As I'm sitting here blogging tonight, I look over to see sweet little Taterbug reading a book to C-dub. They seemed intently focused on the pictures accompanying the story she was ever so lovingly narrating to her little brother. I settled back into my own little world until I began to hear some snickering and the occasional word that perked my mommy radar. But when she uttered the phrase, "It is not uncommon for him to mount various objects, and people, in an effort to satisfy his mature sexual urges," I knew it was time to step in.

Mommazilla: Whatcha readin' there Tater?
Taterbug: Just a book about dogs.
Mommazilla: Show me.
She holds up a book about Golden Retrievers and shows me the picture she and C-dub were studying. It's a diagram of a very well endowed male dog, penis and all. His momma would have been proud.
Mommazilla: Tater, read a different chapter, K?
Taterbug: OK Mom, but why?
Mommazilla: Well, it's not something that C-dub needs to see or hear. He'll get nightmares or something...I start to mumble a rebuttal but she thankfully turns the page.

She continues reading to C-dub and I settle back into my computer world. She starts reading again and life is good until I hear, "If you need to walk your bitch, take her in the car to a nearby park or field for a chance to stretch her legs." Taterbug and C-dub both start laughing hysterically, knowing full well that they had just read an expletive in a real, live book.

Mommazilla: Taterbug! Enough! That word is a naughty word but it's also the name for a female dog. OK?
Taterbug: Giggling... OK Mom.
C-dub: We have bwiches Mom! Taterbug is rolling at this point.
Taterbug: C-dub's right! We do!
Mommazilla: Yes we do and they each have a name, so use it rather than your new word. K?

The conversation ended with me confiscating the book. I know that "the talk" is coming soon but I want to have reinforcements for this one - I may pass out or worse, start giggling uncontrollably. Grandma Tain did buy us a wonderful book, fully explaining "the talk" (with great cartoon lovemaking included - gag!) but I'm just not ready. I'm torn whether or not to let her learn the way I did - 3rd grade, girl's bathroom, the first girl with boobs and her period layed it down for us. I think I'm just going to wait it out just a bit and try to grow a set of cajones big enough to tackle this task because right now, I'm a self-proclaimed virgin at all this stuff.

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I've discovered the secret as to why people enjoy using illicit drugs so much...I took a Claritin-D the other night and washed it down with a can of Coke. I then checked my e-mails, brushed my teeth, washed my face, plowed through three loads of clothes, scrubbed the kitchen floor with a tooth brush, ironed my t-shirts and undies, organized my sock drawer, labeled the canned goods in my kitchen according to nutritional value, and then proceeded to memorize the entire contents of my personal library, Barney books included. After this little jaunt into insanity, I then went to bed and proceeded to sweat all of the evilness out of my body and then wake up every half hour on the hour, because of the little green men running laps around my bedroom asking for change to the soda machine that was evidently in my kitchen. Those little leprechaun turds then practiced slam dancing and acted all crunk when I told them to get out around 4 AM. When I woke up sometime the next day, I was jittery, achy and looking for more "Cruddy C" (my slang for a slam of street Claritin-D and Coke). Thankfully, the little green men (who eventually became my friends and made a 4:30 AM run to Denny's to buy me a Grand Slam with a side of ranch) had disappeared in time for me to get ready for work. When I got to work, I realized I had absolutely zero fluid left in my body so I decided to remedy this by eating candy bars and drinking Mountain Dew in an effort to reproduce the glorious "ride" I had taken the night before. It was all to no avail, because it just made me get a headache and my pants fit a little tighter. Blah. I'll leave the drug using to the pros.

Posted by Mommazilla at 06:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I've had the week from Hell and the bastard followed me into the weekend. Schat hit the fan when I decided to play a rousing game of “catch that Humboldt crud and see how many of your munchkins can catch it at the same time.” I don't really feel that bad but the fever and lung bursting coughs beg to differ. I know that February is the month of love, but I truly don't enjoy being "ravaged" by the flu. A red runny nose and watery eyes are not sexy. You cannot think lustful thoughts with of wad of goobery Vick's Vapor Rub smeared across your chest and under your nose. I don't care if Monica on Friends made it look sexy to Chandler. It's just not right and the smell reminds me of old people.

Speaking of old people...not wanting to limit the fun one could have in a week, I took my life into my own hands by clicking on a link that someone had sent me involving one of my all time rock and roll heroes, Gene Simmons. But before I get into that, just FYI - I freakin' love KISS and Gene Simmons is my original "man in black." I just can't help but smile when I see him standing there, leather pants, six inch heels and a face full of paint that would make Bozo the clown melt with pride. I have kitchen magnets and a wonderful mug (his tongue is the handle *wink, wink*) that lay claim to my love of this man. I've read one of his books (took me an hour and then I ogled the pic's for at least three) and find him to be an interesting and lustful character, although just a teensy weensy bit arrogant.

On that note, yeah, I do realize he's old or at least a lot older than me – I wasn’t even a consideration to my mother and father at the time these guys rocked the eight track players. I got past this inconsequential fact by emphasizing his youth through all the junk I’ve collected and continue to collect. But when it comes to current times, I do have my standards. I refuse to watch his newest show (Family Jewels) because it has his two teenage children on it and it truly grossed me out that he spawned with another woman and almost became a family man. Oh the horror! The show also gave in detail his plight of plastic surgery which only confirmed to me the fact that he was getting old and not aging gracefully. Plus, when I did sneak a peak at that vile half hour, his lack of hair movement really freaked me out and he honestly kind of had some old man tendencies…I betcha he uses Vick’s Vapor Rub on a daily basis.

OK, OK, now back to the story of the link… I had heard rumors about their being an alleged “Gene Simmons” adult *ahem* tape and how underwhelming it actually was to see. One of my good friends sent me the link and I hesitated to even click on it. The link was a picture in itself, and the simple picture made me feel a little uneasy. Could it really be my little Genie? Could he be that nasty old grandpa character hovering menacingly over that little trashy blonde? Is he really that icky looking and is she wearing flip-flops for crap’s sake?! I battled my inner demons for at least a good 10 seconds and then I finally…clicked…the picture. It took me five seconds to realize that my dreams of a “studly” Genie-boy had quickly gone up in flames, along with my psyche. After slamming the computer shut and erasing my history and cookies (don’t want the hubby to know I was temporarily a perv), I quickly looked around for a bottle of bleach to pour into my ear. I was hoping that it would leak through my ear canal and cleanse my brain of every last picture etched into my frontal lobes. Thankfully, good sense washed over me and told me that might hurt a bit, so I stopped looking.

I was (and still am for that matter) seriously in disgust of Gene. This schatty video ruined the magical creature he had created (“The Demon”) and instead had replaced it with a yucky old man and what appeared to be a girl no older than his own daughter having corny relations – and yes, she was wearing wedge flip-flops which are totally trashy by anyone’s standards. I don’t know what I expected to see – maybe insane fireworks, acrobatics or even an occasional burst of fire from his ungodly mouth – but there was nothing. Nothing I tell yah, and that’s what made it too real. As a friend told me, he should have just waived his tongue around and everyone would have been rightfully impressed.

I later professed my guilt to hubby who could not stop cracking up at my disgust and enjoyed sharing my horror story with friends. I guess he’s not sensitive enough to realize that I just had an iconic crush ripped from my memory banks and was swapped with Grandpa Gene, the dirty old man. I know that I’ll never listen to my KISS Cd’s again, at least not without the unpleasant visions of bad porn running through my head. But, I’m going to force myself to be OK. Paul Stanley hasn’t come out with any videos yet and he kinda looked like Gene except he was taller, lankier, and overall, more girlified and sang better. So yeah, I’m going to try and swap out some memories for the sake of my sanity. Wish me luck ;o).

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

A close family member (FM) has recently hit the age where the doctor feels it necessary to up the ante of their relationship; she wants dear 'ole FM to meet the rubber snake and get a colonoscopy. I wasn't with FM when the doc told him this but I could almost feel my own sphincter clenching up with sympathetic fear and dread. I agree that it's a great idea for him to go through the procedure because the evil "C" takes no prisoners. However, I could also see his point in that the idea of a tiny video camera getting snaked up your rectum, with several people in the room enjoying your anal experience in 3-D, is just a little wrong and unnerving. He really wasn't that interested in solidifying a solid and long lasting relationship with his doctor, but he agreed to do the procedure nonetheless.

The doc also mentioned that it would be a good idea for FM to go through an endoscopy as well, due to some stomach irritation and random bouts of projectile vomiting he had been experiencing. FM was reluctant at first but then the bargain shopper kicked in to help him clarify the situation. He asked the doc if a problem was located in either end, if they could go ahead and just fix it then and there, even if his sedation was only mild. He figured that he might get a two for one deal rather than having to take time out for further treatments and God forbid more surgeries. Of course, she told him that this was probably not going to happen and I had to chuckle, reminding him that you really shouldn't look for good deals when your dealing with someone who wants to stick something down your throat and up your anus. What happens if the bargain is made with the tubing? Certainly you'd hope that the throat video came first rather than vice versa.

I attempted to counsel FM by telling him that I've known several people who have went through this procedure and they have professed that the worst part about the whole thing is the super turbo laxative workout you do the day before. The doctor evidently wants your little sphincter and colon so clean that he or she could practically serve a four course dinner on it, with perhaps room for dessert. I told FM that this wasn't such a big deal and that he could just look forward to losing enough water weight that he might once again fit into that banana hammock he was so fond of - that is of course, as long as he could tuck the hemmies in that he was surely to aggravate with the powerful screaming colon cleanse. With that thought, he seemed to settle down just a bit and settled into the notion that he was going to be subjected to what a muppet feels like on a daily basis. And the fact that he won't be able to trust his farts for at least a few days.

The countdown to the big Roto Rooter draining cleaning event is slated for the mid part of March and FM is slowly getting used to the idea that for at least a couple of hours, his colon and upper GI will be the hit of the party. No, Katie Couric won't be there to tape his monumentous occasion, but FM promised that he'd ask for a personal copy of the tape to show at his next football party. In all seriousness, I'm glad that he's having this done because following lung cancer, colorectal cancer is the second leading cause of cancer death in the US. By "ass"king the right questions, "ass"uming he's doing the right thing, and simply "ass"cending into a state of personal awaren"ass", he's helping to lower those statistics. Yes, I had to throw some Jim Carrey via Ace Ventura potty humor, *butt* why wouldn't I? :o)

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's been an interesting adventure raising an eight year old little "woman." Not only is she smart, witty, and wise for her age (and no, I'm NOT biased, not even one little bit), but she has already earned the title of "Procrastination Queen" for our household. My mom tells me that I was exactly the same as a child and I've also heard that most kids around her age have it ingrained in themselves to be procrastinators. I like to tell myself that I can change her; through the use of constant nagging, friendly reminders, and pleading, I know that some how, some way, I can break through that hardened shell of deferment she has grown.

The skill of procrastination she has developed has reared it's ugly head in several facets of her life; most noticeably in the cleanliness (or lack there of) in her bedroom. At least once a month, I go in with two trash bags; one for outgrown clothes and toys and the other just for trash. We turn on the Kidz Bop CD full blast and spend the remainder of our afternoon bopping around the room picking up Barbie parts and dirty, sometimes unidentifiable, laundry and possibly once edible items. I praise and congratulate her on a job well done even though in reality; I've done most of the work with her standing in front of her vanity singing into a naked Barbie. She really seems to be truly pleased with her handiwork when the task is completed, but this wonderful feeling tends to be forgotten in the next week when I'm once again yelling at her to clean her room.

Today was no different other than the fact that she has assured me that she had conquered her procrastination problem and had cleaned up her room to suffice my obsessive nature. One look at her face told me that she was again putting off what should be done today, and that she was not being entirely truthful when it came to her level of bedroom filth contamination. When I walked out to her room, I could immediately tell by the apologies spilling from her mouth that she still had some work to do.

As I started to evaluated the disaster, I noticed that she had a large stack of scribbled on papers sitting on her desks and being the snoop that I am, I casually glanced through them, prior to sending them to the burn pile. In several different types of written chicken scratch, cursive, and printed font, the words, "I'M ON STRIKE" read throughout the messy papers. I guess Taterbug had been paying attention to the Writer's strike and thought that she'd take on a similar type motto in order to avoid cleaning her domestic domain. She had carefully practiced and perfected the verbiage she thought would bide her time. Unfortunately for her, it just provided hubby and I with some much needed comic relief and a reminder that our dear daughter was becoming craftier that her 'ole mom and dad.

In the end, Taterbug was again procrastinating but at least she was getting a little more creative in her way of doing it, or should I say, not doing it. And you know what? I'm glad she's got the personality she does because she certainly makes life more interesting around our household. Her wittiness is refreshing and makes the procrastination issue that much more tolerable.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've often been asked by my friends and family, how do you do it? How do you and your hubby both work long hours but still have the time to raise three little demanding cherubs and manage a house and business? I like to call it, organized chaos, with an emphasis on the chaos rather than the organized. Up until we had our third child, our life was relatively calm and quiet around the house. The two older kiddos were uber close and liked to frolic in green meadows and make daisy chains together. OK, maybe not daisy chains but they did like mutual mud fights and chicken chasing relays. Kind of the same thing - just without the Walton Family spin to it.

When Gun-Gun joined our family, it was a whole different story. He came loudly screaming into the world at nine and a half pounds of fists and fury. He professed his freedom by promptly peeing on the delivering doctor and than schatting on the OB nurse. When he "peaked" at the age of 18 months. I tried to ignore the subtle changes in him...protruding horns from the temple, forked-shape tale stump just above his tail bone...but it was to no avail. Gun-Gun slowly turned into some sort of monster created from all of the evil Karma hubby and I had coming to us. The mother-in-law quietly informed me one day that I was once again raising my hubby as a toddler and this was sweet justice to her.

After a frantic call and a consult with my very sympathetic pediatrician, he assured me that Gun-Gun was a normal, however a very active child. Most importantly, the Ped assured me that neither hubby nor myself did anything to “break” him; it was just the way he was intended to be. Yes, I had done a superb job (self-proclaimed of course) of child rearing with my oldest two - with neither of them going through the “hitting” phase or God forbid, the “Vampire” phase (biting for the fun and enjoyment of it). However, Gun-Gun appeared to me to be right on the track for a life of juvenile delinquency – smoking on street corners, kissing random girls, and listening to *Heaven forbid* rap music with cuss words. We had to do something.

The painful raising of Gun-Gun came out in so many issues...So what if we can’t go out to restaurants anymore because Gun-Gun likes pinching waitress, head banging windows, and random screaming? We’re saving money and calories on junk food, so ultimately it’s a win-win situation. And who cares if I have to pay good money for a babysitter so that I can grocery shop without little Gun-Gun fingers grasping and breaking my selected items? He’d probably make me buy stuff I really didn’t need, anyway. Who gives a care if I can no longer have houseplants (non-toxic of course) because Gun-Gun thinks they look better uprooted than in the pretty planter? I didn’t really need that stress relieving hobby. Many thanks to my little boy, for keeping me at home and saving me time, money, and calories.

Rather than fighting the monster he became, hubby and I have slowly learned to embrace his differences of violent tendencies towards flying Hotwheels and PDA's - Public Displays of Aggression. We’ve learned (and are still learning) how to creatively address discipline issues both in the house and in public where prying eyes always find the screaming child and flustered parent. I’m not saying that I’m an expert child whisperer by any means, but I know what works for us and what makes Gun-Gun happy.

I'm not a huge fan of spanking and the technique of lecturing is usually followed by the rolling of two-year-old eyes, so I've had to come up with other ways to discipline the little man. We've currently settled on the method of time-outs, with the G man having to spend a few minutes in a selected chair or in his crib. He professes his disdain for this situation by screaming, throwing toys or blankies, and yelling out the new phrases, "KNOCKITOFF!! STOPIT!! NO WAY!! I OUT!!" It seems like his verbal and physical taunting he provides are way worse on the family than the discipline being imposed on him.

I've discovered something just a little bit better; I impose time-outs on myself. The concept of mommy punishment is intriguing to a two-year-old. When I've absolutely lost it, I place myself in my bedroom, on my bed, and as many child advocates advise, I give myself a minute of time-out for ever year of my life. For 32 glorious minutes, I have the absolute, undying attention of my little hellion, fascinated at the fact that mommy is in trouble. The older two have caught onto my game, but little Gun-Gun is still a fan. He watches at first and then slowly joins me on the bed to watch cartoonies (of course I'm not watching because I'm in trouble) and get some much needed hugs and wet kisses. An occasional raspberry might utter from his lips especially if he sees any exposed skin, but for the most part, he's mine for the duration of my time-out.

Yes, at times I do feel like I'm a prisoner in my own home and no, it's entirely fair to the other two who are perfectly fine in all of the previously mentioned situations. But the Ped assured me that this is only a temporary thing and many parents find themselves being housebound during certain "trying" months of their child's life. I just hope that we'll be able to venture out again before my other kids turn 18 and 15, respectively. They have been so patient in the meanwhile, and hubby and I do our best to lavish individual attention in order to keep them on "our side." Because as you can see in our house, it's just a quick little jaunt to the dark side... of the Gun-Gun monster.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

After being faced with a tremendous amount of mommy guilt over a failed play date, I promised Taterbug that I'd take her and a buddy to see the new Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus 3-D concert/movie. When C-dub heard this, he quietly professed to hubby that he thought Hannah/Miley was super duper cute, and asked to tag along. Not wanting to discourage his little boy crush, I told him he was more than welcome to hang out with mommy and the girls and wear the cool 3-D glasses.

I mentally prepared myself for a night of preteen angst and bubbly boy crazy songs by making sure my cell phone was charged and my I-Pod was ready with over 500 songs. After all, I was there to supervise three little monsters, not actually enjoy the movie. After a quick drive, we arrived at the movie and the girls were chatty and excited while C-dub played it cool, not wanting to look too interested in a "girl movie."

The first surprise of the night came in the form of the price. I about dropped my smuggled candy when I heard the clerk tell me it was $11 a person. He proudly explained that you also received complimentary souvenir 3-D glasses with your purchase. Whew! And I thought we were totally getting ripped off. After spending my children's diaper and milk money, we purchased additional garbage food and made our way to the theater.

Of course, the kiddos wanted to command the first row of seats in order to make the entire viewing experience as real as possible. I firmly placed my old lady shoe down explaining that the awesome 80's style 3-D glasses made me queasy enough; I didn't need a case of whiplash and ruptured eardrums to complete this already awesome night. So we took our seats at the very back of the theater (as you can probably guess, there were plenty of available seats - go figure) and I got the kids each situated; candy packages open, straws inserted in cups, and napkins ready to go on laps. C-dub, being the little gentleman, chose to sit right next to me and offer me a piece of candy. I grabbed the tiny sour globe and realized that it was already licked, by the time it hit my tongue. I asked C-dub if he had tried the one he gave me and his reply was, "Oops. It still tastes good, huh?"

As we settled into the previews, some latecomers walked into the theater. C-dub took his position as the unofficial usher and advised them very loudly that, "Hey! The movie aweady stawted! You're weally late ya know!" I shushed him and lowered myself into the seat, hoping that the mock Buddy Holly glasses would hide most of my face. Munching and crunching of popcorn ensued and then a slow paced "rat, tat, tat" sound shook the movie theater. C-dub had managed to spill an entire package of Sweet Tarts on his lap and couldn't stop laughing about what he had done. I salvaged a couple of the little spheres and placed them amongst the stale popcorn.

The movie then started and we all placed our glasses on. C-dub was first to notice the intense styling of our shades by loudly proclaiming that we all looked like "freaks!" I reminded my little angel that he too was wearing the glasses and I promptly took a goofy picture of him with my cell phone. I labeled it, "Hannah Sux," and texted it to hubby, whom I knew was sitting at home drinking some brews and enjoying a quiet house. Jerk.

The 3-D aspect of the movie was actually pretty cool and I found myself ducking streams of confetti, waiving fists, and the occasional moving microphone. About mid-way through, my tolerance level began to quickly dwindle and I was forced to again text hubby, proclaiming that I was suffering a slow death. He texted back that he'd make up for it and I just sunk lower in my seat. The kids again asked if they could venture down to the front row and I gave in, giving them the ok while I tried to entertain myself with a phone call to Uncle R. While Hannah/Miley sang, or rather screamed, I phoned Uncle R in a weak attempt to gain sympathy. C-dub arrived back at my seat about that time in order to retrieve his popcorn and loudly proclaimed in the phone that "Hannah sucks! She's tewable!" I ordered him back to his seat and Uncle R forced me back into mommy punishment by ending our phone call.

I checked the time on my phone and realized that it was only about five minutes since the last time I had checked. It was time for another text photo, but Hannah/Miley wasn't cooperating by giving me enough light to take a satisfactory cell phone photo. I sighed, placing the phone back into my pocket, while glancing down at the three kiddos in the front row. I could hear screaming that sounded very near and far fresher then on the movie screen. I took off my funky glasses and replaced them with my prescription granny focals, only to see my sweet little Taterbug and her buddy, standing up in the front row, dancing and screaming. They held imaginary lighters in their chubby little fists, wildly waving as if Hannah/Miley could see them and their devotion. All the while, C-dub is sitting in his seat, clapping and screaming, egging the girls on. The people sitting above the kiddos seemed to be amused by the Three Musketeers, but I was not. I marched myself down to the front row, after first taking off my 3-D lenses (in an attempt to save myself from broken bones), and threatened to do bodily harm to the next screamer who professed their love to Hannah/Miley.

After returning to my seat I realized that an hour has sailed by and that the movie would be ending shortly and my agony would soon be over. I took off my Corey Feldman glasses and placed them in my purse...after all, they cost me the additional $5 and I just knew that they might come in handy later on should I choose to rent this movie on DVD...NOT!

I then sat back and tried to think of some positives rather than just sulking in my misery. Hannah/Miley might be suffering from multiple personalities but at least she's not preggers with a studio exec's baby nor is she constantly suffering from a bloody nose due to a coke problem (no - I'm not talking about soda pop). She is actually a great role model for my daughter and I do appreciate her for that very reason. While Jamie Lynn Spears has forced me to cover the facts of life with Taterbug, Hannah/Miley has shown my daughter that you can be a strong willed girl with a slight lisp and bad wig, but that's ok, people love her that way. Plus, Hannah/Miley's dad is Billy Ray Cyrus and I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers. He has definitely grown from his mulleted Achy Brakey Heart days. He's turned into a DILF (think MILF, but add the daddy factor). Overall, it wasn't a terrible hour, 14 minutes, and 10 seconds but it was a challenging one. I at least made some huge mommy points and my kids think I'm that much cooler because I wore the glasses and rocked out to Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus, or whoever the Hell she is.

The real movie stars of the night...

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Uncle R had an epiphany this weekend and because of it, decided to "man up" and do something that he says he's always dreamed of doing; skydiving. Now the only dreams I've had of falling 13,000 feet with a strange person tethered to my back were in actuality nightmares, and I made sure to share this safety conscious opinion with him. Much to my dismay, Uncle R proclaimed that this high flying challenge was an important factor in his growth as a man and I just couldn't argue with this testosterone laced argument. However, ironically enough, a certain new lady in his life happened to be present for his decision to jump, and the shame of knowing that she had previously made this leap of faith herself, was a strong factor in him growing a huge set of testicular fortitude.

Uncle R's adventure began with a long drive to the lovely metropolis of Acampo (near Lodi), early Saturday afternoon. When he got there, he was quickly put through a training session and then weighed in to determine who his friendly tandem partner would be. I snickered when Uncle R told me that he had to pay a little over the initial fees due to his weight. He reminded me that muscle does way more than fat so the additional $16 bucks he had to pay for his "overage" was purely because of his excellent condition. Whatever, even schatty hamburger meat goes for at least $2 a pound - how much value did they actually place on his life?! He then signed his liability paperwork and on camera, told the nation who he wanted to have his car and motorcycle go to - just in case. I was pissed that he didn't leave either one to me. Jerk. His final parting words for his friends, family, neighbors, and girl he wanted to impress was, "Oh Shat." What a classy, brave little man Uncle R is.

He was then loaded up on the plane and flown to the lovely flying altitude of 13,000 feet. His chubby little red bushy bearded tandem partner (kind of resembled a cute little garden gnome) promptly told Uncle R to have a seat on his lap so that they could get a little closer - connected that is. Uncle R admitted feeling a little strange sitting on Gnome’s lap and that Gnome did smile and chuckle quite a bit as Uncle R squirmed, hoping that it was a parachute cord in the Gnome’s pocket...The Gnome also happily told Uncle R that he had recently made a naked jump, giving Uncle R that much more confidence and weird feelings about his Gnome lap dance.

Uncle R said that he was eerily calm up to the final moment and the video tape taken of him actually proved this to be a true fact. Although calm, he was a deathly white and his answers sounded a little delayed. He was totally rockin' the deer in the headlight look and boy, did it work for him. I actually felt very nervous for him and my hands were sweating like rotten cheese, watching him get ready to take the ultimate leap of faith.

I honestly did not believe that Uncle R made the jump until I watched him do it. In slow motion, you could see him going through a series of emotions: fear, excitement, and the sudden realization of his mortality. He had a tremendous "O" face the whole way down and the Gnome was also wildly grinning, firmly attached to the back of Uncle R. The entire jump lasted about five minutes and Uncle R equated it to riding on his motorcycle's handlebars without a helmet, at about 100 mph.

He did give me a bit of a warning about what to expect when the actual parachute opened up (like I'm ever really going to consider doing this!); the jolt of the opening gave him a tremendous wedgie from Hell; so bad that he honestly thought he was tasting cotton. I gently corrected him by saying that it appeared to be more of an impressive moose knuckle he sustained. I guess with that much force, the wrenching of ones' jeans probably makes the family jewels and bunghole feel equally abused -so I won't argue the point.

Uncle R is now safely home and in possession of both video and pictorial evidence of his escapade. As we watched the video tonight, I saw him light up at the idea that he had challenged himself and had conquered such as awesome feat. I actually got a little misty eyed watching him be so brave and I was very proud of him for doing this on his own and with minimal encouragement. As we walked out to my car, he mentioned what an outstanding experience it was to go through and the video had really got him thinking. Again, as the older sis, I beamed with the idea that Uncle R had had a life changing emotional moment and that he was surely about to spew Shakespearean quotes and solve world hunger. Rather, he told me, "Sis, I've been thinking. I've got pretty eyes on that video, don't I?" I stopped and thought for a moment, "Yes, yes you do. They were especially pretty when they were actually open during the jump." He pondered this for a moment and smiled. We continued walking and I quietly chuckled to myself realizing that I still had the same old Uncle R and that this life changing experience hadn't taken away the little boy. I'm glad.

Some pic's of our Uncle R:

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Back in the early 90's, I was a huge fan of pink spandex and girl mullets. I rocked the three pairs of multi-colored socks (alternating on each foot) and bought stock in Aqua Net. I was proud to wear pink eye shadow and complementary blue eyeliner and "Exclamation!" perfume was my scent of choice. Seriously, I looked hot and it only took me three hours to become ghetto fabulous and get ready to rock the skating rink with my girlfriends. Yeah, I was only 13 at the time, but DAMN, I could have easily passed for 14 or maybe even 15, just old enough to get me into the highly acclaimed and "R" rated movie, Boyz N the Hood.

Even though I was a young, stylish woman back in the day, I eventually progressed to a more matronly tone in order to satisfy my needs as a wife and mother. Honestly, I knew deep down in my heart that a 32 year old woman wearing pegged pants, an off the shoulder top, and glittery lip gloss probably wasn't going to go too far in today's business world. Do I miss the days of spandex and mullets? Nah. But do I miss what those days represent? Hell yeah! Carefree living, spending time with my girlfriends, chick fights, first kisses and pre-teen drama! I loved being a kid. It worked for me.

Here I am, almost 20 years later, and I'm hearing some of the same things I loved as a teen are starting to slowly creep back into our lives. When People magazine reported that New Kids on the Block were possibly getting back together for a tour, I seriously had heart palpitations for a day. The same old visions of blue-eyed little Joey singing, "Please Don't Go Girl" (via a private concert in my bedroom, right next to my fluffy pink, four poster bed with matching pillows and armoire), flashed through my head. I knew Joey would wait for me and his comeback would prove to him that I'd wait forever to marry and have his 10 children. Sadly, this bubble was quickly burst once I saw current pictures and heard his post-puberty voice. Mother Nature took away my beautiful boy and replaced him with a freakish man child. And, I'm not so keen on having 10 children...with anyone, even if he could afford to pay for my eventual tummy tuck.

And then there was Bret Michaels of Poison. He was another one I found strangely irresistible. Maybe it was the spandex or the smell of leather jeans; perhaps it was the beautiful way he wore his make-up and did his hair...I just loved this guy (OK, let me clarify - Bret was only on the backburner if the Joey thing didn't work out). Bret's now back with his TV show, Rock of Love, and he looks, well, yucky. He's sort of middle aged and bloated looking and I know almost without a doubt that he only wears that bandanna to keep his blonde wig firmly attached to his head. Gone are the day of sexy tight pants; he now goes for a more caz loose fitted jean type material combined with comfortable shirts and mild patterns. Bret Michaels has been castrated and VH-1 is hiding his testicles for ratings. Ugh.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that although the 90's were a wonderful part of my past, that's exactly where I want them to stay. I can't go back and re-live my experiences and when I see some of these past stars and singers try to perk their careers back up, doing the same thing that was cool about zillion years ago, I just have to shake my head in amazement. Let memories be memories and good times be as such. 50 year old men with bandanna attached weaves should not be galavanting around with 20 year old hoochies, singing their old rock songs. It's embarrassing and worthy of a little bile at the base of the 'ole throat. And, no matter how much I liked "Hangin' Tough" as a song, it's just not the same when a 40 year old man is singing it to a 30 year old woman. Thanks for listening. I'm off to find my old cassette tapes and that 45 album of "Talk Dirty To Me."

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I recently discovered that no matter how you look at it, a gas guzzling, 12 miles per gallon SUV, is not a practical car for commuting. So what if the leather heated seats kept my hiney warm on those cold mornings or if the third row seating allowed for a bumpy carnival ride for my five year old; it was time to move on and I had major decisions to make. What could I stick my three little monsters in while at the same time keeping them comfortable yet staying practical?

My hubby and another person (I dare to call a friend), actually had the nerve to suggest I buy a mini van. A mini van for craps sake?! I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a KFC spork than drive a rig that screams, "I'm fertile! I'm a mom! I wear high wasted mom jeans and spend my husband's money proudly!" Yeah, no thanks. I think you get the picture about my disdain for this sort of vehicular vomit comet. I have never liked the look of a mini van nor the perceived story I read into each mini van family I saw. Life should be carefree and unpredictable at times; a mini van, well, it breathes and promotes absolute domestication and normalcy. Ugh, I'm just not game for that. It would truly take a thick layer of ice cast over the lovely city of Hades in order for me to even venture into this sort of vehicle ownership.

Since I'm an anal planner, I delved into the internet in order to do a ton of research on what I wanted to buy. I checked gas mileage, safety ratings, price, and most importantly style. After all, I am a fertile mother of three but I didn't want my car to say so. My kids also had their own say on what I bought. They unanimously voted for a Mustang GT but alas, with only two seats in the rear, someone would have to ride in the trunk and I think that may subject me to a child welfare investigation.

In the end, I settled on a nice little sporty number with four doors (that was my compromise of being a mom and a young woman). It gets wonderful gas mileage and has that wonderful "new car" smell; truly a match made in heaven. I enjoy driving it and I recently had the opportunity to take it on a road trip where I had the chance to let my mind wander over my purchase. It's amazing the progression you make as an adult and the practical things you worry about, especially during the purchase of a new car as a grown-up. I long for the days when you could pick your car out to match your favorite color and as long as it had a cool stereo, all was well, *sigh*. Now that I have wandered into my 30's, I realize that this sort of a lackadaisical auto buying will never truly be part of my agenda again. But I'm o.k. with that. Leave the sports cars for Uncle R and the mini vans to the soccer mom families. I'll take my "in between" domestic goddess and suburban Barbie ride, and I'll drive it with style.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Until recently, I've never been too concerned about my weight, as I've given into the fact that I'm a happily married mom of three, and the stretch marks alone prevent me from even considering a bikini to be a wardrobe option. Aside from that, it would be an awful lot to ask of one piece of stretchy material and a couple pieces of nylon. The potential for catastrophe would be great; both to the general population and my psyche.

I recently stepped on the bathroom scale, primarily to move it out of the way with my foot but secretly to see what sort of extra poundage I was carrying on my formally petite frame. Being pleasantly unsurprised, I confirmed my suspicions that I had perhaps gained a few "issues" during the holiday season. All the cookies, cakes, brownies, ice cream and chocolately mochas, had gained the best of me, while adding at least an inch of blubber onto my butt. These “issues” were only compounded by the previous “issues” given to me by my darling children.

Flip forward to now; it’s been an excellent year full of changes and new beginnings. Because of this, I’ve decided to take a more active role in managing my health. I'd like to share three of the things I've been doing in the hopes of potentially inspiring those of you who are unsure about making that leap of faith into weight loss. My first step was working on portion control. Rather than eating an entire Reese’s Peanut Butter cup, I only eat the center or the outside portion. I then walk to the farthest garbage can and throw the cup wrapper away, in order to burn additional calories.

Another prime weight loss technique that I’m currently utilizing is walking. Should I choose to eat the occasional piece of cake or ice cream cone, I do so while walking around the living room, kitchen, etc. This way, calories are being burnt in the process and I’m actually facing a negative turnaround in calorie consumption.

My final weight loss secret is what I like to call “Calorie Holidays.” If I declare a special holiday (anniversary, birthday, first day of my period, yada, yada…) then I can determine the value of a calorie on that particular day. Most often on these declared holidays I can easily eat a 50 calorie slab of chocolate cake or a 25 calorie Snickers bar. It’s truly amazing to manage your own weight loss!

It’s also very nice that some local businesses are also helping in my quest for weight loss. I would like to thank Starbucks for their “skinny lattes.” I’m a huge fun of false happiness in a cup and Starbucks is my BFF because of this. Their skinny caramel latte, when pared with a 25 calorie Snickers bar, is a wonderful, quick breakfast that hits most of the major food groups (milk group, nut group, chocolate group…). It gives you boundless energy so that you can yell, run, and even scream at your children for at least two hours – not the one hour coverage that just a normal cup of coffee and a sugary donut provides. Again, not that I want to brag, but in actuality one is truly earning negative turnaround calorie consumption when eating such a breakfast and throwing a momma tantrum or partaking amongst a hissy fit.

I’d also like to comment on the powerful diuretic qualities that these little 16 ounce bundles of joy contain. If you are having problems with water retention; fear no more. The amazing water release combined with a squished mommy bladder guarantee that at least one gallon of urine will pass through your bladder within an hour of drinking this magical elixir. ** Please note that this powerful effect only seems to effect those women who have had their urinary tract system previously pummeled by little fetus feet and fists.

Remember, weight loss management is a beautiful, simplistic process, when done correctly and consistently. I'm sure if you take some of my advice, you will definately see a difference and be back into that favorite muffin top and matching polyester drawers in no time! Good luck!!

This blog was written under the superb guidance of professional body builders Uncle R and Ironman J. I would to thank them for their superb wisdom and willingness to wear spandex, knee high socks, and cut off t-shirts, much to the dismay of their fellow workout partners. They make uncomfortable straining, sweaty buttcracks, and strained hemmies look unbelieveably good and envious to the weaklings around them.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Have you ever had a childhood memory, that when you really thought about it, was just a little weird? It seems like I have quite a few of those but this particular memory is well, disturbing. And, it's guaranteed to probably buy me a space in Hell, especially after Uncle R reads about his involvement and realizes I'm giving up a family secret that should have died ages ago.

When I was a little girl, my paternal grandmother was a breast cancer survivor. She was faced with getting a mastectomy and back then, reconstructive surgery really wasn't an option so women were supplied with prosthetic breasts. My grandmother's big round squishy breast was kept in the top drawer of her vanity. I don't know why she kept it in a drawer rather than in her blouse, but then again, sometimes Grandma liked to drink her dinner rather than eat it.

Uncle R and I both knew where she kept her booby prize and would often peek in the drawer to check it out, occasionally poking it with a curious finger. We each had a thing for its silky, squishy texture and we would prod it for hours (kind of like a kid's stress reliever ball - but weirder). We eventually got braver and on some days, we freed the little critter from its dark abyss, in order to just hold it for a few minutes of guilty pleasure.

One day, while Uncle R and I were visiting Grandma, we found her lone hooter lying on the bathroom counter, looking rather forlorn and lost. Our little brains worked in symphony and mischievous thoughts raced through our heads; a game of hot potato would certainly entertain her little friend while providing us with hours of endless enjoyment. Back and forth, side to side, we flung that cantaloupe size piece of squishy fun into the air, all the while listening for any evidence that Grandma might be stumbling up the creaky steps. Hearing nothing, our quiet chuckles quickly turned into gut busting belly laughter that echoed throughout the second floor bathroom. Over and over, we pelted each other with the voluminous sphere, until we were left with fresh red abrasions wherever our tender skin was exposed.

I don’t know how long Grandma was watching before she finally cleared her throat and made it known that she did not approve of our new sports activity, however, I’m guessing it was for awhile – judging by the sting left on our little butts and the threat of a “report” being made to our dad. All in all, Grandma never did make the dreaded “report” to our dad and we were let off with a warning. It never really stopped us from periodically checking in on our new little buddy, but we certainly never allowed it to become airborne again.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

In my never ending quest to get Uncle R some female companionship and my children a satisfactory new auntie; I strongly encouraged Uncle R to have a profile on an active social networking site. He eventually took my advice but only after I promised to keep it updated and take sassy photos of him and his new toys whenever he felt it necessary to boost his viewings. I also agreed to help him peruse through some of the psycho e-mails he would occasionally receive from lonely cougars and the occasional MILF, so that I could offer a more nurturing wording to his rejection e-mails (why he asked me, I don't know - I'm not the most nurturing broad in the world). I readily agreed with the details of our verbal contract and set him up with SWEET profile, if I do say so myself. It was like I was living vicariously through Uncle R's profile; no kids, no hubby, and lots of room to make myself, um, I mean Uncle R, look totally bitchin'.

The views climbed steadily each day and he would receive random comments from interested women. One such woman was...

OK, OK, before I get into this any farther, let's just imagine that the following actually happened (wink, wink) and maybe this conversation actually occurred in real life, although the names have been changed in order to protect the innocent and to also save Uncle R from a trip to the second floor of the courthouse in order to obtain his Temporary Restraining Order packet.

..."Dungeness" (like the crab, get it?). No, that's not her screen name, but I think it sounds close to it and in my opinion, might go alone with what you'd get should he choose to date her. Dungeness is a very aggressive woman and she's been chasing my buddy around with numerous sexy e-mails and comments. He finally gave into her persistent advances and provided her with his phone number.

Flip forward to the next day...He's working and receives "the call." Unknown number and an unknown husky cigarette female sounding voice, complete with that smoker's deep throaty lung rattling laugh.

Dungeness: Is this Uncle R?
Uncle R: Yeah, who's this?
Dungeness: It's Dungeness.
Brief, uncomfortably boring conversation ensues that I won't bore you with.
Uncle R: So, your profile says that you like hunting? Did you make it out this year?
Dungeness: No (deep phlegmy laugh)! That damn restraining order made me lose my guns. But don't worry though; it won't stand up when I go to court.
Uncle R: Oh, OK. Not a violent offense I hope (nervous chuckle ensues). Yeah, well, what do you do for a living?
Dungeness: Well, I'm, uh, sorta in between jobs right now.
Uncle R: That's too bad. Hope you find something soon.
Awkward silence.
Dungeness: You're not a cop right? I thought you had some cop stuff on your page.
Uncle R: No, in a past life I had some ties. Would that be a problem if I was?
Dungeness: Let's just say that I don't live my life along the straight and narrow, if ya know what I mean (chronic phlegmy laugh, lung rattling sounds ensue).
Uncle R: Oh, OK? That's nice for you. Well, gotta go, my cellphone service is (made-up cell phone noise) really (more made-up cell phone noise) bad in this (made-up cell phone noise) area. Bye!

Uncle R is left lying in the fetal position, sucking his thumb and asking for his momma. He learned what a disaster she was in only seven minutes. He then realizes she still has his number so the adventure is still not quite over.

Poor Uncle R is going to keep looking and I think you can see why. I got quite the chuckle out of his adventure and I'm sure he will too, once he figures out how to block her number from his cell phone and peruses the court calendar to see what her restraining order was actually for. I thank God every day that I'm married and don't need to worry about dating. I also remind hubby everyday of how lucky he is to have a woman like me and not like the Dungeness crabs that invade our social circles.

I'm not even ready to give up the search for the perfect "lady" for Uncle R (emphasis on the "lady" aspect) but I'm trying to take a more "bystanding" view rather than as an active dating screener. I know my role so it's time to shut my hole - according to Uncle R and his weird friend Stomper. Uncle R will eventually find the right one for him and more than likely, it won't be by picking up a female hitchhiker on the information super highway.

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I admit it... I just don't get the attraction that some people have for sports. Every once in awhile, I can swallow a dose of figure skating or maybe even ballroom dancing (is that even a sport?) as long as their wearing shiny satin and sequins. I'm like a barracuda looking for sparkly things... Heck, I'll even to admit to watching a cheerleading competition or two, but that's only because of the potential drama of someone landing on their head or to make fun of the male cheerleaders in their polyester drawers (snicker, snicker).

But I digress...like most households today, mine was filled with the sounds of yips, barks, and profanity - entwined with the occasional Bud Light for good measure. The kiddos had been previously directed to avoid the living room so that hubby could transform into his crotch scratching, beer drinkin', son of a gun lovin' football fan. I asked hubby which color he was rooting for (yeah - I had not idea who was playing) and informed him that I thought the more 4th of Julyish colored team seemed to be more color coordinated and therefore had my vote. As my hubby had already transformed into a caveman, he only grunted a response back to me and I retreated into the kitchen to cook some loin of Triceratops.

I guess the game was exciting because I heard sounds coming out of hubby that I had never even managed to get him to do (he he!). I did my best to try and get excited when he did - in an act of spousal sports support - but I think he found my sugary sweet sports chanting to be quite saccharine in nature. In all reality, he knew that the only enduring fact I found about football was my love for the good looking "tight ends," oh wait, that's a position and not a description, isn't it?! The kids did their best to stay out of hubby's way but the temptation of empty laundry basket racing in a clean living room was far too tempting to pass up. Hubby was extremely patient, and only barked a few times when their little blonde heads popped up into the viewing screen of the TV.

The game eventually ended after an agonizing three or four hours - I honestly lost count after the first hour due to my caffeine bank running on low - and hubby was again transformed back into my handsome man. He seemed to be happy with the outcome and so was I because the prettier of the two teams had won. Yeah for fashion!

I'm not sure what the next sports season is coming up but I’m already not looking forward to it. When there comes a time when competitive bargain shopping or Olympic baby rearing events are televised on ESPN, I'll be all over it, rooting for my favorite players. Until then, I'll be ready to settle into the position of a sports widow, preparing my children for more weekends of non-living room play.

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

C-dub came to me today to inform me that his best buddy was in "wuv with a woman." A woman? How in the world does a five year old even know what a woman is? Upon further quizzing I learn that this mystery woman is actually their preschool teacher, Miss K. C-dub explains that Miss K had told his bestest buddy that she "wuved" him, so now bestest buddy has proclaimed his undying "wuv" for her. C-dub, rather matter-o-factly, then told me that he expected them to be dating soon, because that's what you do when you, "Weally wuv someone."

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I periodically check in on this blog in the hopes that I may have received a comment or to re-read something I had previously written, especially if Uncle R is whining about making him look like a wuss (sorry-there are just some things in life I can't make look better...I'm not a miracle worker!). When I checked today, I discovered that someone had in fact, left me a comment. My heart did a little flitter slop and the butterflies (who normally lie dormant in my heartburn filled stomach) came to life in an array of acidy beauty. And yes, all Bloggers get this frickin' excited when people leave comments. If they deny it then they're a big fat liar or they've been doing this a lot longer that I have.

I nervously clicked the comment and opened my eyes to revel in its purity and opinion. In bold, 12 point font, I read a link containing several words that you will never see on my blog: If I liked to hunt with Chuck or play with a girl named Delores while accidentally looking up her skirt then things would have been a happier place for Rex (if you haven't figured it out already, substitute the bold words with their dirty and semi-dirty rhythming counterparts). OK, OK, I'm so not a prude nor do I take offense to trucker language, but geesh, don't post a frickin' porno link on a family oriented blog, people!!!

I'm guessing that either a very lonely person or a pervo computer porn bot program more than likely left this comment but never the less; I was a little pissed about it. Unlike the spam folder in my e-mail, where Sperminator, Viagra, and various other body part building concoctions can come to rest and eventually die (can you say DELETE!), I have to read these comments and delete them myself. On the other hand, I guess in a weird sort of way I should be thankful that all sorts of different types of people are reading my blog, and some are enjoying it enough to leave comments (disgusting as they may be). I made it big time, thanks to my special porn friend.

To whoever posted this link, I do appreciate you being concerned about my sexual health and that of my hubby's. But, please remember that I'm a mom of three and now that hubby and I have discovered what causes children, we just don't do it anymore.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)