To all the dads in my life, thank you so much for all that you do and the blessings you have given me. To all the other dads out there, have a wonderful day!

A Naughty Father's Day Tribute

Another Naughty Tribute:

Relatively Safe!

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

C-dub just lost his second tooth and Hubby took it upon himself to assist the tooth fairy with her financial donation. As he came out of C-dub's room, he had a huge smile on his face proclaiming that he had "done the deed." When I asked him how much the deed had cost, he threw this total at me:

$5

Ouch! After a brief discussion, the $5 was replaced with a $1 bill. And to think, I only got a quarter left in a shot glass...

How much does the tooth fairy leave in your house? Help me convince Hubby that inflation isn't that bad!

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

The other night while I was taking a spin with a nasty graveyard shift, Hubby was home alone snuggled up in our warm and comfy bed. I can see him there, softly snoring with two little boys curled up next to him in pure contentment. Actually, the real vision includes seeing him squished up on the side of bed, precariously dangling limbs over the side due to two little boys sleeping horizontal and drooling all over my pillows. Quite the sight and a lovely thing to crawl into after working all night.

Anyhoo, back to the original story. Hubby told me about two o'clock in the morning he awoke up to the sounds of strange moaning. He initially thought it was the dogs talking in their sleep or perhaps a tomcat trying to get his groove on with a neighborhood lady kitty, but they sounded strangely human. Hearing the moans subside, he fell back asleep and a few moments later, again awoke to the sound of more persistent moaning. The type of moans you tend to find in very happy household.

Being the staunch investigator he is, he quickly jumped out of bed and looked out the window to see if he could locate the source of the moans - just in case it truly was a person in need of assistance. He initially didn't see anything but then noticed our bachelor house with our cute little neighbor boys, was fully lit up. The moans, consistent and getting even more louder, were emanating from their house. Hubby said he blushed for a minute until he heard the boys in unison yelling:

"Oh my Gawd! I can't believe it? Is that even possible?!"

In their drunken stupor, they were watching a non-Disney movie together and decided to give our Valley a running play-by-play through their wide open windows. Note to self, if you are going to partake amongst the adult movies, at least shut your windows so we all don't have to partake. It makes it a little weird when we meet at the mailbox.

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Happy Birthday to the most wonderful, handsome, and accident prone hubby a gal could get! Love ya babe!

Here's some songs to help celebrate this momentous occasion:

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hubby was freed from his second residence late this afternoon and was very happy to be home. I had already put clean sheets on the bed and built a fire, so the house was nice and toasty for the sicky.

Once Hubby got into bed and was drifting in and out of consciousness, Piper and Gracie discovered that their daddy had returned and were so excited to sink their little paws into him. But Hubby was not so convinced. He does not appreciate the love offered by the feline persuasion and they know this hence their continued admiration.

At first he just took the abuse via some licking and gentle love bites:

He tried to distract them by whining and throwing his hands up in disgust, but it was to no avail...The purring and bread making continued:

He then gave up. At least until they decided to wrestle and pounce directly over his incision site. Poor guy.

I've now bribed the beasts with a can of stinky ocean fish. Hubby has a 20 minute reprieve so he better act fast and take a catnap. Sorry - I couldn't resist.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

You would not believe how and where I spent my Sunday. Hubby is back at it. He thought so much of the service he received last Sunday, he decided to visit the ER again, but this time with a "hot appy." That's doctor lingo for a raging piece of rabid flesh otherwise known as the illicit appendix. If my Hubby didn't have bad luck, he'd have no luck; seriously.

His latest adventure began last night after eating a particularly delicious catered meal. Blaming the wonderful food and his overeating, he went to bed with a side ache and woke up with fever, pain and nausea. After a couple of quick calls to friends smarter than us, we decided it would be best for him to pay a visit to his second home (the hospital).

For whatever reason, Hubby has angered the wrath of God and He has decided to take Hubby out one body part at a time. It was pretty sad having to explain to nurses and doctors that he had just paid them a visit last weekend - especially when they were checking his circulation and noticed his swollen yellow and purple foot. It earned him a great deal of sympathy and I'm sure double the amount of chuckles he received.

After about four hours in the ER, listening to angry people demanding their psych drugs, children crying (actually screaming like banshees), and an elderly couple who didn't really seem to understand a lot of things unless it was tinkling around between the ice cubes in their scotch, Hubby was diagnosed with appendicitis. It was surreal how everything was hurry up and wait and then as soon as the results of his CT scan came in, things moved in fast forward.

I know poor Hubby was nervous because this was the first surgery he had ever experienced. Sure, he'd had stitches, staples, butterfly band-aids, casts, lost fingernails and gained numerous scars - but he's always been fully conscious for all these blessed events. The idea of being knocked out really scared him and it frightened me too. Thankfully, he's a strapping young fellow and we were assured he'd sail through with flying colors.

I guess I probably wasn't helping the situation by commenting whenever I heard strange sounds from the hallway, that it was the surgeon sharpening his scalpel and assorted knives. Hubby really doesn't know how to take a joke sometimes.

I was able to walk him to the OR door and give him a quick smooch and pat before they rolled him away. The surgery was only supposed to last one to two hours and the surgeon later proved to be true to his promise. The good news was that it didn't appear his appendix had perforated and shared it ooey gooey goodness with the rest of his internal organs. The surgeon was also able to use laproscopy which meant for much smaller incision sites and hopefully less pain during recovery.

Everything went just as planned and I was once again reunited with him in the recovery room. I know that Hubby tends to be a good-natured drunk (on that rare occasion he chooses to partake amongst the spirits) and I was very curious to see how he would react with high grade medical goodies. My curiosity was rewarded with such statements and questions to the male recovery nurse as:

* Did you add any inches to my, you know?
* Did it get enlarged?
* Was it in length? Or just the girth? I'd be really happy and I bet she would too (nodding to me with his eyes closed. I was just trying to record his goofy statements in my memory bank).
* Did I get a brazillian 'cuz it sure feels like I did.
* Where are my underwear?
* Some guy took'em off of me. I didn't like it. Not one bit.

After about 30 minutes of listening to him ramble about his junk, he was moved to a regular room and continued to sober up just enough to tell the nurse that he'd compare her skills to mine, since I refused to spend the night in the plastic recliner playing nursemaid. I'm sorry, but the idea of an empty bed and clean sheets was far too tempting. And on all honesty, I'm not even sure what skills he was talking about but neither did he is my guess.

I finally called it a day around 10 PM tonight, as I watched him drift in and out of a blissful morphine sleep. It's so cute to watch him snore with that medically induced smile on his face :-). I know he's in good hands and the nurses are taking fabulous care of him - but I miss him. You'd think after the past week he spent at home nursing a bum ankle, I'd feel a little relieved to have a night off, but I do love the little turd.

Do me a favor and ask me how I'm feeling at then end of this week; you may get a different answer.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Who knew that buying Farmer John sausages could be dangerous for your health? I'm not talking about the cholesterol content or the calories from fat; no, it's far worse than that. It's the bargain high you get when they go on sale at Safeway for .99 cents a package. It makes you do crazy things, like fall off of front porches.

Tonight, Hubby went shopping and picked up several of these offending packages. The men in my family are huge breakfast meat eaters and when they're favorite sausages come on sale, it's a deal you can't pass up. After Hubby bought his limit, he returned home and brought the groceries in. He then walked out the front door onto the porch in order to take his bargain trove out to the garage freezer. In the process, he managed to do this:

He described the sick feeling of his ankle rolling out from under him and then looking up only to find himself lying in my rose bushes . As the rain softly trickled down his face, he could see the rest of his family gallivanting around the living room, blissfully unaware he was down and out in the front yard. In normal circumstances, the idea of roses and rain might be actually kinda romantic - too bad his ankle was throbbing because it really took away from the mood.

After wrangling up a willing grandparent, I drove him to the ER (and yes, I made him wait a minute so I could get a pre-treatment picture). Out of my numerous visits to the ER with Hubby (he tends to be a little accident prone), this one was definitely the smoothest and the quickest. The waiting room was full of people but the ER did a great job of running people through - something I've never experienced before especially in the ER.

After a quick x-ray, it was determined that Hubby didn't break his ankle but he did in fact, tear the ligaments. The doctor explained to us that the damage severity was measured as a 1, 2, or 3 (1 being the best, 3 the worst) and Hubby was a high 2. I told him he was an overachiever. I also told him that he was just trying to take away my spotlight since I was supposed to be the sick one today. He didn't laugh at either of my jokes.

As we end the night, I'm watching him nurse his second package of frozen veggies and chase down several Ibuprofen with a glass of water. I'm hoping he sleeps well because I know I'll be playing nursemaid tomorrow. I'm no Nancy Nurse so my plan is to keep him heavily sedated with alcohol and horse tranquilizers I've hidden in his prize sausages - which by the way, did eventually find their way to the freezer via a gimpy Hubby.

I married a good guy, and a bargain shopper at that.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

A few days ago, Hubby and Taterbug struck up a deal allowing her to have two girlfriends over to spend the night. I had no part of the conversation as I knew I wouldn't be home due to a previous engagement and he would be forgoing the nine year old little girl slumber issue by himself. He foolishly agreed to her shenanigans and I quietly laughed to myself knowing all too well what he he had set himself up for.

When the night came, I said my goodbyes as the girls ran around the living room professing to maintain their elevated sugar levels through the use of Hawaiian punch and Papa Murphy's pizza. Hubby looked a little frazzled but C-dub promised to keep an eye on him and yell at the girls as necessary. Taterbug told me that she would call and give me regular spastic updates as they planned on being up all night and possibly well into the morning.

At about 11PM, my cell phone rang and I saw that it was the house calling. I figured it was Hubby calling to tell me that he had smartened up and was either (A) heavily drinking or (B) taking everyone home. Instead, I heard Taterbug's voice come on the line and she sounded a little strange.

Taterbug: Hi Mom, uh, it's me, Taters. What's a douche bag?
Mommazilla: I choked and then coughed. What?
Taterbug: A douche bag. What is it?
Mommazilla: Where the heck did you hear that?
Taterbug: On i-Carly. She called someone a douche bag and Daddy said you'd tell me what she meant.
Mommazilla: Well, Taters, it's a very rude name to call someone and I can't believe she said that on her show. Don't use that word, K? It's not nice.
Taterbug: I know it's not nice but what is it? Daddy said you'd tell me exactly what it is.
Mommazilla: Oh he did? Wow, that was nice of him to do that.

I'm seriously cursing that assmunch under my breath. I had no idea what to say to her. Let me begin by saying that "douche bag" is not a word I normally use as I understand it's connotation. Having had a grandma who was very conscious of her feminine health, I remember seeing that curious little critter regularly hanging in her shower. I only learned what it was for after my parents found my brother and I playing with it, pretending it was some sort of fireman's pack used to put out small fires.

Taterbug: Well, Mom, what is it?
Mommazilla: With my inner brain wheels cranking, I uttered words I never thought I'd eventually quote. Well Taters, when a woman feels "not so fresh" sometimes they use a special liquid on their, uh (did I seriously want to go the "vagina" route and open up that can of worms? Nope, I chickened out and kept it broad - very broad) potties, and the bag they keep this special liquid in is called a douche bag.
Taterbug: Silence and breathing. That's really gross Mom.
Mommazilla: Do you see now why it's not a nice name to call someone?
Taterbug: Yeah. I can't believe ladies really do that. Have you done that? Cuz, that's really gross and I never wanna see one of those things.
Mommazilla: Enough! Can I talk to your dad now?

By this time, I've finally relaxed after the initial shock of the call and I've started to laugh. Really laugh. Hubby was laughing too. He explained that the girls had been sitting on the couch, playing Taterbug's DS system. He heard Taterbug mutter, "douche bag," when she died on a game and quickly called her on it. When she questioned him further about it's meaning, he decided it would be the perfect thing for me to explain to her. It was certainly not the first nor last of embarrassing conversations I'm sure to have with my children. Hubby is doing the next one - even if it contains talk of girly parts or boobies.

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Get him one of these - it's just perfect for his Christmas stocking. He'll thank you for it :-).

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

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 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)

How many times have I told me friends, it's easier to ask Hubby for forgiveness rather than permission? A TON! Just ask him and he'll tell you about the goat, chickens, ducks, and cats (which I didn't get, by the way) I've finagled myself into getting for the "kids."

So when my silkie chicken hatching eggs arrived today, he was pleasantly surprised. Well, I guess "pleasantly" isn't really the right word to use but he was "surprised." No matter what he says, we DID have a conversation about allowing the little punks to go through the process of hatching eggs. We've done it before and they loved it. I liked it a little, too. OK, OK, I liked it a lot. For cryin' outloud, I'm addicted to that damn egg cam! What's a girl to do besides hatch her own?!

I can't help it if Hubby's been having senior moments lately and has a major case of CRS (can't remember schat), 'cuz that's my story and I'm sticking to it. We did talk about it, probably a long time ago - possibly before having kids - but I know I did talk to him about this current egg project. But alas, I'm still begging for forgiveness as I've surpassed the point of permission. Afterall, I just don't go for the whole permission thing anyway.

I'll post updates periodically on our little critters. If all goes well, this batch will hatch in just about three weeks or so. I'm concerned how the eggs will fair as they were shipped all the way from Georgia and the USPS totally manhandled the package and several were broke. I've had good luck in the past with shipped eggs, so keep your fingers crossed.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

My favorite little cousin asked me to snap a couple of pics of her and her boyfriend last weekend. I readily agreed because my little cuz is GAWGEOUS and I knew that it would give me some great practice. We began shooting in the house, with a few shots here and there. I was working hard to get my lighting and focus down just right and Hubby, well, he and Grandpa D were working hard at distracting me. See anything wrong with this picture? Other than it being not the greatest... Look between the lovebirds...

Thanks Hubby. You are pure, comedic genius. Stay the frick out of my photos. Anyhoo, just to prove that some of the photos turned out decent (without Hubby or Grandpa D included), here ya go:

What a sweet and patient couple they were. Even through the verbal tauntings of Hubby and Grandpa D.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

As I sat on the couch this morning, I had the opportunity to listen to Hubby carry on a few phone conversations in regards to his work. Hubby owns his own company and does BEWTIFUL work; however, the "business" aspect of the business is what causes him constant frustration. Between wages, insurance, and taxes, he's about ready to pull out what's left of his thinning hairline. We've quickly discovered that the government does not make it easy for small business owners to maintain or at least make a profit . I'm sad but not too surprised when I hear of so many new businesses going out their first year. It's an inevitable fact that most small business owners are set up for failure; practically before they even sign their first set of paychecks.

Back to the story at hand...this morning Hubby was dealing with two main issues; one being a a bill that he needed to pay and the other a policy he needed to cancel. He had attempted to at least address the bill using the Internet but stopped when they wanted to tack on various fees and charges for the "luxury" of using their website. What?! He's saving them a ton of time on processing a mailed payment? He's also acting as a defender of Mother Nature as I'm sure at least one tree was saved by his lack of envelope usage. So he called....and was told that the fees would be doubled if he paid them by phone. What?! Does that make sense? Are we paying the calltaker an extra dollar per spoken word? Needless to say, the tree was chopped and the USPS was again supported by our family.

Still stinging from the potential fees he dodged, he then placed a second call in order to cancel a policy he no longer needed. Not finding any appropriate forms on their website, he called customer service only to be told he had to draft a letter. The worst part about it, was that the representative was not forthcoming with the information he would need to write in the letter. He had to practically go over each line with her and then wait for her response as to whether or not certain information was needed. Good Lawd! Can't somebody throw that poor guy a bone?!

In this day and age of computer technology - specifically with the luxury of the Internet, you'd think more companies would get on the bandwagon and at least update some of their business practices. Let's try something new...make it easy on the consumer! Wow, what a concept! As a small business owner, that's exactly what my Hubby does; he tries to make it easy for his customer to be satisified by supplying excellent work at a reasonable price - not an easy thing to do lately especially with the rising costs of gas and supplies. It's just not fair that the favor isn't being returned by larger companies.

I guess I should be relieved that he at least doesn't need to use rice in his daily work functions... good grief, I could go on forever.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I love a good trashy romance novel. A quick read with minimal plot but lots of charisma and sexy characters will do me just fine. I keep a special basket of such books next to the toilet because it seems like the only time I have lately to read is when I'm in the privacy of my own bathroom. Even then, I'm usually accompanied by Gun-Gun who's critiquing my every move, and commenting that he's "pooh-farted" in his own potty chair. Yes, it's a glamorous life but someone has to live it.

For the most part, Hubby stays out of my basket while he's doing his business and instead, partakes amongst a new issue of some hunting magazine or Harbor Freight. Tonight, for whatever reason, he decided to delve into the forbidden basket and shower me with his own emotional reading. As I sat on my bed perusing the 'net I could hear him talking loudly through the bathroom door. My attention shifted to his voice and I could hear the familiar ramblings of my current novel, being brought to life by my amorous husband.

Initially, I was intrigued to hear his version; however, this intrigue turned to disgust once I heard the constant pausing due to his attention being drawn to other personal matters. I begged for him to stop reading, and to quit defiling both my book and the bathroom. He finally stopped and emerged from his sanctuary with a huge grin on his face.

Needless to say, I will never be able to read that certain book without the memories he provided me tonight. I guess I should appreciate the efforts he put forth into our love life but lovin' just ain't the same coming through a bathroom door.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The other morning, I noticed the house was eerily quiet. Sure, the sound of cartoons and slight chitter-chatter was going, but no Gun-Gun or Hubby. When Gun-Gun's around, you know it. Whether it be screaming, stomping, marching, or the lyrics of Run DMC's "Tricky" being sang at the top of his lungs, his presence is known. When I heard the lawnmower outside, I knew that I had found at least Hubby and that Gun-Gun was probably close by, neck deep in the mud pit he and C-dub had created in the front yard.

So I looked out the front window and this is what I saw:

I couldn't quite see if Gun-Gun was with Hubby, so I grabbed my camera and saw this:

And then a little of this:

They mowed and mowed, chatted and chatted, until the whole orchard looked as slick as a golf course. I noticed that Gun-Gun was quick to point out any spots that Hubby missed.

Gun-Gun seemed to enjoy the ride and I think Hubby did as well. Truly, a Hallmark moment ;o). Or at least photographic evidence to show them at one point in their lives, mowing was fun.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

to the *cougar* hunting Hubby at the Ray's Food Place. You gave him several looks, a couple of smiles, and perhaps even a wink or two. You practically made him feel naked in the middle of the Ethnic Foods aisle. With your beady little eyes burning a hole in his backside, he was forced to avoid any unnecessary bending, reaching, or flexing of the errant muscle. To make things worse, you then stalked him throughout the checkout line and then to the parking lot, where you continued your incessant smiling and flirting. You scared a grown man and made him feel dirty. He could see the old lady lust in the whites of your eyes and just for a moment, thought he was going to be dry humped right then and there in front of the cart corral. Thankfully, he was able to snap a quick picture of you, just before escaping in my car:

Come on! You must have looked so totally obvious for him to even notice that you were checking his goodies out. I mean, he's a man and one that's been out of the dating loop for 14+ years. Your pathetic attempts at flirting and seducing my hunk of burning love crack me up! Don'tcha know he's got three screaming kids and a bitchy wife waiting at home for him? Top all that off with a raging mortgage, noisy chickens and a pissed off one-horned goat...he couldn't be happier! And I tell him so everyday! You're happy, babe! We have a beautiful, loving, dysfunctional family! We may be a little crazy but it works for us! Here's a current picture of us with our oldest:

So go home, cougar, back to your little stinky den. Eat your Ben & Jerry's, watch that VHS of Dirty Dancing for the umpteenth time, and cry for the longing of the romance that never will be. I give you permission to salivate over the memory of my bodacious stud of a husband because memories are all that you'll have; I've got the real thing :o).

Remember, Hubby is not a:

And we don't support your kind around these parts!

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My name is (insert random name here) and I'm married to a piler. The word, "piler" refers to the man or woman who piles his or her own crap continuously, in any open area of desktop, countertop or otherwise open space, without care or concern for their bitching significant other. They appear to be deathly afraid of trash cans and recycle bins as it is very common to find their trash adjacent to its intended resting place. I'm sure many of you are faced with the dilemma of having a special piler in your life and you may even be a piler yourself. Anyway you look at it, the problem of piling is one that is more than likely worldwide, but I'm going to do my part in eradicating my hubby of this wicked disease. I strongly believe that a person who is a piler is only a step away from being a hoarder and I don't relish the thought of living with hubby and his 50 year old collection of vitamin wrappers and used snot rags (which by the way, will still be lying by the trashcan). I'm thinking about starting a support group for survivors of pilers and I'm going to call it S.H.I.T. (Supporting pre-Hoarders In Trouble). Please let me know if you're interested and I'll send you an application...hubby has a whole stack on his desk ;o).

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This is an open letter to my dear hubby, written with only compassion and understanding:

Dearest Love,

Me

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've probably never mentioned how accident prone my hubby is. From the swimming dirt clod fight that led to a badly broken arm; to the sheep fencing building stint that led to three fingernails being painfully removed - he's done it all. He's the type of guy that should buy stock in Neosporin and Tetnus and then maybe some additional in Bandaids and Ace wrap. I'm proud to say that for better or for worse, I've been there for him through each of his "incidents." I'm known for being supportive and not making too much fun of him for the stupid thing(s) he did to wreck whatever body part.

This little history brings us to yesterday's terrifying event... I had just gotten home for work and walked into my house when I noticed that everyone seemed to be gathered around one point in the house - our master bedroom. As I walk into the room, I see a rather pastey looking hubby, lying on our bed with only his undies and a tattered t-shirt on. His mom is standing to his side and I at first think to myself, "Yeah. This is a little weird. Why the hell is he sitting there talking to him mom in his nasty drawers?"

Once I take it all in, I finally notice that he has a cut on his knee and he informs me that he had a fight with the chainsaw while attempting to cut firewood. In a quiet plea for more sympathy (with lip trembles, I might add), he tells me, "I was just trying to provide for the family" He later tells me that there was a tear in his eye during his explanation, but yeah, whatever. I then proceed to bandage up the wound the best that I can and I drive him to the ER. I can't help but have visions of the Three Stooges dancing through my head, especially the episode where one of them has the long piece of wood and whacks the other two in the head. But I digress...what a cold-hearted witch I sound like to be smiling at my hubby's fiasco.

We finally get to the ER where we're greeted by a full waiting room of patients. Due to a past life I lived, I knew several of the players, errr...I mean patients. There was Thomas the tweeker with a meth abscess on his wrist that was totally infected; Brooke the single mom with a sick baby, and a whiny fat old lady in a wheel chair that shrieked whenever someone hit or touched her foot. Her old fat hubby was so sick of her that he just parked her chair and then sat across the room to quietly read the latest addition of Good Housekeeping.

We sat there for over an hour and a half, when Taterbug (who wanted to go as a support person - but in reality the idea of stitches was sooo fascinating, especially since they weren't going in her) noticed that hubby's leg was again oozing. After a plea for more four by fours (gauze), they finally put us in a room and came in to have a look. The nurses and doctor all seemed so excited to hear that hubby had been attacked by a chainsaw. The look of disappointment was clearly visibile on their faces when they saw the actual injury. What a sick bunch of weirdos!

After another hour, the doctor came in and began the process of fixing hubby up. She matter of factly told hubby, "Ok, this is really going hurt," as she began to inject the numbing solution into the wound. And it did. He winced but held in the tears that were quickly forming in his eyes (ok, that's a little stretch but I had to add that comment in for my brother). She then deftly put in six stitches while my goofy hubby informed her that he watches "alot of ER" and that "Dr. Kovatch don't got nothin' on you." The doctor, apparently also familiar with ER, began to laugh and promptly dropped her scissors on the floor. We had to wait for a nurse to bring her a new set and hubby kept his mouth shut for the rest of the stitching.

When she was finally done, I took poor hubby home and then dragged him out to dinner with Gun-Gun. We went to a local brewery that was having a "Peanuts on the Floor" night, so the normal projectiles of chewed food that Gun-Gun likes to disperse, went unnoticed on the dirty floor. After a delicious dinner of greasy goodness, I took him home and put him to bed. It was a good day to have over.

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)