Kids are the greatest. Being a parent is the truly the most rewarding thing on the planet. Each day I'm amazed by my daughters. To be able watch them learn, grow and adapt to life is really just flippin awesome. But then.....
Just as I'm lost in thought about how lovely being a parent is, (and it is) my 2.75 year old sashays out of the kitchen, turns around, puts her hand up signaling stop and asks for a bowl of grapes.... NO SKINS PLEASE. I like my grapes Mom, just get ridda da skins. EXIT. STAGE. LEFT.
What the EFFFFFF?!? I don't even know whats worse about this. The fact that she requests skinless grapes or the fact that I was on Mompilot, which is similar to autopilot, and almost skinned those lovely winemakers for her. The common sense stick suddenly slapped me and I just give her regular grapes because, well, it's a grape. She asks me why she can't have them skinned? I explain to her in my perfectly pitched parent voice that Mommy just doesn't have time to do that and she should just eat them.The skins are good for you and have magic in them that will make you a unicorn. While in my head I'm thinking- Where did this little diva come from? Skin my grapes. Kid please. Try wiping your own rear end, huh? I would actually love it if you could do that but we all know that won't happen. Mommy doesn't have time because she's knee deep in other ridiculousness like, well, pretty much anything besides that.
She then asks the oh so expected....."But why?"
Why?!? I just told you why tater tot. There will be no skinning of the grapes here. Ask me again and I will steal the title The Grapes of Wrath and write and entirely different book. One about a Mom that goes wackadoo after a lifetime of silly demands from her kids. (To be honest, I can't even recall what the original one was about, but I know it wasn't about skinning grapes. I'd be in the clear regarding subject matter.)
I leave the diva to her bowl of grapes, skins on of course, and go about my chores. I come back into the room and few minutes later only to discover some sort of mass fruit murder. She had smashed all her grapes in an effort to remove the skins herself and completely mutilated them. So not only did she not have skinless grapes, she now had no grapes at all because she ravaged them to a pulp with her baby fingers. Maybe she was trying to make me some wine all along? I mean Mother's Day is right around the corner and it takes awhile to make wine.
What is it with kids and skins anyways? Well pretty much the outer layer of anything. Skins. Crusts. Their own clothing. They seem to be totally against it. Just as I catch myself zoning out and drifting off into random thoughts for a few minutes, which lets face it parents, sometimes a 5 minute space out is the equivalent to a nap for us, I decide it's probably best to clean up this mushy mess before it starts getting smeared everywhere. I'm sure she felt like she won and staged some sort of toddler takeover on the grape front. However, don't get it twisted kid, I won't be skinning grapes for you. Apple peels and bread crusts are the extent of my accommodations.
The next day while in the produce section at the store she says, "Oh look Mom, grapes!" I ever so casually breeze past them and in my head think.....
Thanks for reminding me to grab some wine.
Friday, March 27, 2015
Thursday, March 19, 2015
50 SHADES OF A MAN
So now that I'm a free bird I get to pay way more attention the mens.....
Lets just say I'm slightly perplexed.
Slightly. Majorly. Ok, totally perplexed. A woman has a checklist, albeit mine is a mental one, I still run through those checkpoints when noticing the opposing gender.
Human.
Breathing.
End of list.
Kidding. I won't share my list of musts. I'm actually rather basic- (not to be confused with the term "basic bitch") and the normal qualities I look for in someone are slowly shifting now that I'm a single divorced mother of 2 in my 30's. Now this isn't a dig on men compared to women. I know we are 100 shades of bat chit ourselves. These are purely observations. I noticed a group of guys today and it really got me thinking about the types of men I've noticed now that my radar is allowing me to imagine people nekkid.
THE TAN MAN-
This type of man is usually some variety of orange (thinking he is tan) with shocking slap yo mama white teeth. Let me speak for the majority when I say- dial down on the spray tans buddy! Jersey Shore was maybe popular for a hot second, but this shouldn't be a way of life. Orange will never be a shade of tan. Furthermore, neon colors, especially cut off shirts or tanks along with the tan won't make anything better. Your collection of Affliction shirts and name brand jeans cost more than my 2011 Kia Rio. Males in this group often spend a long time on their hair as well. If you can use your hair to cause any sort of blunt force trauma or you spend longer than I do on it, and mine is nearly to my waist, we have a serious problem. I would like to greet this group with a bucket of warm soapy water. To soften the hair and scrub off the orange....I mean tan.....I will also take the bedazzlement's off your Affliction gear and fancy jeans because my kids and I like to craft.
THE FALSE RUGGED-
From afar you capture us ladies, especially those of us bred here in the PNW. You sport some sort of facial hair and lets be honest here, facial hair is DEAD SEXY. Flannel is your friend and you wear it well. You aren't against canned beers and you love camping. You could be handy, tech savvy and outdoorsy. Discount double check folks! Ahhhh but as we take a look closer we find out you are deathly afraid of spiders, you only drink IPA's, your REI collection of camping gear has never seen a raindrop and your flannels all cost over $75 at Urban Outfitters or wherever the false rugged male would shop. I have no clue where one would actually spend that much on a flannel since I generally shop for clothes at places that also have grocery carts. Yes, I prefer to get my steaks and shirts at the same place. I'm limited on time these days and care more about the steak anyways.
THE REAL RUGGED-
This is the dialed down version of the False Rugged. Your flannel shirts aren't $75 which is good, but you also seem to be anti bathing, which isn't good. I wish Real Rugged and False Rugged could get together for a chai and find a way to meet in the middle. And while you're at it teach False Rugged how to do man shit like fix stuff and not cry when seeing a spider, and False Rugged can show you proper bathing techniques that won't mess up your look.
GYM GUY-
Not to be confused with athlete.
Now, maybe I don't understand this type of man since I don't work out. For me its really simple, your skin shouldn't look like it's going to crack if you bend in any way whatsoever. It reminds me of the German sausages I always ate as a kid in the casing that would snap on the first bite. A mans upper half should never be compared to a sausage. Ever. This group usually, but not always, falls victim to the orange tan look as well. Scale it back just a little. I'm all for being healthy but I shouldn't bounce off you when I reach in for a hug because you're that ripped. Oh what do they say-yoked? I'm a human, not a ping pong ball.
While there are many groupings of the male species hanging around, these few are the ones I keep seeing the most of. Again, I'm not trying to be some pro female man hater here. I know we can easily be categorized into our own pods of crazy. Shoot, I'm sitting here writing this with my comfortably unshaven legs in a goodwill sweater, with no makeup on and slight heartburn from pigging out on Domino's. The most expensive thing on me tonight is the wine that's currently in my stomach. But for the love.....Put down the spray tan gun and pick up a hammer or chop some wood. Who cares how much your shirt costs that makes you look a certain way. Tell me a joke and make me laugh my ass off. Be kind. Not just to me but to the waiter, the bartender or even the random stranger. Open the damn door! I have tiny arms and doors are heavy. Care about what you do in your life and care genuinely for others. I assure you it's far more attractive. A nice smile doesn't hurt either though. Stop trying to be 50 shades of tan (orange) and be 50 shades of a man.
Lets just say I'm slightly perplexed.
Slightly. Majorly. Ok, totally perplexed. A woman has a checklist, albeit mine is a mental one, I still run through those checkpoints when noticing the opposing gender.
Human.
Breathing.
End of list.
Kidding. I won't share my list of musts. I'm actually rather basic- (not to be confused with the term "basic bitch") and the normal qualities I look for in someone are slowly shifting now that I'm a single divorced mother of 2 in my 30's. Now this isn't a dig on men compared to women. I know we are 100 shades of bat chit ourselves. These are purely observations. I noticed a group of guys today and it really got me thinking about the types of men I've noticed now that my radar is allowing me to imagine people nekkid.
THE TAN MAN-
This type of man is usually some variety of orange (thinking he is tan) with shocking slap yo mama white teeth. Let me speak for the majority when I say- dial down on the spray tans buddy! Jersey Shore was maybe popular for a hot second, but this shouldn't be a way of life. Orange will never be a shade of tan. Furthermore, neon colors, especially cut off shirts or tanks along with the tan won't make anything better. Your collection of Affliction shirts and name brand jeans cost more than my 2011 Kia Rio. Males in this group often spend a long time on their hair as well. If you can use your hair to cause any sort of blunt force trauma or you spend longer than I do on it, and mine is nearly to my waist, we have a serious problem. I would like to greet this group with a bucket of warm soapy water. To soften the hair and scrub off the orange....I mean tan.....I will also take the bedazzlement's off your Affliction gear and fancy jeans because my kids and I like to craft.
THE FALSE RUGGED-
From afar you capture us ladies, especially those of us bred here in the PNW. You sport some sort of facial hair and lets be honest here, facial hair is DEAD SEXY. Flannel is your friend and you wear it well. You aren't against canned beers and you love camping. You could be handy, tech savvy and outdoorsy. Discount double check folks! Ahhhh but as we take a look closer we find out you are deathly afraid of spiders, you only drink IPA's, your REI collection of camping gear has never seen a raindrop and your flannels all cost over $75 at Urban Outfitters or wherever the false rugged male would shop. I have no clue where one would actually spend that much on a flannel since I generally shop for clothes at places that also have grocery carts. Yes, I prefer to get my steaks and shirts at the same place. I'm limited on time these days and care more about the steak anyways.
THE REAL RUGGED-
This is the dialed down version of the False Rugged. Your flannel shirts aren't $75 which is good, but you also seem to be anti bathing, which isn't good. I wish Real Rugged and False Rugged could get together for a chai and find a way to meet in the middle. And while you're at it teach False Rugged how to do man shit like fix stuff and not cry when seeing a spider, and False Rugged can show you proper bathing techniques that won't mess up your look.
GYM GUY-
Not to be confused with athlete.
Now, maybe I don't understand this type of man since I don't work out. For me its really simple, your skin shouldn't look like it's going to crack if you bend in any way whatsoever. It reminds me of the German sausages I always ate as a kid in the casing that would snap on the first bite. A mans upper half should never be compared to a sausage. Ever. This group usually, but not always, falls victim to the orange tan look as well. Scale it back just a little. I'm all for being healthy but I shouldn't bounce off you when I reach in for a hug because you're that ripped. Oh what do they say-yoked? I'm a human, not a ping pong ball.
While there are many groupings of the male species hanging around, these few are the ones I keep seeing the most of. Again, I'm not trying to be some pro female man hater here. I know we can easily be categorized into our own pods of crazy. Shoot, I'm sitting here writing this with my comfortably unshaven legs in a goodwill sweater, with no makeup on and slight heartburn from pigging out on Domino's. The most expensive thing on me tonight is the wine that's currently in my stomach. But for the love.....Put down the spray tan gun and pick up a hammer or chop some wood. Who cares how much your shirt costs that makes you look a certain way. Tell me a joke and make me laugh my ass off. Be kind. Not just to me but to the waiter, the bartender or even the random stranger. Open the damn door! I have tiny arms and doors are heavy. Care about what you do in your life and care genuinely for others. I assure you it's far more attractive. A nice smile doesn't hurt either though. Stop trying to be 50 shades of tan (orange) and be 50 shades of a man.
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