiful.
7. The way their faces brighten up when Brian gets out of bed. They miss their Daddy when he has to sleep during the day after working all night, and seeing his face after missing him for hours lights up those big blue eyes in the most incredible way.
8. How mesmerized they are by the cats. They are starting to really enjoy the cats, more than just being aware of them, and will reach out to touch them and watch them walk by. The cats, in return, have started to become slightly more interested in the boys and will sit on the floor nearby while they play. The loose harmony between my babies and my furbabies is adorable.
9. When they cry, they say "mamamamama". Maybe my hours of smiling and kissing faces and repeating countless times "say mama! Say Mommmmmmy" is finally paying off. Hehehe (my Dad would be delighted if they said "grandpa" first though, so I do feed in gramma and grandpa in addition to daddy... I'm not totally selfish).
10. How much I really, truly miss them after being away from them for any length of time, whether it's an hour or 10 hours... no matter how crazy they were driving me before that. I cannot begin to imagine what life is like for military service members who have children and get deployed, or parents that travel often for business, or what have you. I can't imagine being away from my peanuts for too long, even when I do need a break.

Dexter and I: September 2013

Elijah and I: September 2013

Selfie(-centered)

The Toledo Blade featured a news article on Sunday about "selfies".

Seriously.

A whole article.

INCLUDING INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO TAKE ONE.

Am I the only one that is totally blown away by how unbelievably, gut-wrenchingly stupid our society has become?

One college student featured in the article said, and I quote, "Selfies are so stupid, but then I'm sitting here taking 25 at a time". Cell phones have been developed with front-facing cameras. Social media sites have been birthed to utilize and glorify the selfie phenomenon. The how-to guide included in the new article detailed the following steps:

1. Hold steady (because, as an 11 year-old kid says, if you take one that's blurry, you should retake it. NO. FLIPPING. SHIT. COMMON SENSE)

2. Try, but not too hard (.... what?????)

3. Mix it up: No duckface every time (OR HOW ABOUT NEVER, EVER, NOT F***ING AT ALL?)

4. Keep it appropriate (as opposed to Facebook porn?)

5. Amateur mistakes: arms included in photos. (How come nobody mentioned that self-conscious, attention-seeking girl you know that takes LITERALLY A HUNDRED PHOTOS of herself in the same exact pose tailored specifically to hide the giant gut that she's ashamed of? While those specific poses she uses are supposedly to be attractive and sexy and illicit the tens or hundreds of "likes" and comments she so desperately wants to validate herself? So, basically, the point of a "selfie" is to hide everything but your face anyway? WTF)

I seriously read this entire article with an open-mouthed look of disgust on my face. Maybe I should have selfie'd that one.

Is that SERIOUSLY what this world has come to? NEWS ARTICLES in the Sunday paper glorifying vanity and attention-seeking?

Make no mistake. I've taken my share of them. And sometimes, there are moments when selfies are acceptable. For example: taking a picture of you and your kid, if there's nobody else around to do it for you. Or posting a more recent, smiling, duckface-free photo of yourself (notice: I said "a photo", not a f***ing hundred). I've gone through and deleted a fair number of my former selfies simply out of shame.

Am I the only one that has grown up enough to realize how freaking stupid they are? Oh, yeah, I guess so, because the article talked about a grown-ass adult man doing the same thing. Gargh.

Rave: The body lotion NO WOMAN should be without

It's not terribly often that I come across a product that makes me giddy. And let's be honest... as a non-working, full-time mother and housewife, there aren't a hell of a lot of things that make me giddy aside from my husband, my babies, and a really phenomenal sale at Kroger.

However, yesterday, I made a rare impulse purchase in the beauty section that CHANGED. MY. LIFE.

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the wonders of Organix products... behold, the most fantasmic body lotion I've ever used in my life: Organix Moroccan Argan Oil body lotion.

This is for realsies. Shit's expensive, not gonna lie. You could probably buy a bottle of Suave or something for the same price and get three times as much lotion. Suave, however, is not capable of making you feel as though you just frolicked through a meadow laden with Pomeranian puppies, down pillows and unicorns. I received a rare lotion rubdown from the hubbs (he used to do it every night while I was pregnant because my skin itched all day, every day, so badly that I came dangerously close to pulling a Red Pyramid and ripping it off my body) and after he finished my right arm and moved on to my right leg, I sat staring in awe at my hands. The right hand was perfectly silky and smooth without being even remotely greasy, and it actually glowed. My skin was glowing. Not creepy glittery vampire glowing. Not radioactive Alex Mack glowing. I'm saying mesmerizing, perfectly healthy, moisturized bikini model glowing... just without the hot body or bikini. [EDIT TO ADD: Also, I had dead, busted-up blistered skin on my left hand from carrying 50-pound carseats. Post-lotion? Completely gone.]

I have been a not-so-hot mess the last few weeks. We moved into our townhouse during the last week of July, and I still don't have everything in place. There are DIY projects that must be finished, small things here and there that must be purchased, etc. So, needless to say, with a messy house and infant twins, I have little time for myself, and when I do, I usually use it to go grocery shopping or diaper shopping or whatever needs to be done. But last night, after the boys went to bed, I poured a glass of Pinot Grigio (granted, that happened initially because I was about to bust down the walls to get the kids next door to stop galloping and jumping up and down the stairs), climbed in the bathtub, and did some much-needed grooming. I got to shave my grizzly legs, exfoliate with an olive oil/sugar scrub (thanks hubby!... almost gone though if you need more x-mas present ideas!), and file the shit out of my feet. I washed my hair twice, scrubbed my skin raw with my Softsoap Spa Radiant body wash (another major favorite... I'm pretty sure the first thing that attracted me to it was the bright, pretty blue color... because I'm sometimes THAT girl. But seriously, it smells like the ocean and it makes me forget I live in East Buttf***, Ohio) and when I got out, I literally felt like a new person.

Until the lotion. Ohhhhh, the lotion.

It's been more than 12 hours since I first put the Argan Oil lotion on, and I still catch myself creepily caressing my own skin. It's that good.

If you're not terribly opposed to splurging on something for JUST YOU, I highly recommend this stuff!!! Organix Moroccan Argan Oil lotion... and apparently it's a body wash, too. On top of everything else I've raved about, it smells like a bottle full of heaven... which, depending on your personal definition of heaven, could be pictured as anything from the meadow full of puppies and unicorns, to Ryan Gosling half-naked in the sand, to... well, if you're me, the biggest, baddest, beastliest (yes it's a word... now) computer system ever created that would make Bill Gates pee his pants running everything from old-school Wolfenstein to modern-day COD, on a desk laden with Golden DoubleStuf Oreos and milk, coffee, Argan Oil lotion, and Stacy's Pita Chips with Greek tabouli salad.

Don't judge me.

Who needs bar-hopping booze hounds when you can scour the intarwebz for free shit?

The thrills in my life used to consist of a combination of the following: video games, drinking, chain smoking, pizza at 2am, road trips, meeting cute boys at bars, etc.

I don't miss it.

Except the pizza.

Nowadays, where my priorities have obviously shifted, my thrills now include time with my husband (rare), my babies being happy (kind of rare) and healthy, my cats not barfing on the carpet (very rare), couponing/bargain hunting, crafting/DIY and OMG ONLINE SHOPPING!!!!!!! Some single girls may turn their collective powdered noses up at my humble, home-making life. Some single girls can shove it up their collective asses.

I am so addicted to online shopping that Amazon is --and I kid you not-- bookmarked as number six out of twelve on my Speeddial2 app for Google Chrome. Shut up. I raid the site for super saver shipping deals on the stuff I need, and pair it with gift cards/codes, and, if applicable, stuff like Swagbucks.com Shop-and-Earn programs (you get a certain percentage of "cash back" in Swagbucks for shopping on certain sites, where you can then turn around and redeem Swagbucks for gift cards to stores, restaurants, or... DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNN... AMAZON!).

Between SB and InboxDollars, also, every time I need to buy something special, say printer ink, I check their websites to see if they have any special deals. For example, one time I bought heavily discounted ink cartridges through a site I found on Inboxdollars.com. I got the cartridges for half the price (they were recycled) with free shipping, and because I found it through IBD, they added like $15 to my IDB account. I later redeemed that for a check for $50-some dollars with all my earnings, which then paid our electric bill.

Do you see where I'm going with all this? It's a beautiful, endless cycle of savings! Weeee!

So yeah... most people know that we are currently pretty low-income and rely partially on PA for a little while. Don't worry, we're not spending all of our meager bank account on frivolous crap. I get excited about shampoo.

Plus, I get a LOT of gift cards and rewards codes for the surveys and stuff I do online, not even counting Inbox Dollars and Swagbucks. To date, I've earned a total of almost $70 through Inboxdollars, and about $100 in gift cards from Swagbucks.

IF YOU WANT AN INVITE TO EITHER, SEND ME A MESSAGE OR COMMENT! WE'LL BOTH GET BONUSES IF I REFER YOU!!

btw, I'm currently expecting a package of socks, a wall decal, a mini-fountain, and a hanging closet organizer that I paid a total of about 20 bucks for altogether (and it's a giant-ass professionally made decal, not the dollar store kind... which I also have many of). I could practically pee my pants... seriously. COME TO ME, UPS!

Excuse me, Mr. Mouth.

One must wonder why God refused to give babies the gift of words.

Wouldn't life be so much easier if your child could say, "Hey, Mommy, in T-minus 10 seconds I will have a load in my pants reminiscent of a 90 year-old man with IBS. Get ready!"? The stinky twinkies are finally developing a much more refined use of consonants, but at seven months, I've learned, it doesn't go too far beyond "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" and "MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA!". Though, I suppose, after watching my mother for 18 years and seeing that particular episode of Family Guy in which Stewie shouts "MOM! MAMA! MA! MA!" over and over, I should be grateful that that's as far as it's gotten.

And yet.

I think I've gotten to be fairly skilled at determining what my stinkers are shrieking for: cuddles, food, poopy pants, boredom, teething pain, etc. And yet, I keep thinking back to the episode of Grey's Anatomy where Bailey says to Cristina about her infant son: "That's cry number four; you need to feed him". How the hell do moms do that? I don't know wtf a particular cry sounds like. All I know is deductive reasoning: he's fed, changed, dosed with Tylenol, and surrounded by toys... must want to snuggle up to my boobs and gaze wistfully at what used to be tasty, tasty breastmilk dispensers before Mommy failed and gave up. Or, what they are already learning from their father, which is that these wubbly funbags will be the purpose of their manly existence (and a crippling weakness) from adolescence, on.

It's funny how that unbelievably beautiful, clear, perfect sound you first heard when your baby(ies) was born is the sound that will later make you want to light your hair on fire. I cried... literally, sobbed, when I heard the twins' first cries. Brian and I both did. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever heard in my life. And now, when I hear it, 90% of the time I want to run shrieking from the house.

Well played, God. Well played.

You know what babies do? Poop. Babies poop... and YOU don't have to clean it up, do you?

I have heard countless times that my twins boys are "such good babies."

This is mostly true. From birth, Dex and Eli have been, on the whole, very well-behaved, quiet, content babies. For the most part, they only cry when they want something, and that something was almost always food, being the little piggies that they are.

When a new mother is ready to rip her already-thinning hair out of her scalp because her baby is screaming like he's being burned with a cattle brand (for no reason... you've fed, changed, held, and played with him, checked his temperature, given him a pacifier, and yet he continues to sing louder and more obnoxiously than Taylor Swift on a recent breakup rampage with boyfriend number 20,593,745), people just LOOOOOVE to say, "oh honey, it's okay. Babies cry. That's just what they do."

Excuse me.

How many times have I heard this? How many family members, friends, doctors and complete strangers have happily looked me in the eye while holding or playing with one of my currently peaceful, sleeping twins and said this? Never mind that most (re: most, not all) babies are usually content as small, chubby clams when they're cozy and snuggled up to someone's chest. Or when they're being wheeled around the store in the stroller by my husband for an hour without stopping while he zooms up and down aisles making race car sounds.

So, let's make sure we're on the same page so far. I have good babies. It could be much, much worse. One or both of them could have colic, or some horrible disease or disorder, or be disfigured, or not have made it through pregnancy and birth at all. I love my boys more than I thought was possible. I am fortunate and grateful that they were born healthy and full-sized and have never had any complications or lingering problems. They are adorable and hilarious 99% of the time.

The other 1%, I typically resemble a crazed, greasy, pissed-off grizzly bear and I want to gouge my f***ing eardrums out with a ballpoint pen.

Let me put this in terms that virtually anyone can understand, barring any serious mental retardation: until you have twins or more, you. don't. get it. Until you have your first baby(/ies) and they seem perfect and quiet and you get used to everything being ten times easier than everyone assured you it would be, you. don't. get it. Having a singleton first is all fine and dandy, especially if you have your husband, fiancee, boyfriend, etc. to help you out. When baby does something that makes you want to take a swan dive off the nearest skyscraper, you just hand him or her off to hubby and skee-daddle.

However, when you have TWO or more screaming babies and a pair of arms for each one (or less), there is no escape.

Who knew grass could be so much fun?

Insert obligatory pothead jokes here.

Seriously, my baby LOVES grass. His gramma put him down in the yard the other day and helped him sit up in the grass, and suddenly he's bending over so far his guts are probably squashed into his chest to get as much of this magical green stuff close to him as possible.

Who knew (before having kids) that such a simple, innocent thing could be SO entertaining??

Demi NOvato

I read an article in Cosmopolitan** magazine today about Demi Lovato.

The story goes something like this: Girl is born. Girl is f-ed up from kindergarten, on. Girl worships Barney and Shirley Temple. Girl is suicidal, depressed, bulimic, etc. Girl becomes cutter. Girl "overcomes obstacles" to become international pop music superstar.

Cosmo is making Lovato out to be a ginormic badass bombshell role model, and it's all I can do not to scream "WTF" at the pages. Since when do parents want their little girls idolizing someone who spent most of her life wanting to kill herself, cutting into her skin as a form of "therapy", binging and purging, and then suddenly thrust into the spotlight of Hollywood to succumb to the pressure of celebrity?

SHE EVEN SAYS in the article, and I quote: "I just had the idea in my head that I was on the Disney Channel, so somehow I had to prove that I was a badass. So on the weekends, I'd go crazy. There were moments when I was at parties and would laugh, like, 'Yeah, I'm such a role model.' Looking back, how disrespectful to the people who you are a role model to and the parents who are letting their children trust you."

So now here she is scampering around New York being photographed in skanky clothes (though, it must be said, most are not NEARLY as bad as what I've seen in this rag before) and talking about the tattoos she had done to cover up her scars. So, the moral of the story is, don't worry, if you have mental health issues and take a razor blade to your skin, you can just go get needled to cover up the damage and then become a rock star. Realistic, indeed.

I'm just saying, if I had a daughter, I'd be damned if this was the kind of person I'd let her follow and look up to. Which IS NOT saying that I condemn this girl for overcoming her issues. Good for her, in all seriousness. Nobody deserves to be bullied or have self-mutilation issues or eating disorders. But to hammer into the heads of little girls everywhere that if you get past your personal shit, you can become a superstar? Seriously?

I hate Hollywood sometimes. No, that's a lie. I hate it pretty much all the time.

**DISCLAIMER: Cosmo is 100% pure, retarded trash. The articles are over-edited to the point where they aren't even real anymore (re: "Confessions"). It focuses strictly on young women living in big cities working high-end jobs and assumes that its readers can afford outrageously priced beauty products and clothing (the concentration of ads is sickening). It promotes one-night stands and full-scale slutdom and plays up the single-girl party life. I am the first to admit that Cosmo is a giant waste of media space. That said, it's my guilty pleasure. Judge away.

Dear Idiots:

SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR FUCKING PETS.

BECAUSE OF IDIOTS THAT DUMP OFF ANIMALS WITHOUT HAVING THEM FIXED, OR ABANDON THEM BECAUSE THEY'RE PREGNANT BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO STUPID/CHEAP TO GET THEM FIXED, SHELTERS ARE OVERRUN WITH CRITTERS AND I AM STUCK FEELING GUILTY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE THAT I COULDN'T SAVE THIS LITTER OF KITTENS.

IF YOU CAN'T CARE FOR A PET PROPERLY, DON'T OWN ONE!

Unconditional?

I read some stories recently about some children who had terrible grandparents.

In one, the grandparents babysat, but refused to honor the parents' request that they NOT smoke around the baby or let the dogs run rampant with the baby laying around vulnerable. As a result, supposedly the grandparents disowned the child. In another, the grandparents of a five year-old girl were seen frequently in commercials advocating pet adoption, and the girl asked on a regular basis if they could get a dog so that the grandparents would come and visit the dog and she would get to see them.

I find this incredibly sad. Regardless of your relationship with your own children, your grandchildren have done nothing wrong and do not deserve to be treated in such a way. How on earth could you punish your  grandchild for ANY reason?

We are SO thrilled, and so fortunate, to have parents that are crazy about our babies. Both my parents and my husband's parents have been phenomenally supportive, loving, and generous in helping us care for our little ones, and spending time with them. I had wonderful grandparents myself, as did my husband, and I would want nothing less for our babies.

We love you, Mom, Dad, Karen and Dave! Thank you so much for all that you do for us, and for the boys. God has truly blessed us with a beautiful family, both immediate and extended.

The Mortar To My Brick

I've heard women say many things about being a mom, and among them, that it's a faceless job... so to speak.

I'm referring to mothers, especially stay-at-home moms, becoming a sort of silent, driving force in a family. The unrecognized mortar that binds together the bricks of the family's foundation. I'm referring to how a child can go off to school for the day thinking that everything they do and everyone they see comprises the entire world they live in, come home, go to bed, and go back to their "world" all over again. They never notice the clean clothes in their drawer, the hot food on the table, the "I love you" note and extra cookie in their lunchbox... nor who did it all for them.

I'm a mother now (derp), and I am 110% in love with my amazing husband and my beautiful boys. Many women look down on me for being content to raise my children and take care of my family rather than work 80 hours a week at a law firm or travel back and forth to California or New York or Florida for business all year long. To these women, I say:

I had career dreams, of course. But while spending six years in school convincing myself that I needed a master's and/or PhD to be happy for the rest of my life, I knew deep down that the only things I truly wanted and needed to be happy were a good husband, children, and my family and friends. At the end of the day, isn't that what makes anyone happy? Doesn't everyone wait to come home to people they love after a long, crappy day of work? The only differences for me are that I don't get paid to do what I do, and I do the things I do for the benefit of others more than myself. There is no promotion, no pay raise, no upgrade.

There is, of course, one more difference....

Motherhood is a thankless job, one of little to no recognition. I came to realize that very quickly when I started noticing, going through photos and putting them into albums, that I was in a painful few number of the pictures. I was almost always the one holding the camera, and I still am. I see photos of my family, my in-laws, my friends, my husband, holding our babies, and can't help feeling depressed at the fact that nobody thinks to document my time with my children... or anyone else for that matter. I'm well aware that I'm not at all photogenic, and while I'm already a cow, the camera makes it 10x worse. Everyone takes pictures of everyone else because they know that preserving these memories now will make many people happy later. But rarely does anyone realize that I'm still there. I'm sure it sounds bitter, and to an extent, it kind of is. But I was the one that grew these perfect little humans inside my body for eight months. I was the one that suffered two lonely months in a bed by myself half the day, cut off from the world (unless you count Facebook). I was the one that had to lay in a hospital bed on countless occasions with agonizing back pain and too-small straps and fetal heart monitors cutting into my skin. I was the one that had to be cut open, and later suffer infection from the cesarean delivery of the twins. And I'm the one that goes unnoticed.

I know and am slightly ashamed that I am wallowing in self-pity. No one needs to tell me this. But, like so many things in life, I expected something different than I got.

I have no regrets. I don't regret my marriage, I don't regret conceiving a baby, much less two. I don't regret any of it. I would do it over again in half a heartbeat. But the important lesson I have learned is that my mother, my mother-in-law, every mother alive deserves far more praise, recognition, and thanks for what they do and have done. Knowing now what motherhood really is, I am ashamed that I didn't thank my own mother enough for the countless things, large and small, that she did for me and my siblings growing up. My mom is incredible, and I would not be where I am today without all of her love, care, and sacrifice. I love you, Momma. You are the mortar to my brick.

So, mothers everywhere, know that you are seen, heard, and appreciated... at the very least, by one fellow mom.

World's Dumbest Criminal.

Today, on CafeMom, I was milling around, reading through random posts, and I came across this one:

http://www.cafemom.com/group/115189/forums/read/18641516/Redbox_Is_it_REALLY_stealing_picture_proof?next=621#replies

I. Am. Stunned. Nevermind that this chick is a dirty, dirty thief. What stuns me even more is that she actually POSTED IT ON THE INTERNET FOR EVERYONE TO SEE. So what happened? A bunch of other members contacted Redbox and reported her. Now she's under investigation, and it's only a matter of time before they catch her and bust her.

What really makes me angry about this is that Brian, the boys and I are struggling financially, and we have limited funds for entertainment purposes. Redbox is one of the things that we keep on standby when we have no money, because their rental fees are cheaper than say, Family Video. However, with costs steadily increasing (because of bitches like this), what are we to do one day when it suddenly costs $5 even to borrow a movie from Redbox? This makes me so mad. To be honest, I already thought she deserved to be busted for doing it in the first place, but for being stupid enough to broadcast it on the internet? This should go on an episode of "World's Dumbest Criminals". Seriously.

In other news, Dexter is sitting beside me trying like hell to poop. A lot of grunting accompanies his efforts, and lots of feet in the air or scrunching up into a ball and turning red in the face.

"Oh, Mother! I come bearing a gift. I'll give you a hint: it's in my diaper, and it's not a toaster."

Parenting Fail.

As many of you may have heard if you know us, we have the most horrendous neighbors.

They have three children, one of which is an absolute terror. We live below this family and all day, every day (especially now that school is out... barf), this little brat is stampeding (not running, not skipping, not walking, not tiptoeing... GALLOPING. STOMPING. JUMPING) back and forth across the floor above us. Screaming at the top of her substantial lungs for positively NO REASON.

This family, like us, is low-income. We live in tax credit housing. Like us, their income is strained for their family size. This child (or, uncontrollable rogue beast, if you prefer) is supposedly bi-polar.

The problem here is that they have sought absolutely no help for the kid. She is permitted to be a loud, obnoxious, psychotic monster day in and day out, shrieking like a banshee on fire on a regular basis, banging, jumping, and tearing through the apartment like a cat with night crazies, except weighing about 80 pounds. She is on no medication, has no therapy/counseling support, no nothing. And when you see her out and about in the yard or parking lot, she LOOKS crazy. Like, legit bonkers, crazy-haired, dirty-clothing-clad, dirty-faced little ragamuffin child.

"Does anyone else hear chirping?"

Not even exaggerating a little bit.

I don't give a shit who you are or what your situation is. BE A PARENT. Get your child help. Get another job. You make it work, because it's your baby. Instead of making yourselves, your other children, the bi-polar bag-of-nuts and all your neighbors, friends and family CRAZY, do something to help your child deal with her issues. I cannot imagine, even for a second, letting one of my little boys suffer through the crippling mood swings and feelings that plague those with bipolar disorder. Not to mention, sacrificing the happiness and sanity of our entire family.

Naturally, this family shows classic signs of being ghetto trash. So I suppose that might have something to do with it. Having a child with a condition or disorder is one thing. Refusing to bother doing something about it is quite another.

And so, to end this bitch-fest rant on a positive note, I leave you with this:

*maniacal laughter*

Dexter,  May 2013

Twenty things they don't tell you.

When you're expecting twins, you're expecting chaos. I can't tell you how many times I heard, both throughout pregnancy and for these first four months of my babies' lives, "oh my gosh, you've got your hands full" and "wow! You must be busy!" and even the occasional "ha... better you than me". After the... oh... TEN-THOUSANDTH TIME you hear these things, they start to get old. Just once, when someone comments on how hubbz and I have our hands full, I would love to have to gonads to respond with, "why yes. How about instead of pointing that out to me, you offer to come babysit? Or make me dinner?"

But to those that pity mothers of multiples, allow me to broadcast a big F*** YOU. Because my boys are the most beautiful babies in the world... strong, healthy, happy and fortunately very easy babies. Nevermind that I spent the first three weeks of their lives crying hysterically. And refusing to eat. And fighting infections. And... well, I'll stop there. It was worth it.

Looking back, I saw a few things online and in parenting magazines where writers and bloggers would list "things I was never told about pregnancy" or "things I was never told about having a baby". Allow me to provide you my own, 100% true, disturbing list of facts about twin pregnancies and babies in general:

1. After you deliver your baby(ies), you will bleed like you are DYING. I'm not talking the standard period. I'm talking giant thunderpad diapers full of nasty.
2. You will feel blissful and unaware of reality while you stay in the hospital postpartum. ENJOY. EVERY. SECOND. Take advantage of the nurses and staff. Reap all the supplies you can from your hospital room: diapers (both adult and baby), the stretchy mesh underwear (especially if you have a C-section and can't fit into your own drawers due to the massive gut you have acquired), wipes, vaseline, everything. You will feel like you could ride a jet ski to the top of a f***ing mountain during those few wonderful days (thank you, Eastbound and Down). This is 99% due to beastly pain meds, 1% due to nurses (who are amazing, seriously. Thank them before you leave, or send them a card once you're home).
3. I stress number two as vehemently as possible for this one simple reason: when you get home, you will suddenly feel like you don't know anything.
4. If you are unlucky enough to experience Postpartum Depression and/or baby blues, God bless and keep you. This leads to constant, uncontrollable, hysterical, breathless sobbing for literally no reason. About two weeks after my twins were born, I found myself sitting on the floor with a baby on a blanket in front of me and sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe because I couldn't get his carseat buckle to open.
5. While pregnant with multiples, or even just a REALLY HUGE singleton baby, your pelvis will feel like it will actually shatter and fall out from under you.
6. Bed rest is SWEET for about a week. After that, you may want to warn your hubby to sleep on the couch. Not because he's done something wrong... yet. Because you will hate anyone and everything so much after being bedbound and crippled for so long that you will invent things that he's supposedly done.
7. At some point in late pregnancy, you may not be able to breathe. I took Benadryl nightly and slept with a nose strip, and still had frequent nuclear meltdowns because I couldn't sleep.
8. You will itch. Everywhere. And nothing will help except birthing that baby.
9. HEAAAAARTBURRRRRRN. INDIGESTION. DIARRHEA.
10. Hemorrhoids. Oh. My. God.
11. The older your baby gets, the grosser their crap is. My twins are four months old and their dirty poopy diapers smell like a 90 year-old man ate a dead skunk, died and expelled the contents of his bowels, and then a sick dog came by and ate the skunk excrement and then liquid-fire-shat it out and then died next to it. Then someone set it all on fire.
12. If breastfeeding hurts, ur doin it wrong.
13. Babies fart. Loudly. And they stink. Don't ask me why this never occurred to me before I had babies.
14. If you choose to circumsize a boy, do not panic. His little winkie is not angry and on fire, as I believed for a long time. It just LOOKS scary. Supposedly, they don't even really notice it.
15. Boys pee. A lot. On a lot of things. Keep a washcloth handy to cover them with during diaper changes.
16. Just when you think you've mastered the quick diaper change or diapering after a bath, your baby will crap IN YOUR HAND while you're powdering his butt. Then he will look at you, smile a big, drooly, gummy smile, and coo in triumph. This happened to me, word for word.
17. Your baby is not having a seizure. The weird limb-flailing and head wobbling is normal. It took me a while to grasp this.
18. Most of the people that assured you over and over during pregnancy that they would come babysit, cook, clean, etc. after your baby is born will disappear entirely. This generally does not include family, so be eternally grateful and take advantage of any help they offer.
19. Do not ever allow yourself to fall asleep holding your baby. PLEASE trust me on this. Bad things happen when you are so sleep deprived you're hallucinating. I'm too ashamed to say what, specifically, but bad things happen, and they can and will happen to you.
20. Newborn babies are not wearing lip liner, no matter how chic they may appear.

No matter how disturbing, depressing, or negative this may sound, when your end result is this:

... trust me, it is truly, completely, 100% well worth it.