Ok men, here's your warning: This post is laced exclusively with the purest of estrogen and other girly unmentionables. You will lose at least 100 points on the scale of manliness should you decide to continue reading this posting. Consider yourself forewarned as I will accept no whining, bitching or moaning if I talk about things that make you feel uncomfortable or too in touch with you feminine side. Alrighty then?

I hate clothes shopping but the one garment I loathe purchasing is the bra. I have measured, cross-measured, used a ruler, sewing tape, and at one desperate point, utilized Hubby's finest Craftsman tape measurer. And yes, those things are cold and sharp; not a good combination on the sensitive tata area. I had even asked Hubby to help me but quickly found that he wasn't too much of a help. He was just mesmerized I was allowing him to get close to them without smacking his hand away or otherwise yelling at him.

I've read and re-read the instructions on how to properly measure yourself for a bra but find they are confusing and evidently do not apply to my girlish figure. I've also found that different sites have different ways to measure; add this to that, take away five and add ten, etc. It's so frickin' confusing.

Yes, I could swallow my pride and have a sassy Victoria's Secret employee measure the 'ol bosom, but I'm a tad shy and the smell alone of that store makes me think of a French whore. Not that I would know what a French whore smells like but you get the idea.

Ultimately, I'd hate to admit the fact that I'm not smart enough to figure out my correct bra size. It's boobs for chriminy's sake, not rocket science, people!

As I wander through life, clueless about my chesticular fortitude, I continue on ordering the same bra size I have done for years. Has my body changed over the past 10 years? Sure. Kids, age, and gravity tend to make things a little less perkier - ok, a lot less perkier than I'd like to see. I know I make the issue worse by ignoring Mother Nature in a vain attempt to fake my youthfulness.

Where am I going with this? Why do you need to know about my issues with my lovely lady lumps? I'm looking for help and in return I'll share some bargains with you. How do you measure for a bra? Do you have any good recommendations? How do I find a bra that both the twins and I equally love? Ok, we've hit TMI level but I think you know what I'm asking.

Now for some bargains... I love One Hanes Place. Great brand name bras at super good prices. You can use coupon code "607978" for 10% off your purchases over $50. Make sure you sign up for their newsletter and they'll send you coupons. Another great place is JCPenney. I was so sad when they closed the outlet store but their online store has an excellent outlet with great prices. They are even celebrating Labor Day with free shipping on orders over $49. You can also get 4% back with Ebates, when you shop here.

Ladies, help your busty buddy out with a little advice. I know I'm not alone in this abyss of bra misinformation.

In honor of this topic, I've included a theme song:

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

The Children's Place is having a great Labor Day sale on selected items. I was able to get each of the kids five long sleeved shirts for just a little over $4 an item. If you shop online, use code FA78 for an extra 15% off. Shipping is only $5, so I'd just do the online shopping rather than battling the lines at your store.

If you do Ebates, you can get 3% back on your purchase.

www.childrensplace.com

Happy shopping!

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

My buddy, the dynamic Dendus, and I just started our photography class at CR. I've quickly come to realize a few things:

1. I'm old.
2. I don't have enough piercings.
3. I need to show my muffin top in a low slung pair of cutesy jeans.
4. I'm old.
5. College students are so-so with hygiene. They pretty much stink.

The class itself is on black and white film photography - I guessed I missed that part when I signed up. I had to scramble to find a camera and later begged Taters to borrow hers'. I then had to search the inner bowels of the Eel Valley area in order to find black and white film. Yeah, it wasn't so cheap - thank God for online ordering.

I think if I can get past the smell of patchouli oil and B.O., I'll be doing just fine. Dynamic Dendus hangs much better than I do in class. I think she'll keep me grounded.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I think I'm missing my girl gene. You know, the little gene scientifically proven to make women love chick flicks. The one that causes appropriate tears during movies like the "Titanic" or "Steel Magnolias." I evidently was born without this estrogen rich gene causing me much grief in the girlfriend arena.

The other night was "Girlfriend Night" and a bunch of us met up and decided to go see "Mama Mia." You know, the movie with all the ABBA songs? All million or so of them? Not that I was counting after the 25th song. Everyone loved this movie. The people in the theater were laughing hysterically. One woman behind us sounded like a frickin' hyena everytime a middle-aged actress donned a spandex suit and broke into an ABBA song (which was practically every scene). I knew I was in trouble as soon as the opening scene hit and we were instantly thrown into a flurry of songs that I had once loved as a pre-teen. The cheesy acting and over the top dancing placed me firmly on the edge of insanity.

As I sat in my seat, slowly curling into the fetal position, I thought about crawling into my popcorn bucket and hiding under the stale styrofoam kernels. I even contemplated kicking my own ass for paying $8.50 and wasting away two hours of my life that I'll never get back. I was horrified that after only five minutes, my teeth were screaming from the amount of sugary sweetness being vomitted onto the audience. I wanted to go home. I needed to clean my psyche up with the Die Hard series or better yet, a couple of Rambo movies. I just needed something to balance me out and talk me off the ledge.

I won't bore you with the details of the movie and if I complain anymore I might actually develop internet stalkers from the vast amount of people who actually loved this movie; Such as the six or so girlfriends who looked at me with pure hatred when I quietly proclaimed my disgust of the movie. Talk about peer pressure...I thought they were going to hold me down and paint me pink in the parking lot.

I realize I'm totally in the minority and many people really enjoyed this flick. Good for you. But if your like me, and just didn't enjoy it, show some support. Us female lacking gene ladies (or I guess even men) need to stick together. On a side note, do you want to see a good movie? Check out Alpha Dog. Very intense but a good flick nonetheless. Just a warning, it may boost your testerone levels. For the guys out there subject to "Mama Mia," this maybe a good thing for you.

** Edited to add: I do love some musicals and I'm not a total un-cultured redneck momma. I'm a huge fan of Phantom of the Opera but my all time favorite musicial is "The Pirate Movie" with Kristy McNichol. Here's a couple of my favorite scenes and songs:

Best. Movie. Ever.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Do you have an Uncle Buck in your life? You know, that person who has offered support and mentoring throughout your life? Someone who's been there through thick and thin, giving you advice and a good ass chewing if so needed? If you do, consider yourself lucky. I have my own Uncle Buck and although I don't see or speak to him as much as I should, I know he's there for me if I need him. My Uncle Buck has taught me a great deal about myself and personal expectations; I attribute a lot of my success to his careful guidance.

I found my Uncle Buck about 22 years ago. He saw me through the days of mullets, spandex, bad boyfriends, and college applications. He started me on my career path and then maintained a thumb on the pressure point of my professional existance. He didn't sugarcoat his views nor did he hide the ugly truths of the profession I chose to pursue. He was just there; a solid rock in the ocean of uncertainty that I once faced as a young adult. Ok, I'm getting way too flowery with my word pictures, but I think you get what I mean and how important he was to me growing up.

If you haven't discovered your own Uncle Buck, try to find one. It's nice to have someone who's there to be a sounding board as well as a cheerleader minus the pom poms and annoying chants. Or better yet, become an Uncle Buck or Aunt Buckette to someone else. Find someone to help and become their biggest advocate. It will make them and you a better person because of it.

KING HENRY V

What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

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

I saw you today - you're the lady in the red mini-van loaded up with kids. I watched you at the traffic light, stopped and waiting to turn into the grammar school. You used your blinker and were wearing your seatbelt. Awesome. You waited until it was safe to proceed and then slowly pulled into the parking lot. Good job. I also saw that nasty cigarette hanging out of your wrinkly mouth, with all the windows in your van rolled up. Not so good.

In January of this year, the Governator passed a bill outlawing smoking in vehicles where children are present. It seems sad that the state would need to step in and act as common sense for parents. But sometimes, you must protect children from the stupid - even if the stupid is their parent.

I have nothing against smokers; suck on that coffin nail, puff on on that cancer stick, lick that lung dart - just don't make your child participate in your nasty habit by exposing their virginal lung cavities to second hand smoke.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I didn't know what to think when Aunt Dina called Hubby over from the dance floor and introduced me; his face was far too red and he looked too young to be 21. He was however, extremely good looking and the goofy look on his face made him that much more appealing to my teenage hormones. He kind of eyeballed me for a moment and then gave me crap about not dancing - all the while giving his mom the same grief. He then asked us if we were ready to leave so he could make our "special purchase."

I know I turned as red as he looked when we left and I felt as though everyone was staring at us because we were about to do something wrong. When Hubby went in to buy the liquor, I hid in the backseat because my glowing face and waves of anxiety were emanating from the car. I don't even remember what he bought that night; I was honestly too embarrassed with the whole situation to remember those particulars.

When we got back to their house, Hubby decided to stick around and partake amongst the festivities. A couple more friends showed up and I soon found myself at my first high school party. Hubby volunteered to make all my drinks which I thought was so nice of him. I didn't know any better and wouldn't have known how to mix a drink to save my life.

When he brought me my first drink, I was apprehensive to even take a sip. Aunt Dina egged me on and I took a drink - discovering that it tasted like waterered down orange juice. I was relieved that I could swig it down quite easily and thought to myself that this drinking thing wasn't nearly half as bad as I thought it would be. I later learned that Hubby had been bogarting the liquor had had been pouring me straight orange juice and water drinks. He served the booze to his friends that showed up rather than to me or Aunt Dina. A gentleman? I think not.

The night progressed and people slowly started to leave once the liquor was gone. I prided myself as being a responsible drinker - or having an insanely high tolerance for alcohol as I never once felt like I was the least bit intoxicated. Hubby just laughed as he was clearly showing the effects of the hooch he had secretly sequestered away from my innocent lips.

At about midnight, Aunt Dina and another friend took to the livingroom and were talking. Hubby invited me out to his room to say goodnight and being the friendly gal I am, I happily obliged him. After all, it was just proper to say goodnight to the gentleman I thought he was and to thank him for pouring me all those "great" drinks (without the added bonus of getting pukey drunk). Remember, I was a good girl but wore a mean pair of cowboy boots should he decide to get too frisky or fresh - but I don't think I was even thinking about using them - not even for a second.

When we got to his room, we talked, and talked, and talked a bit more - four hours worth. We talked about our families, friends, hobbies, politics, and pretty much anything else that came up during our conversation. We discovered that we actually had a lot of things in common and felt the same way in many different areas. Our families were very similar and our personalities, although very different, meshed perfectly. I calmed him down and he brought me up - it was a very happy medium. Over a four hour period, I felt as though I had known him for a lifetime.

About three hours into our talk, I had decided it was time to go to bed. As I stood up to leave, Hubby looked at me and asked me if I would give him the dance I wouldn't do at the wedding. I laughed at him but the thought of getting closer to him, perhaps in a slow dance, was far to appetizing as of this point. We had made absolutely no physical contact yet, but the mental connection we had made was incredible. I told him that I'd give him a slow dance but that was it. I was pretty proud of myself for coming up with the compromise.

I hate dancing, but that night, it was the best and most perfect dance I could have asked for. I laugh about this now, but I knew I loved him from the moment I saw him and this dance just solidified my feelings. I don't know how many times Duran Duran played in the background (Simon LeBon is God) but by the time we were done with the dance I had memorized all the words to "Ordinary World." I didn't want to let me go and I think the feeling was pretty mutual.

I knew in the back of my mind that I couldn't get attached (to him) because I was leaving for college at the end of the summer. I was going to be living eight hours a way - I couldn't fall for a guy that I'd never see. College would have a plethora of different men (and boys!) to choose from but the one I was holding in my arms just seemed to be the right fit. How could I even think to leave that? And after one night - I might be wiling to risk my education and future career? It seemed to be worth it at the time.

When the dance was finally over, I knew it was time to go to bed. I was tired but extremely giddy from the night I now deem as one of my best and most memorable teenage moments. Hubby agreed that it was time to call it a night and asked me one last question:

"Can I have a goodnight kiss before you go?"

To be continued...

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I want a four-eared cat!

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I have the sniffles and no, it's not because I've come down with the Humboldt County crud. My sweet little C-dub, the king of momma's boys and keeper of my heart, has started kindergarten. I remember being sad on Tater's first day of kindergarten but I knew that she would be fine. Miss Independant practically kicked my butt out the door the first day of school and has had the same 'tude ever since.

C-dub, on the other hand, is much more sensitive and a little more needy than his older sis, so leaving him in the big, colorful classroom was a little unnerving. As I dropped him off, I thought to myself, who will tell me all day that he loves me? Who will tell me how pretty I am and how I'm the bestest cooker in the whole wide world? Who will ask me questions all day long and hint about how he wants to go to the park, zoo, Bounce-A-Rama, etc.? Ok, that's a part I won't miss so much.

And most importantly, what will I do with this guy?

Who's gonna play trucks and cars in the mud with him? Who's gonna take baths and have submarine races and farting contests? The poor kid won't know what to do with himself because I certainly won't fit the bill. Brudder is his bestfriend, not Momma.

The kindergarten teacher is great and C-dub already commented on how pretty she was so at least she'll have his attention. He's just like his father in that sense. He will be fine. He will be fine. He will be fine. Ok, I think I'm starting to believe it.

Gun-Gun and I are home now and the house is quiet. Too quiet. I didn't realize how much I'd miss the constant sound of chaos and raucous noises. We have lots of crayons and wall space so he'll have plenty to do. His older sibling, "Noggin" is also on 24/7 guaranteeing me some breaks.

Is it 1:15 PM yet?

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This video almost makes my ovaries hurt for another bambino. But in the same breath, it only takes me a minute to remember my last *easy* birth; 12 hours of labor with an all natural drug free delivery of a nine and a half pound moose. You might want to mute it because the music is kinda cheesy.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Dear Neighbor,

Rather than go over and chew your frickin' head off, I thought I'd draft you a cheery little note to let you know how I feel about your current days' worth of celebrations. I know today was beautiful and sunny and there was a huge beer drinking event at the park that you and your fifty best redneck friends participated in. I can only imagine you wore your best jeans and pressed button down shirt and hell, you probably even showered and slathered on some Brut. But for chriminy's sake, let me slap you with a bucketful of sobriety for just a moment 'cuz there's some things we need to talk about:

Issue #1:

Yes, I would have liked, no probably loved, to have participated in the festival of beer lovin' but some of us have to work (and sleep) on weekends. So tell the little schat, who keeps honking his insanely loud horn that doesn't even match up with his rinky dink pick-up, that he's going to be eating the steering column the next time he honks. There is no need to honk to the tunes blasting out your single wide, most people just sing along and that works fine for me.

Issue #2:

No, I don't really like your music, especially when I can hear and feel it in my own house. And no, I really don't think you're that good of a singer even though you're belting out Hank Williams Jr. tunes at the top of your lungs. You're friends are lying to you. They think you suck too. The guy with the free beer is always king of the party.

Issue #3:

No, parking four-wheelers at the back of the beer drinkin' event rather than taking your hopped up 4X4 is not considered to be utilizing a designated driver. A drunk is a drunk and a vehicle is a vehicle. This manner of drunk driving does not make sense but again, I'm sober and my views maybe skewed. And thanks for not wearing a helmet as your flying down the street at 30+ miles an hour. I award you and your friends a Darwin award to share.

Issue #4:

If you place a tent in your yard, it is not considered to be an addition to your house. Therefore, you may take it down rather than leaving it up all year with a tarp as a snow roof. I fear if it stays up another year, the county of Humboldt may start charging you extra property taxes.

Issue #5:

Is it really that good of an idea to have a large bonfire with that many redneck drunks breathing on it and stumbling around? Any why must they sing until 4AM? Just remember, with a flick of a porch light, I will have my serenading roosters begin their morning choir practice as soon as I hear your drunken snores.

My sweet, dear neigbor, thank you for listening to my concerns. I truly love you and your buddies for just about 350 days out of the year but the other 15 days consist of me contemplating pushing your home (which still has wheels) into the creek to be washed away to another neighborhood. Take care.

Sincerely,

Mommazilla

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

My kids and I spent the morning at the Sequoia Park Zoo with a friend and her gorgeous granddaughter:

It was such a treat because the beautifuls dahlias in the flower garden (just adjacent to the zoo) were blooming and us camera geeks got a cheap thrill:

(not sure if these are dahlias)

This was also the first time we had got to see the new memorial they had created for Bill the chimpanzee. My kiddos were watching the bear but you can see the memorial behind them. It's really nice and cheerful:

We polished off the day by visiting the park and enjoying what it had to offer:

The Sequoia Park Zoo was not yet charging a fee to enter but I believe this changes on the 29th. They are also renovating their aviary and it looks like it will be well worth the price of admission. But then again, I'd probably pay the price just to see the goat with an underbite:

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I happened to look out in my orchard the other day, only to notice a group of bratty bicyclists trespassing and stealing fruit from my orchard. I can overlook the occasional sampling of an apple or peach, but these little turds were taking peaches by the handful, and chucking them at each other. They were not enjoying the peachy little orbs of sunshine the way Mother Nature intended and they were stealing from me. Not a good combination.

After telling my children to put on their earmuffs, I spewed a load of profanities to let them know they were on private property and I didn't appreciate their peach fight. Call me cranky but these peaches were meant for my family and friends - not the little heathens who obviously had no respect for the property of others. I watched the boys scamper off and ride their bikes up into my neighbor's driveway and then down into their front yard as they obviously felt there was some sort of bicycle path established for their ease of travel.

Later that night, I marched the family over to the orchard and we picked all the ripe peaches and noticed the mess the boys had made. It really pissed me off to see the mess of squished peach goo and it also concerned me. Rotten fruit attracts animals - and I'm not talking about butterflies and bunnies. I'm not too fond of Yogi and I certainly don't want him and his "pic-a-nic" at my house.

My worries about the urus americanus came true last night as my headlights hit a large black creature scampering across the street into my neighbor's house; and no, it wasn't a bunny. The bear wasn't huge but big enough to scare the crap out of me and honk my horn until Hubby would turn on the porch light. I know he's probably more afraid of me that I have of him but I've got plenty of body fat to feed him for a couple of days and he looked mighty hungry.

I am now trying to be diligent with our downed fruit but I can't help the blackberries. Oh the delicious blackberries that are now sitting in my fridge begging to be eaten, thanks to Taterbug's diligence in picking:

As much as I love the blackberries, so do all the critters. I'm doing what I can to protect myself and property but tis the season of bounty and the bears and other scary critters are well aware of this. Do what you can to protect yourself too. Here's a coupla things we've done:

* Pick up and discard all downed fruit.
* If your BBQ'er is outside, keep the grill clean of burnt items.
* Secure your garbage cans - talk about a smorgasbord for a hungry bear.
* Keep your windows and doors closed so that you don't have a nighttime visitor.

Here's an excellent resource if you want to learn more.

Be careful! Visit the da bears at da zoo rather than at your house!

(Sequoia Park Zoo - Is that bear real?!)

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Well, I had originally called bunk, hoping secretly I was wrong. Here's the link. Bigfoot is still safe after all these years.

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I met my hubby the week before I graduated high school. I was a fresh-faced 18 year old girl, completely naive to the world and getting ready to make the big move to college. I didn't party, drink or smoke, and wore a nun's habit under my jeans and sweatshirts. Hubby, on the other hand, was the king of the partying world and could do a keg stand like no one's business. I know this because he told me so - and then about 10 of his friends verified this information at our wedding reception. It's always nice to get the information after the vows have been read and certificate signed - but I digress.

We were at opposite ends of the worldly spectrum and thanks to a good friend in high school (now known as "Aunt Dina"), our worlds collided one fateful night. Because the statute of limitation has passed, I can safely tell the story of the night we met without fear that Grandpa D would mortally wound or at least maim Hubby.

Aunt Dina and I were good friends in high school. She recognized the fact that I was painfully socially stilted at the ripe 'ol age of 18 and I needed rescue from a life of impending boredom and lonely nights. She predicted I'd live and die alone, with a dozen or so cats named after political figures, unless I changed my ways. She also feared I'd never leave the sanctity of my dorm room should I not "tie one on" prior to leaving Humboldt.

Because of this, Aunt Dina took me under her wing and made it her duty to defile my sober being with a drunken slumber party. The plan was simple; bring $10 and her older brother (Hubby) would buy us the best booze that $20 could offer. I would then spend the night at her house and leave the next morning no worse for wear. It was a well thought out and coordinated plan, with tons of aspirin and a clean toilet bowl in case my first round with booze didn't agree.

Before I get ahead of myself, one thing you must realize is that I had previously met Hubby at a scholarship dinner. Actually, we never technically had a conversation other than for a few traded glances and I think he might have said something about the party dress I was wearing. I knew that secretly he thought I was rocking the huge rhododendron print and puffy sleeves on that ugly ass dress but he'll never admit it. On thing I remember is that he had great skin for a guy (my mom was an Avon lady, don't you think I'd notice skin?), and he was very good looking. He smiled a lot during the dinner and I remember the people around him laughing quite a bit at whatever he was saying. I did get a couple of the smiles directed my way but he tells me it was only out of pity, since he had some goofy looking high school senior ogling him. I beg to differ.

I also had actually spoken to him on a few occasions when I had to call Aunt Dina. I hated calling Aunt Dina for the plain fact that Hubby would read me the riot act whenever I called. He totally embarrassed and intimidated me and I thought he was such a jerk. A cute jerk, but a jerk none the less. I knew I'd have to deal with him on this fateful night because he was the only one over the age of 21 that could buy the hooch. I was sort of obliged to pretend that I enjoyed his company. With an attitude like that, he was lucky he was good looking.

Like I said, I had never drank before, other than when my dad would have us kids get him a beer and whoever got it for him would get the first swig. After all, we're talking about the mid-80's here, when cigarettes and Chinese toys were still good for kids. A swig off my dad's beer or a gulp of my mom's finest Gallo wine (complete in the fancy jug) was actually a family bonding experience (just an FYI, my parents haven't drank in over 20+ years and I'm very proud of them - I guilted myself into saying that).

The day of the party arrived and I was very nervous and felt as though I was hungover without the benefits of getting a good drink on first. I didn't want my first drinking experience to be away at college but I was still scared crapless to do it just in the company of my buddy. Would I be a happy drunk? Would I get mean and beat up her sofa or even worse, break a dinner plate? I was freaking out!

When the evening finally came, I drove my fancy B-210 Datsun down to Aunt Dina's house with money in hand. She informed me we had to pick up Hubby since he was attending a wedding reception nearby. Great. I was totally thrilled at the aspect that we now had to crash a wedding reception in order to get our illegal alcohol buyer. Didn't I mention before I was a goody two-shoes? This was killing me! The guilt I felt was oozing from my pores and I just knew that everyone around me knew I was trying to break the law.

I begrudgingly rode to the wedding reception with Aunt Dina and it was there I met my mother-in-law for the first time. She was sitting at the table refusing to dance with Hubby, who was already plastered and getting his best John Travolta moves out on the dance floor. His boyish, yet strikingly handsome face, was flushed red and sweaty, and he had this goofy grin on his face. He pointed at us and gave Aunt Dina and I a little wave which he then incorporated into some sort of chicken dance he was attempting to maneuver. He called for us to join him and I quickly sat down refusing to participate in his injured chicken routine. Aunt Dina joined him on the dance floor and I was left in the company of my future mother-in-law. She and I proceeded to make fun of her baby boy and to this day, I swear I saw some sort of dim light bulb go off in Hubby's head when he saw us laughing. It was a match made in Heaven, as Hubby would later say...to be continued.

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

I found these rules on a blog I was reading (the list originated from 20 Surprisingly Simple Rules and Tools for a Great Marriage by Steve Stephens) and thought they might be a good reminder for everyone, especially for Hubby and I. We've recently discovered that our 14 year love affair actually takes some work in order to maintain. We both admit that we've been relatively skating by and thanks to some minor speed bumps in the road of life, we've been discussing this list at length in our household.

20 Rules Of Marriage

1. Make Your Spouse a Priority
2. Accept Differences
3. Listen Carefully
4. Compliment Daily
5. Work Together as a Team
6. Mind Your Manners
7. Watch Less TV
8. Find Time For Fun
9. Do the Little Things
10. Celebrate the Top 5 (Christmas, Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Mother/Fathers Day, Wedding Anniversary)
11. Think Positive
12. Fight Fair
13. Forgive
14. Welcome Each Other Home
15. Go to Bed At The Same Time
16. Develop Mutual Friends
17. Take a Date
18. Make Love
19. Pray For Each Other
20. Treasure Your Spouse

Personally, I know that I need to invest a lot more time and energy into making some of these happen. With the way our lives work, I know that we'll never hit all 20, but we can at least try. Which ones do you like? Anything else you'd add to the list?

Posted by Mommazilla at 12:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

As I said before, I'm not a huge fan of the Olympics but some things do catch my attention, drawing me in to learn more. Here are some things I learned over the past week:

Why do the fish people (swimmers, divers, etc.) always hop in the shower after their event?

It's not like they got dirty during the event and I can't imagine the water is so chlorinated that they need to wash off, so why? Why do we always see the aquatic competitors hopping in the shower as soon as they complete their event? And why are there cameras in the shower? Is it mandated they hear their results while bathing? The answer is quite simple; they are using the warm water from the shower to keep their muscles from seizing up. The warm water prevents the cool air from tightening their muscles. Hmmm, for some reason I was expecting a more interesting reason.

Why do the gymnasts pack around honey?

Is it an endorsement agreement for some major honey supplier? Are they getting paid off by the National Honeybee Foundation? Is it for a quick nutritional pick-me-up? Nope, again, another anticlimactic answer. A little honey on the fingertips and palms help to keep their hands sticking to whatever piece of equipment their body is manipulating or swinging/hanging from.

What the heck was the black stuff on the Kerri Walsh's shoulder?

Kerri Walsh is a USA woman's volleyball player. She had all this black "stuff" on her shoulder during one of their matches. Is it a tattoo? Is is covering a tattoo? Did she draw it on or did a wayward seagull make it his mission to defile her perfect body. Nope, it was just special medical tape to support some of her shoulder muscles. Geesh, these answers are not nearly as exciting as the questions.

If the Olympics are sold-out, why are there so many empty seats?

I was flipping through the channels and noticed this during a swimming event. I Googled it and learned that officials have even been busing in different clubs and fans in order to save face and fill the seats. I honestly don't have an answer for this one and I have a feeling that China doesn't either.

Any other mysteries out there I can solve for you? Any others you'd like to explain?

Posted by Mommazilla at 12:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

"Mom! My life flashed in the palm of my fingers! I was so scared! This may not seem like a big deal to you but it was a huge day for us kids!" said Taterbug rather excitedly yesterday after a huge tree limb decided to commit suicide into the power lines running over our orchard.

The day had been absolutely beautiful and rather productive as we had just gotten back from C-dub's "kindergarten" doctor's visit and I had finally managed to talk him into peeing into a cup for the nurse. Last year, he had giggled so much at their request that he had essentially shut down his bladder for any sort of urine production. This year, as long as I didn't look or hold the cup, he was able to provide a hearty supply that Gun-Gun then demanded to escort back to the nurse.

"Nuss, hewas brudders peepee." Gross, but cute.

When we got home, things were still going well. I had managed to fold a bazillion loads of laundry and also washed all the new school clothes, even going so far as to organizing drawers and pulling out old clothes. I was feeling like Martha Stewart on meth - thanks to my Dunkin' Donuts coffee high.

After getting a freakish amount of housework and laundry done, I decided to take a much needed break and surf the 'Net for a few. As I plopped myself down on the couch and opened up my laptop, I suddenly heard the sound of my fish tank's water filter click off. The TV then died and my laptop followed behind into the depths of darkness. Did God know I was trying to relax? Was he paying me back for only attending church on Easter Sunday? Since when did he monitor coffee breaks?

My kids instantly started running around the house looking for candles and flashlights - and also the generator as "Chowder" (a cartoon with characters named after food) was coming on soon and they needed that TV ready to go. I reminded them it was only 4PM and that we'd be good on the lights for at least a couple of hours and that Chowder could be seen on re-runs. Catastrophe averted.

My thoughts were immediately directed to our well. The murky brown water only met our pipes via a pump ran off of - you guessed it - electricity. When we lose power, we also lose the liquid from the bowels of Hell and no toilet will go flushed and no shower will clean stinky children. The saying, "if it's mellow let it yellow" rings true in our house during power outages. Any sort of solids must either be retained or deposited at a neighbor's house. It's just not pretty and it's quite embarrassing to have to find a #2 house for your prairie doggin' child.

After I calmed the kiddos, I decided to try and investigate what had happened. It's not uncommon for us to lose power during stormy or windy weather and we tend to lose power several times during the winter but on this day, it was gorgeous outside without a nasty cloud in sight. I looked out my front window and immediately saw a huge column of white smoke floating above my orchard. I instantly thought that maybe one of my wayward neighbors had once again drank their lunch and crashed into a power pole.

I grabbed my cellphone and ran outside expecting to see the worse. While running out the door, I called our local fire department (Fortuna Volunteer Fire Department - they totally rock, by the way) and requested they come out and save my orchard. My little golden orbs of peachy goodness are just about ready to harvest and the idea of a fire shook me to my peach pitty core.

As I stepped out my front porch, this is what I saw. I believe you can call it a "clue."

Nope, no drunken neighbor, just a stupid ivy covered tree limb that finally gave in to the weight of the organic creepiness invading it's bark. It was right next to the shrubbery and trees that PG&E had come and trimmed last year. Ironic, huh? It completely took out the power lines to my house and my house only. The only house in the neighborhood with three stinky children who demand running water and fresh episodes of "Chowder."

The Fortuna Volunteer Fire Department arrived on scene and quickly determined there was no fire and that the arcing lines had caused the smoke. They blocked the road off, much to the dismay of my neighbors, and waited until PG&E arrived to fix our little problem.

While waiting for PG&E, I called Hubby to let him know what was going on.

Hubby: Hello?
Mommazilla: Hey hon, how's it going?
Hubby: Good. What's up?
Mommazilla: Oh nothing. The power's out.
Hubby: Really? That's weird. I wonder what happened.
Mommazilla: Well, the tree limb took out our lines. But don't worry, the fire department's here.
Hubby: Fire? What?
Mommazilla: Oh, there was a little smoke, too. No worries. Just some arcing wires.
Hubby: Ok, now listen to me, you need to make sure you keep the kids away from those wires. It can seriously - I interrupt him.
Mommazilla: What do you mean? They're out there jump roping with them right now. It's good sturdy cable and they seem no worse for wear. Why should I take away their fun?
Hubby: What?
Mommazilla: I'm joking. Seriously, did you really need to tell me that?
Hubby: Well, I, uh...
Mommazilla: It's under control. Come home when you can.

I then went back in and checked on my little heathens. I found them in our playroom with the door shut. Taterbug told me she had carefully evaluated each room, determining the amount of electrical outlets and lamps that may catch fire should a fire reach our home. She determined the playroom had the fewest outlets and the smallest lamp so she sequestered her little brothers into the room. She confessed to me that she had broken down and cried twice but that she had never lost control of her little brothers. I gave her a big hug and told her to relax. I was so proud of her mothering and protecting abilities. This kid would do anything for her brothers even though they drive her bonkers most of the time.

I then went back outside and watched Santa Claus (or at least that's what my kids called him) work on our power lines:

When Hubby got home, we allowed the kids to take a closer peak and Gun-Gun was thoroughly impressed:

We didn't have power until well after 9PM that night, just about when we actually needed some lights. The kiddos spent the night at the grandparents so they wouldn't have to miss a much needed shower or their episode of "Chowder." As far as the tree goes, well, it's gonna meet it's maker this weekend since the wayward limb was only a little part of it's problem of overall rottenness. Even though it was scary and a pain in the butt to deal with, at least it was only a limb and not the whole tree - which, by judging how the tree looks could of easily been the case.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Here is your song...

Posted by Mommazilla at 06:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I'm not sure, but if you ask this wrestler, he can probably tell you. I'm primarily Swedish with a dash of other Scandinavian flavors, so I understand how mad an angry Swede can get. But good grief! This guy took it to the extreme!

Ok, what if there was a mistake with the referee? Accept your medal, file your protest and let an investigation begin. But to defile the medal that so many other wresters would have given their eye teeth for? Trashy and disrespectful to everyone involved.

What do you think? Should he have reacted like this? Is there really any justice in the Olympics for those who feel they were wronged? I don't know the answer but I suspect this wasn't the best way to go about it.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This is funny. I hope she makes a fortune.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I saw this story today. Let me premise this first by saying that I do believe in Bigfoot and I actually think I saw him back in the early 90's during a weekend trip to Crescent City. My brother swears it was just my dad with his shirt off, but I know different.

The picture is copyrighted so I won't post it directly here but here's a link that was sent to me. I didn't read through all the postings so do so at your own caution! The picture is in the first post. Here's another Youtube link, as well.

What do you think? Do you really think that thawed out popsicle is the real deal? I'm just not so sure. I kinda hope not because like all good mysteries sometimes it's just better when you don't know.

*********** EDITED TO ADD **********

This is bunk. I do not believe it for a second. Seriously, for their "press conference," I can see them getting their best redneck buddy, liquoring'em up 'til his comatose, and then putting him on ice with directions to "hold real stilllll, Bubba, even if they poke ya." If they pick the right person, they might not even have to add additional hair. Sheesh. That's 10 minutes of my life that I'll never get back.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Wow! I can't believe my ducklings are just about six weeks old and they look so different!

From this:

To this:

I believe we have two drakes and one hen but I'm not 100% positive yet. I'm definately not up to date on duck sexing 101, so I'm judging by color only. They happily roam our yard during the day and we tuck them away in their cage at night. They're also starting to get their quacks going, but right now, they're reminiscent of Peter Brady. The drakes have beautiful shades of emerald green, cobalt blue, and teal in their wings and the little hen is a beautiful snowy white. They are so much fun to watch waddle around and swim in their little pool.

Thanks for looking!

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

As a mom of three, I was apalled and yet unable to stop reading this article. It's not for the weak of heart but it's well worth the heartache to read. I also found it a very strong reminder of why some people should not have children. Get your kleenexes and have your child handy because you'll want to hug them afterwards.

Posted by Mommazilla at 12:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Good news. C-dub informed me today that I'm bound to have an excellent daughter-in-law (in about 50 years or so).

C-dub: Mom?
Mommazilla: Yeah?
C-dub: If danger was a beautiful woman, I'd probably marry her.
Mommazilla: Oh, that's nice C-dub. Let's just wait a coupla years, K?
C-dub: OK Mom.

I guess C-dub has his sights set high. I look forward to eventually meeting the woman who fits the bill.

Posted by Mommazilla at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I admit that I'm not a huge fan of the Olympics - probably because couch surfing and speed diaper changing have not been admitted as recognized Olympic events. I've casually watched the events from afar not really getting into any one event. However, some of the side stories have proven to be quite interesting and sometimes horrific:

* A maniac stabbed a US citizen and then killed himself.

* One of the US Beach Volleyball stars lost her wedding ring during an opening match. The sucker flew right off. Don't worry, they found it.

* Some of the fireworks were faked for TV viewers.

* Evidently, no matter how talented you are, if you just don't pass the cuteness test then tough luck. But don't worry, you can be lip synched with a person deemed cuter than you are. Gosh, and to think we were all so worried about this. Get a clue.

Here's a link to our current medal count. We're kicking ass and taking names. I look forward to the many more stories that will be coming out of this event and just hope they're on the positive side rather than the negative.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I've slowly been doing photoshoots for friends with the idea that maybe one day, I'll be good enough to actually charge for my hobby. I know I'm not nearly there yet and to be honest, it makes me feel so good to give moms pictures of their kiddos they actually enjoy - without the super high price that a photographer normally charges. I know I'm singing this tune now and in all actuality, it would be great to make money on photography, but for the time being I'm content with smiles and appreciatation.

I remember paying nearly $300 for an excellent photographer to take pics of my kids and on the flip side, less than $50 to have canned shots done by Sears. Obviously the main difference between the two is quality; quality in the actual photo and quality in the photographer willing and able to work with your child - which isn't always a possibility when you're in a rushed store setting. I'm just thankful not to have to fork out that sort of money anymore since I'm satisifed with the shots I normally get of my kiddos.

Here's a couple from the shoot I did yesterday:

Gotta love the out takes:

And the baby cheeks:

And the cute older siblings:

A big thanks to Jessica for allowing me to use her children as guinea pigs :-).

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

But do you look this cute when you do it? Here's something for my Alaskan and former Alaskan family members.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I recently took C-dub to his first eye doctor appointment. He has great vision but since my little man-child is starting Kindergarten this year, I wanted him to be thoroughly checked out. I made the appointment so that he, Taters, and myself could all get checked out at one visit rather than having to travel to Eureka on three separate occasions. I also thought it would be good for him to watch his sister go through the same process as he tends to be the family "Paranoid Pete."

When we got to the appointment, Taters climbed up into the chair and sailed through her exam. When it came to C-dub's turn, he reluctantly climbed into the chair and informed her that he would not be doing the "alphabet stuff" today and that he preferred arrows. Knowing that C-dub tends to get stage fright, I assured the doctor that he did know his alphabet and that he'd be happy to show her his stuff. C-dub gave me a dirty look but then, like his sister, showed his skillz at letter and number recognition. I was so proud...and relieved, as Kindergarten starts in a coupla weeks.

C-dub proceeded to point out whenever he could see the "dirt" in his eyes (it was actually the veins of his eye - rather creepy if you ask me) and giggle when Taters made fun of him when he was placed in front of the freakish eye checking machine. That's a technical name, just in case you didn't know.

C-dub had almost completed his exam when he started to chat with the doctor about glass eyes. Evidently he had heard about the glory of glass eyes during an episode of either Spongebob or Chowder. He asked her how well you could see out of a glass eye and if you could pick your own color. The doctor was very nice and obliged his questions with simplified answers. Taters and I were holding in our giggles about his questions for fear of not being able to control them. At the end, C-dub concluded that it really wouldn't be that much fun to have a glass eye and I heartily agreed.

Prior to leaving the appointment, it was my turn in the chair and the two little heathens had to maintain their composure for ten more minutes. They did good for a little while and I quickly found how difficult it was to give them the "look" whilst having your chin perched on the eye checking machine. As I sat there hissing through my teeth to "knock it off," I could hear the giggles getting louder and I was finding it harder not to join in. When the doctor finally removed the eye checking machine, I could see why the monsters were in hysterics. They were mimicking my precarious position in the seat with little jaws jutted forward and googly eyes pointed directly at me. When they saw that the equipment had been removed from my face, they quickly sat up, looking at each other, and finally released the suppressed laughter - even cracking a smile on the otherwise serious doctor.

The appointment went well and I was happy to hear that my prescription had not changed and no glass eye would be needed. C-dub did ask me again later if I could have a glass eye, what color I'd want. I told him hot pink and he said I was "weyerd." Go figure.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In my eye. During our wonderful camping trip, some strange little allergen or otherwise unfriendly piece of eye matter, jabbed my left eye's cornea and it freakin' hurts! I'm on an antibiotic and an anti-inflammatory, but it still feels like crud.

Poke me in the spleen or kick me in the kidney, just don't mess with my eyeballs. I hate getting my eyeballs touched for any reason so this corneal scratch has been pure hell not only to my body but my overall "ick factor." I guess I should be happy that it's not pink eye because having gone through that with the kids, I can honestly say that illness sucks.

Alright, thanks for letting me whine. I'm off to dose my peepers.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

There's a place I've been going to since I was a little girl and I was hesitant to even post a blog about it in the fear that others might also discover it's beauty and ruin my secret paradise. But alas, I've decided to spill the beans and let you all in this hidden treasure located just off the Lost Coast. It's called A.W. Way Park and it's located right by the beautiful, "don't blink or you'll miss it," city of Petrolia.

The road to Petrolia (my family prefers- you can also take the Mattole Road off of Hwy 101, and this will take you the back way through the redwoods) is rather inocuous and you've probably driven past it several times without even realizing it. It's tucked in the southern portion of the little town of Ferndale and it's labeled "Capetown - Petrolia." This beautiful, winding road will take you down by the Lost Coast and through some breath taking views and scenery. The road is not for the weak of heart and nor stomach; and sometimes it's just a gravel path. There are amazing things you can see on the way out:

This is a pond located on the Welsh Ranch property. My parents used to tell Uncle R and I that many a game warden were "sleepin' with the fishies" at the bottom of that pond. Creepy story but entertaining to a bunch of goofy kids.

This is an old military bunker/lookout, I believe commonly manned during World War II. I'm not positive about this but it's neat nonetheless.

An interesting piece of nature called "Battleship Rock." I think you can see how it received that name.

Some of the beautiful coastline, easy accessible from the road. There is a lot of private property so you need to be very cognizant of where you're choosing to hike to go tidepooling. If the property owner doesn't fill your butt with birdshot then the many free range wild cows and bulls might get you.

This is hard to see but there is a huge Scientology vault/compound at the top of this ridge. You can see this as you "cruise" (did you get that?!) down into Capetown. Thanks to Uncle R for the picture.

Once you pull up out of the beach and into the mountains, you will find the beautiful little town of Petrolia.

These eucalyptus tress line the street as your heading down into town. They smell so good and the flies hate them. Double bonus!

Keep driving - you're almost there! After a few twists and turns, you'll finally reach your destination of my hidden paradise:

Here's the skinny:

The park has two bathrooms with flush toilets and some cold showers. Not the most glamorous of settings but way better than a porta potty.

You can swim in some of the excellent swimming holes (getting a little low this time of year):

Visit with the wildlife - or not so much:

There were a lot of snakes out there - way more than I liked to see but then again, one snake is too much!

Become the victim of a theft thanks to the camp thieves (a.k.a. Bluejays):

Hang out with your Sissy with a messy face:

Bike riding! A la natural, of course:

Get yelled at by your little brother for using his diving squishy toys as fake boobies:

Get the best pedicure...ever:

Overall, it was a great trip and we all had a fun time. The weather was in the upper 70's to low 80's with just a mild wind that perked up during the evening. We did have some drama the first night when we discovered that a group of 17 and 18 year old teenagers decided to camp across the road from us and wildly celebrate the birthday of one of their comrades. Alcohol, screaming girls in bikinis, and a handful of boys with peach fuzz made for hours of drunken karaoke and romantic interludes in the women's restroom, one which I accidently encountered during a midnight stroll to the toilet. Ummmm...parents? Where are you? Do you know what your little John or Jane are doing? Cuz, I sure do and it wasn't pretty and a tad bit more embarassing for them rather than me.

Typically, the campground is quiet and very family friendly. It's entirely flat with a well maintained road perfect for bike riding or walking. The campground also has a live-in caretaker that takes very good care of the sites.

Have you visited here? Tell me your stories!

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

These maybe offensive to some, but hilarious to others. I'm guilty of a few but I'll never confess which ones. Thanks to Mama Drama Uncensored for the pics.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

And I can't stinkin' wait. My goal is to have all my shopping done by late November; finishing up the shopping season with a good 'ole dose of Black Friday battling. Anyone else gettin' ready?

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I wandered over into my orchard tonight and was pleasantly surprised to see my fruit trees are loaded with orbs of goodness. One of my plum trees was actually already producing ripe little plums so the tasty treat was an added bonus. I was glad to see that my little family of bucks and does hadn't totally demolished my summer harvest.

On a side note, one of my friends is having a contest amongst his photography buddies (all three or four of us). He's re-doing his bathroom to the tune of peaches. I'm not quite sure if he's using a peach color of paint, wax peaches, peach toilet paper, etc., but he's asked us to submit pictures of peaches. OK. How do you make a peach look interesting? I'm not feeling uber creative but this is what I'm sending him:

Taterbug was a willing participant in the modeling portion as she thought it was hilarious that someone might have to look at her holding a peach while they're "whizzin'." Her words, not mine. Anyhoo, wish me luck. The winner gets $20 and the first go on the new toilet seat :-).

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

But this story seriously pisses me off. Seriously, the jerk rapes and then murders two young women and now he's complaining that he might go through too much pain if he's executed at his size. What?! Cry me a friggin' river. The young ladies he assaulted and then murdered didn't have a choice in the way that they died, why should he be so lucky? This sleezebag should be strung up and allowed some sort of public execution where we all get to participate. Now that would put a smile on my face and cure this grumpy funk I've fallen into.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The super reclusive and uber secretive hygiene bug has made it's way into my eight year old daughter's life and our world has been turned upside down. I've lost my blowdryer, fancy hair products, and lip gloss to a small child who now thinks she knows fashion better than I do - and the sad thing is, she probably does. The worst part about it all is that she has taken over my bathroom when she has a perfectly functioning throne right outside her door but evidently, her little brother's lack of aim just isn't too appealing.

I knew this day would come and I'm actually glad that she's taken an interest in how she looks and smells. What I don't enjoy is that I'm losing my stuff in the process. I've discovered that I really don't care for sharing and I'm actually a rather selfish snot when it comes right down to it. I typically treat myself when it comes to bath and hair products; it's the one area where I don't mind spending a bit more since it's a personal treat. Well, Taters has also developed a similar type love of the good stuff and she's been resembling a fruit cocktail whenever she gets out of my bathroom. I tried to scare her away from my Blackberry Vanilla bathwash by telling her the bees would think she's a gigantic flower. Yeah, that didn't work too well and proceeded to use up the tube explaining to me how important it was to use layers of soap rather than just a quick scrub.

I guess I should just get used to it because I really don't want her love of hygiene to go away. It's just going to be an expensive habit for the duration of the next ten or so years.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It's been one of those weeks...rather than lament and whine about it, I wanted to re-visit one of my older blogs that is close to my heart - well, sorta close (!).

Awww...the joys of a good drunk dial. Being able to spread the word of your obnoxious drunken state is surely a way to help promote friendship and positive feelings amongst those you consider to be your closest acquaintances. We all know how enlightening a good drunk can be and what sort of serious, life changing moments a drunk can cause via a telephone conversation, *cough* right? And yes, maybe I am a tad bit guilty of making a few forgotten calls during my lifetime and perhaps even leaving a couple of rambling messages to Uncle R (he's always my chosen victim). So what if I did get a little pissy during my messages to him and then later felt guilty when I found out I was holding his phone in my purse? He later returned the favor so all is well in the world of Karma.

I did some research on the issue of drunk dialing (D-dialing) so I can say without a doubt, there is certain protocol that you much follow, in order to maintain D-dialing precision. I feel the need to share some common rules do to a major violation of the D-dialing protocol that my residence received this weekend and how hubby was a victim of a bad, or should I say, misbehaving D-dialer. The following is an exclusive account of what happened and should serve as a warning to future D-dialers.

While the kiddos and I loaded up the Brady Bunch station wagon and headed out on a mini-vacation to the Grand Canyon to meet up with Cousin Oliver (actually a quick jaunt to Oregon to visit Wallyworld), hubby decided to stay one night at our home and catch up with the family the following day. The weather was gross and the idea of a night without the wife and kiddos was far too inviting to pass up. As hubby was settled into a deep sleep, he was awoken to the sound of the phone ringing at about 2:00 AM. Thinking the worst, he answered it and this is what happened:

Hubby: Hello?
Uncle R's Woman: Click. (She wonders why the answering machine talks back)

Stimulating. Although tired, he did have the recollection to look at the caller ID and see that it was the phone number of Uncle R’s woman and not someone he felt the need to call back. Hubby settles back into some much need sleep and is awoken again by the sound of the phone ringing.

Hubby: What?!
Uncle R: Um, soweee..guess I got da wong numba (drunk mumbling). Click. (The Jaegermeister is talking, telling him that he in fact got the wrong number and that it wasn't a foreign answering machine).

Again, exciting conversation but Hubby is getting annoyed. Hubby again looks at the caller ID and sees that it’s the same person. This time he decides to call it back. When he receives no response he leaves a voicemail indicating his displeasure with the D-dialer. Uncle R and his Woman suddenly experience "drunken paranoia" knowing that the stranger they just called now has their number and is calling them back. They still have no clue that hubby is the stalker phone killer, ready to seal their fate.

The next day, the D-dialer is exposed for their major faux paus of D-dialing and they both realize what they have done. Because of this, and to prevent other victims of D-dialing, I have come up with 10 steps to D-dialing safety:

1. If you are going to drink, hide any cell phone where your drunk self will not find it. Notice I said any cell phone - a drunk doesn't care and tends to go for the one with the bigger buttons or shinier faceplate.

2. If you are going to drink, hide any regular phone where your drunk self will not find it. Again, phones with large buttons or interesting features tend to attract the drunks.

3. If you are going to drink, set a loud alarm indicating when the cut-off time for all phone calls to be made. This will serve as a loud reminder that all confessions, rants and raves are no longer to be publicized to anyone other than who is present with you in the room. More than likely they will be in your condition, so all secrets will be safe with them.

4. If you are going to drink, have at least one sober friend with you who can act as your "filter" for outside contacts. They will decide if you truly need to make that confession or statement (this one's for you Uncle R).

5. If you choose to make a D-dial, it's best just to leave a message rather than search for a live person. I don't care how charming you are, or how much you think the ladies love you, not everyone appreciates a drunk (again, this is especially for Rico Suave, a.k.a. Uncle R).

6. Do not call 9-1-1. The Dispatcher is not your friend and if you annoy them, they can call their uniformed friend to arrest your drunk ass.

7. Do not call your ex. They already think you're a looser, hence the "ex" factor, so don't give them fuel for their fire.

8. D-dialing will not find you love, no matter what the person promises you. Booty calls do not equal marriage proposals, but they can equate to a personal visit with your selected health practitioner for a prescription of very large pink pills and salve.

9. Rather than D-dialing, try drunk texting. This way, you can blame pudgy fingers or wayward fingernails on your horrendous spelling and insane comments.

10. The most important one...be a happy drunk dialer. We want to hear that slobbery, raspy, sexy husky voice telling us nasty things or singing show tunes. The same voice is not nearly as effective when your screaming unintelligible profanities at someone you've deemed to be your true enemy.

In all seriousness, minor D-dialing can be a fun way to spend an evening with friends, as long as the recipient is a willing player with plenty of available time to listen to your mind numbing rambles. Now's the time I'd like to hear your stories or perhaps you'd like to add to my list of 10. Dear readers, please show me you're alive and share with me your life experiences on this topic, or that of your "friends." Let 'em rip!

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

And one more re-visit because this is probably one of my favorite stories about C-dub.

If there is one thing that I've learned as a parent it's that each child is different and should come with their own parenting manual. Since no such Baby Bible exists, hubby and I typically fly by the seat of our pants, with a little help from very knowledgeable grandparents and a stiff shot of whiskey here and there. However, recently there was a situation that neither experienced grandparents nor hard liquor could help; it was how to cope with our five year old son and his infatuation with lovely lady lumps.

Yes, my son discovered the beauty of a woman's breasts and for the past several weeks, we've been fighting the battle of the booby. I'm not sure that I can put my finger on when his infatuation began, but it's sure been a nipply situation to deal with. In hindsight, I remember C-dub being abnormally interested in whether or not I would be changing into my pajamas at night and if it would be necessary for me to remove my shirt. Thinking that this sweet little man-child was concerned with his momma's need for my warmth, I would give him a big hug and he would always squeeze me back. All the while, he’d be pressing his little cherubic face firmly against my chesticles, looking like the Cheshire cat. The saga continued and every now and then I'd find a stray Victoria's Secret catalog curled up under his Fisher Price racetrack, strangely dog-eared and marked up with crayon.

Even with those circumstances, I still wasn't convinced that my sweet little angel was becoming interested in the female anatomy... Sure, he would stop dead in his tracks when a Playtex Cross Your Heart commercial came on and yeah, I did think it was a little strange that he'd always offer to fold my laundry, but then again, maybe he was just earning brownie points for Santa? It wasn't until I had a conversation with his preschool teacher did I learn of the significance of his desire to be closer to the pillow buddies.

After weighing the facts of the case, I asked Miss K if C-dub had ever made any off the wall ta-tas comments while in class. She looked at me with a little surprise and her facial expressions quickly turned to shock.

"You know, last week while we were doing our exercises, C-dub just stopped and stared while I was doing jumping jacks. I thought he was just trying to see how I was doing it, but his eyes were focused on... Oh my!"

That was it. I knew then and there that my man-child had been macking on his preschool teacher. It was time for hubby to intervene before things got even more out of hand and other women were victimized by C-dub’s wandering peepers. I knew this certainly wasn’t my area so I instructed hubby on some of the areas to cover…privacy, implications of being a Peeping Tom, etc., etc... I did my own internet research and spoke with other moms of boys and discovered that his current obsession with lactoids was rather innocent in nature. In other words, he knew what he liked; he just didn't know why he liked them. He was finally noticing that girls and boys had differences, and boy did he like what he was seeing!

Hubby called C-dub into our bedroom one night while I stayed in the living room with Gun-Gun and Taterbug. Taterbug noticed C-dub's absence and asked why the boys were having a talk that she was not included in on. I didn't know what to say but being the brainiac that she is, she quickly asked, "Is it because of that boob thing? I don't know what his problem is but he'd better stop staring at yours Mom. It’s weird."

The conversation was brief yet effective as I am once again safe to dress and undress in the comfort of my own room, and without the offering assistance of C-dub. I still have to deal with Gun-Gun and his hooter infatuation but at least he's a little less vocal and certainly not as obvious with his affections. C-dub seems no worse for wear and he’s back to playing monster trucks and racing his cars with never a mention of his previous bigguns’ affliction. I truly look forward to the day when I can give a copy of this blog to his first girlfriend ;o).

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Don't you love to wake up to the sound of, "Mom, I'm not feeling so well - insert barfing sound here - !" And no, it never happens while your beloved child is hovering precariously over the toilet or even in the vicinity of the bathroom. Evidently, vomiting children crave the reassurance of comfortable carpeting, as C-dub did the other day.

I typically have pretty healthy kids with only the occasional cold here and there. So when the stomach bug hits our house, I'm on an anti-bacterial high, cleaning and scrubbing every possible surface that may contain something to pass on. I hate being sick but it's that much worse when it's a little fella or perhaps even a Hubby (since men tend to be sicker than most) contract something that requires a double dose of toilet paper.

In between the bouts of sickness, getting cold water, and making lunch for the healthy Taterbug, I've been working on getting Gun-Gun accustomed to his "big boy" bed. He's the new owner of a lower bunk but he's just not havin' it. For the past two days, he's gotten out of naptime due to a hectic schedule and errands. Fate was not smiling down upon him today because when nap time came, I escorted him into his room and tucked him in. All the way out to the room, I'm trying to be as animated as possible about the joys of his new bed. We cheered and marched all the way out to the big boy bedroom, but his little brakes came on as soon as we hit the threshold.

He doesn't "yike it."
He's "scawed."
He wants to "pway outshide!"

The excuses go on and on but I think we're slowly winning the battle of the bed. Now only if we could get that potty training thing down...

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)