For weeks I saw sippy cups disappear from our hotel room. I figured they were lost by a frazzled nanny as she wheeled our son through the zoo, the park, and the grocery store in his fire red stroller.

After reclaiming our sanity, our son, and my mini-van, I hunted for sippies finding only two. Where have all the others gone?

I believe there is a vortex underneath the passenger seat of the van from where a gas, not oxygen, currently emanates.

I am not woman enough to reach my hand under the seat and pull out whatever horrors lie beneath. I’ll freely admit that I am a giant chicken, a wimp, yes…even a girl.

Maybe I’ll take it to the Wal-Mart Auto Center and say “no I don’t need my tires rotated, just check underneath the passenger seat.” Should the mechanic be so bold as to investigate and come away from the van shaking his hand in the air and shrieking to the heavens I will know that it is time to sell my gas guzzling beast.

Even if I were to summon up the courage to investigate more closely I’m not sure that any amount of carpet cleaner or lye soap could remove the offending life form. As many will recall I encountered a similar “mystery fungus” behind my couch months ago which began to shriek and moan when sprayed with Windex.

So if nothing else, I’ll give Techie some nookie, arm him with a bottle of lemon scented pine sol and send him on a quest to discover and kill the source of the offending odor.

I fully expect to get any number of comments about how this makes my readers want to vomit. I do apologize, in fact, this is not the blog post that I intended it to be when I sat down to write. Tonight’s blog post was supposed to be about my renewed intent to get knocked up by my husband and a team of talented medical professionals. Alas, this post will stand as proof that I should indeed reproduce on account of my fine mothering and housekeeping skills.

For those who were barfing it may further offend and disgust you to know I wrote the entire post while sitting on the toilet!

She said she hated newborns.  What kind of person hates newborn babies?  What’s she going to do next? Sacrifice a puppy in front of me?

Who came up with lollipops?  Let’s stick a trachea sized ball of sugar on the end of a long stick and give it to little kids.  Who thought that would be a good idea?

Well I’ve never seen your kid move.  (muttered under my breath)

Then… I reached into his mouth and pulled out half of a rock hard overcooked hotdog that smelled like lighter fluid.

 As you can see this intolerance is not flattering on me.  It turns me into a mean sarcastic woman.  But mocking those who annoy me brings me great joy.  

Tonight I was at Target picking up some items for the company picnic swag bags.  I purchased 9 Frisbees, which is only fitting since our company picnic is at the local state park.

 As I placed my items on the belt the woman in front of me began fondling my Frisbees.

Ooooh…where did you find these I need some of these for my doggies she said as she groped my stuff.  She peered over the rest of my items and began a barrage of questioning that was both nosy and stupid.

What are you going to use all these Frisbees for?  Duh. Frisbee.

Annoyed, I answered, I’m going to use them as serving platters for a beach party (I live no wear near a beach).  

Ooooh….that’s a brilliant idea.  She cooed, still fondling my Frisbees.

Really annoyed, I began thinking of all the answers that I should  have given her that would have shut her up instantly.  

Here’s the short and highly inappropriate list: 

Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s frisbees    

My mother in law is coming this weekend for Easter Dinner.  As I sat down to write this post in my recently dusted living room which is strewn with various toy cars, plastic grocery items, and cheez-it crumbs, I realized that I’m going to have to dust again. 

It’s not just a light cleaning that will get me through a visit with friends, a play date, or even a visit from my mom ( light cleaning if she’s only stopping by, heavy duty if she’s staying for more than an hour) this weekend will require a full out top to bottom wipe down every knick nack, hunt down the dust bunnies, and scrub the toilet twice kind of cleaning.   

No my mother in law is not a neat housekeeper, in fact she is the opposite, but she does manage to be both apathetic and mean all at once.  Immediately upon entering my house she plasters on her fake smile all the while making sure that I know she doesn’t need or want a daughter in law as she already has the perfect daughter.

If I clean the house I will hear endless commentary about how “Martha Stewart” the house always looks.  Were the Queen of Clean to even set foot in my house I’m sure she’d break into hives.  Of course, let’s not forget muddled conversations about how nice it is that I have all this time to devote myself to cleaning (a moderation on the “gold-digger” theme). 

But I don’t dare not clean because then both she and my father in law will suddenly devlop x-ray-infared-dust-bunny-seeking vision and my “inability to keep up” will be the talk of the family.

Despite a power cleaning that could put a nesting prego to shame and the meticulous preparation of our clothes, the place settings, and the dinner I am actually looking forward to this visit from the inlaws. 

Mostly because I know my sister will bring wine but also because I can always count on my mother in law to say something completely stupid that I can use at an upcoming dinner party for entertainment.  A few years ago at a BBQ my husband mentioned that he’d been drinking low carb beer and my MIL, the lawyer, said “low carb…oh but I like the bubbles!”

I’m pretty sure Techie married me because of the spot on impression I do of his Wisconsin born mother; complete with her out-of-it mid sentance soap opera stare.  I’ve jump started many a dying social event with this particular skill and he still laughs because he knows that sadly it’s all true.  I love Techie to death which is why I mock his family so.  They are hilariously absurd, because it’s far better to laugh until you cry then cry until you laugh….better yet is to blog about it!

Wish me luck my dears, I’m off to starting having nightmares about Easter dinner disasters and my MIL mocking me with the Charlie Brown teacher voice.

While I endured some teasing, I coveted that position, never getting sweaty and always enjoying a great view of the hot guys playing sports.  I saved my energies for more delicate tasks like dancing and singing in choir and quite frankly have never need those valuable kickball skills as an adult.  

My son, already a jock, has decided that Mommy should still be the last one picked.   Just tonight as we were getting ready to put him to bed he simulateniously gave me a giant kiss and pushed me away saying “no” and “bye”.  Ok I get it, love ya mom but Dad is on the bed time team and you are not.  I have to say being picked last is sometimes very nice.

Tomorrow is Mortified Mama Monday and I have good one for you.  Also keep your eyes peeled a new more better beautified blog theme is in the works! 

Now a little adventure in parenting a toddler:

As I head into the bathroom for a shower this morning, a shaggy blonde head becons me from the other side of the baby gate. I peek over to see outstretched arms and an excited little face.  “Mommy’s not taking a bath…Mommy’s taking a shower.” I explain.  Still cute excited face persists.  “You wanna take a shower too?”

Daddy is busy on the phone so I figure what the heck I’m not going to fight cleanliness.  Chibby strips off his clothes (apparently babies turn into nudists at 18 months) and climbs in the shower with me. 

I figure one good blast from the shower head and he’ll be out of there.  I turn on the water and he just laughs.  So I give him a little boat and a cup to play with and quickly shampoo my hair. 

I finish rinsing and as I look down I notice a yellow streak heading towards the drain.  Yep! He peed in my shower.  I did the only thing I could: move my feet far apart so the pee would miss them and laugh my butt off.

Despite a years’ worth of payments for insurance they would not fix a crack in the screen because it wasn’t interfering the functionality of my crappy phone. I could have taken the phone outside and finished it off with my high heel, thus warranting a repair; instead I gave the high heel to my service plan.

Like any respectable and newly available woman I went out immediately and found myself a hot sexy younger model, with a sports car. Hello gorgeous!

This baby is a techie mama’s dream come true. Here’s my short list of reasons to swoon over the Apple iPhone.

• I very easily converted my favorite songs into ringers. It’s especially great when your phone starts belting The Weather Girls.
• It’s part iPod…only better because of the built in speaker. I can play Chibby’s favorite Baby Genius Tunesanywhere. Music tames the wild toddler.
• The camera is remarkably good for 2 mega-pixel with no flash. Just looky at this photastic image of my son flirting with an older woman in the hospital waiting room today.
• The Google map function rocks. Not that I ever need directions but the iPhone finds me wherever I am and gives me step by step directions to my destination.
• The iPhone syncs with my outlook automatically! This is a blessing. Upcoming appointments, contact information, and even email are all a tap of the finger away.
• I check my favorite blogs from my phone or even look up online sale ads from the store.
• This sexy little sucker is easy to use.
• And my hot pink case doesn’t make me love it any less.

Really and truly my new touch screen lover is far superior to my old one. And at the same price as my last phone I love this one so much I may have the Apple logo tattooed on my butt.

Don’t worry, Techie won’t be jealous, I took him with me to the dark side and we’re helping each other through this very difficult transition.

Because for goodness sake, if they’re in the walls they might as well be everywhere.  My dreams tonight will be like a scene from Indiana Jones….not that Harrison Ford doesn’t make a regular appearance in my dreams (one wink would have me convinced to wear my hear in two buns) but the rats however are a different story.  

I inherited my deep and abiding love for vermin from my Dad.  I once saw him leap 3 feet in the air from a dead standstill as a little field mouse ran out of the garage and between his legs.   Lord help me if I actually see one because I’ll lose all my senses and buy a cat…a big one….real mean too. 

Needless to say tomorrow morning I will be hauling my dear sweet blue eyed baby out into the subzero temperatures to buy a load of the latest and greatest in vermin termination.  That’s right PETA, I intend to kill every mouse within a 100 yard radius of my living room wall. 

Until then I’ve posted a sign outside that reads: Literary and Cartoon Mice only…all violators will be exterminated.

“stay at home mom” is not a job, its a lifestyle choice and their is nothing wrong with it and i’m quite sure it can be difficult, but please stop comparing it to real work. Its insulting to people who commute three hours a day, work six days a week and are responsible for not only their own performance but everyone around them. I’v never seen a stay at home mom get fired because her grocery shopping went over budget by 8% in Q2…Stop overcompensating and making a task thats been going on for millions of years out to be more than it is. If your happy being a house husband and find it challenging, great.

If ever there were an occasion for a virtual kick in the groin, this commenter would be deserving.  Here’s what I have to say to Mr. Anonymously Misguided. 

#1.  Being a vegetarian is a lifestyle choice, staying at home to raise your children and manage the household is a career choice.  It is a real job. 

#2.  Yes, it is sometimes difficult.  You come do what I do all day and tell me the work I’m doing isn’t real.

#3. Why is acknowledging my work as ”real”  insulting?  By saying that what I do has value, that my choice to take care of my child all day is a career in no way takes away from what those who work outside the home are doing. My husband has a career and my career in no way detracts from the value of his career or the efforts he puts into it.

#4.  Three hours of commuting is real work?  Three hours of commuting is three hours of sitting on your ass without having to meet the needs of another, it is three hours of feeding only yourself, listening to the radio, and making phone calls.  It’s three hours of time for reflection.  Yes commuting can be stressful but when other drivers are jerks you flip them off and get over it.  No such luck at home. 

#5.  Ha ha! I work more than you.  You come home, probably drink, watch TV, and think up bone-headed comments to post on the web.  I however work 7 days a week 24 hours a day.  That’s not a cop out it’s the damn truth.

#6.  I am actually responsible for my own performance as well as the performance of my child.  They way children behave, how well they do in school, the type of people they become are a direct reflection of their parenting.  Talk about job pressure.  Further, I’ve managed employees before and evaluated their performance.  Any HR person worth their salt will tell you every good evaluation begins with an employee self-evaluation.  No one is harder you than you. 

#7. Stay at home mom’s can’t get fired for blowing their budget by 8% in the second quarter.  We can’t blow our budget by 1% and if Mr. Anonymous can’t make his budget maybe he should seek the counsel of some savvy stay at home mamas on how to manage a budget.  Never question the capabilities of a woman who can squeeze a sizable contribution to her kids’ college fund and a Disney World vacation out of a 35K a year budget.

#8.   If one of your clients wakes you up in the middle of the night and wants to lay his head in your cleavage you can sue. 

#9.  If you get irritated with your boss, a client, or a coworker you can get mad and talk about him in the break room.  Stay at home moms don’t have the luxury.  We can say my kid is driving me nuts today…enter guilt.  The emotional stress alone of this job beats that of an accountant any day. 

#10.  Just because people have been raising children since the dawn of time doesn’t make it any less valid as a career choice.  I CHOOSE to stay home with my child.  There is NO job more important than that of a parent, especially one who stays at home to raise their child.

#11. Of course fellow-commentator-stay-at-home-dad finds his job challenging.  That means he’s doing it right. 

#12.  Just because staying at home involves working in the home doesn’t mean that it is easy.  Anyone who stays at home is just as intelligent, creative, or competent as someone who works outside the home.  I am a college graduate.  I spent most of my college career as an education major learning about the development of children, about education, and literature.  I graduated with HONORS and I find staying at home to be challenging. 

#13. I may not be a pencil pusher but I, a stay at home mom, am a professional.  I put great effort into developing my professional skills, including continuing education in my field. 

#14.  When you take your kid to daycare, the lady who watches your child all day has a ____?  If you hire a housekeeper the work she does is a ____?  When you go out to dinner the guy in the kitchen has a ____?  If you hire a nanny she has a ___?  A JOB!  Would it be easier to understand if I paid myself for my work and then paid myself for my services and gave a chunk of change to Uncle Sam?  Would that make what I do everyday a job?

#15.  What does it take to qualify staying at home as real work? Do I need to put on something dry clean only and wear lipstick all day for this to be a job?  Because I can do that. I can do that because the work I do everyday is real, it is a career and it doesn’t matter if I’m wearing jeans or suit skirt it is still difficult and it still demands some respect. 

Ladies I bet this gem of a man is still available, but don’t get your hopes up,  I don’t think you’ll find much under the hood.   So for dear anonymous here’s a few more bumper stickers that will piss you off:

I know—I need a prescription.  Though I can’t remember exactly I’m pretty sure that I probably spent most of my time as a fetus tidying up the womb and since my birth I’ve only perfected my OCD. 

Why is there CRAP on my porch?  It is on the porch because I wasn’t about to bring it into the house.  Almost a year ago when we decided to sell our house I delicately packed our beloved possessions (now known as CRAP) into boxes and took it to a storage facility so that our home could be properly staged for the dozens of buyers who looked but did not buy.  Last month, after several frost-bitten hours of digging for my turkey platter, I canceled the contract on storage unit.  After a week of hauling boxes covered in dust and dead crickets, it has arrived.  I do have a plan, however, that would make the Clean Sweep Team proud.  Only 1/3 of the crap will be allowed back into the house and the rest will be sold, donated, or trashed.  Sounds great right?

Enter:  A stay-at-home mom’s worst nightmare:  the utterly unproductive day.  The utterly unproductive day is when you get nothing done at all, it’s the day when the dishes don’t get done, your kid is still in his PJs at 4 PM and you find yourself wondering: Did I go into a coma today?  Was I abducted? Did I eat some bad cheese?  No one knows the exact cause of these unproductive days but if left untreated they become contagious and may cause bad hair days. The root of my utterly unproductive day has two gorgeous blue eyes, a runny nose, and a new “I don’t know” gesture that is so cute that I’m overwhelmed with guilt and can’t possibly fault him for my lack of accomplishments. 

So the crap lives another day in the comfort of the porch, taunting me, breeding with the other crap and growing into an ever taller mountain that may smother me in my sleep tonight.   Good night room…and good night moon…and good night porch full of CRAP.