Dysfunctional Housewife

Goodbye Funk. Hello Hope.

2009-02-26T16:34:00.004-07:00

Well, Now that I have depressed the bejeezus out of all 4 of my readers, I thought I would bounce back with a little message of encouragement. But first I must do a little backpeddling to get you up to speed.

GirlyWoman is a chip off her fathers block. She is stubborn, determined, and acts before she thinks. She gets in too deep. She is flighty. And she's been making very bad choices in her life. The last three years have been *hard*. Even harder for us as parents to watch. She did alot of stupid things to try proving her independence, but she wound up regretting most of it. The highlights involve shutting out her family, an unsavory boyfriend, several insane roommates, the possibility of jail time, and a false alarm pregnancy. (not necessarily in that order)

Yep. It's been a trainwreck.

And yet. I see light at the end of the tunnel.

A few months ago, she turned 20. Then she landed a job. A nice job working as a personal assistant and receptionist. She dumped the boyfriend and decided to move into her own place. She paid off her car. She went to mandatory classes and paid a whopper of a fine, to avoid jail. And slowly but surely she is digging herself out. I can't help but feel that she's finally on the right road.

She called me today to tell me that she misses the family, and wants to come home for a few weeks in the summer.

For the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful.

Moments

2009-02-24T16:04:00.008-07:00

Sometimes life throws you one. A moment that blurs your senses and gives you an immediate knee buckling. That adrenaline you feel when you can't find your child in the Walmart and for just a few minutes, time seems to stop and you lose the calmness of reality, and imagine the horror of what could be. Most times the moment is brief and you move on, but other times, it lingers.

In June 2007 our entire town had a moment.

We live in a TINY town. We have a mercantile where little old men sit around drinking coffee in the morning catching up on the local gossip. Our school has less than 300 students even with a combined gradeschool and middleschool. Everyone knows each other. You brush past them at the post office, you see them again later in the day picking up your kids from school. You sit next to them at the games. You are friends, and your children are best friends. Mayberry. Little House. The town in the John Denver songs.

So content it is, that you forget that bad things can happen.

The morning of June 1st seemed lighthearted. GirlyDiva was happy. So was BoyGenius. They trotted off to the school bus without a care. And then, 2 hours later..

The "moment" began.

I called my good friend, whose younger son also attends our school. But before I even spoke, she said "Oh my God - have you heard?!" No... I hadn't heard. "Three girls were killed last night, One of them was in the 7th grade class!"

I was silent. My legs went instantly numb. Because *MY* GirlyDiva was in the 7th grade. And there were only 3 other girls in her class. And of those girls, ONE was her best friend in the world. They were always together.They'd been attached at the hip since 2nd grade. Without thinking I hung up on my friend. My hands began to tremble uncontrollably and I struggled to dial GirlyDivas cell number. I chanted out loud "Please don't let it be Lana, Please don't let it be Lana, Please God, Please don't let it be her." When GirlyDiva answered, she couldn't speak. All I could hear was her gutteral sobbing, and boys & girls in the background screaming and wailing. I didn't have to ask. I knew by the deepness of her sobs- It was Lana. GirlyDiva managed one shaky word: "Mamma."

I raced to the school in 8 minutes flat. There were kids and teachers everywhere, crying and clinging to each other as though it were a crime scene. When I got GirlyDiva in the car, she fell into my arms and wept for what seemed like forever. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to comfort such incredible pain. I couldn't tell her everything would be okay. Because I knew that for her, life would never be the same. I simply whispered "I'm so sorry" into her hair.

As days went by, the horror of the tragedy came further into focus. Lana's family had been driving to California to attend a WEDDING. They were driving on the highway at night, when they slammed into the back of a semi-truck that had pulled over to the side of the road, but not quite far enough. It's trailer was sticking out into the lane with the lights off. Lana's mother didn't even get a chance to apply the brakes. The entire right side of the vehicle was simply sheared off.

Lana, and 2 of her 3 sisters were killed instantly. Lana and Mandy attended 7th and 8th grade. The oldest, Charlene, was preparing to graduate highschool.

Lana's mother who was driving, and the youngest sister age 10, were sitting in the left side of the car. They both survived the crash with barely a scratch.

Imagine it. A little girl, who once had a home filled with the laughter of 4 young girls, is now an only child. Our tiny town grieved for them.

GirlyDiva still cries for the loss of her dear friend. And I cry for GirlyDiva, and the remaining family. I simply can't imagine losing any of my children, but THREE?

I had wondered what I was going to blog about to make up for the time I've been absent. And then today while picking up the BoyKing, I saw the memorial to these beautiful young girls- and I knew.

And then I went to read Lisas Blog. And then Natashas Blog.

And it all seemed appropriate, because it looks like their families are having a moment too.

Amber Alert

2009-02-21T14:19:00.002-07:00

Hey peeps. No I am not dead. Nor have I been kidnapped. No bizarre pickle jar opening accident which left my fingers paralyzed. No..I have been having a SERIOUS case of Seasonal Attitude & Depression. I am so effin SICK of snow. and mud. and more snow. and more mud. It's got me down. and I can't blog when I am depressed.

And now I have a Cold. A bad one. One that easily rivals my Induction flu. It's kicking my Assets. But I will post Monday, I promise. A nice juicy long thought provoking post.

::Hack-hack cough-snot hack-wheeze::

Is It Friday Already?

2009-02-06T13:40:00.012-07:00

● I haven't been able to post this past few days because we had yet another birthday to prepare for. This time for the BoyKing. He turned 5 years old. It makes me a little sad to start seeing the "boy features" popping up on him- my baby is slowly disappearing. He had a great birthday, and the Tweens had a great time decorating for him with streamers and balloons.

● In reference to the above thought- Don't try to bake cupcakes and inadvertently leave out the eggs. It isn't pretty, and your baking pans will thank you later. Just Sayin'.

● To The BoyKings Preschool: My local grocery store has had TWO salmonella "scares" in the last 6 months. One in the produce department, and one in Peanut Butter that the store was actually using in their own baked goods. Are you seriously going to tell me I can't bring homemade cupcakes because store bought cupcakes are *SAFER*? seriously? (Oh wait..Never mind.. I had to buy them anyway because of that whole egg thing.. But next time, You better believe I am going to be really put out about this.)

● GirlyWoman, (whom I rarely mention because even thinking about the trainwreck that is her life right now exhausts me) Called me out of the blue yesterday, and dedicated a song to me. Taylor Swift - Fearless Album - The Best Day. I cried for an hour. She never does things like this. She is possibly the most self serving child on the earth. NOW she's bringing this kind of emotion to the table?! She is trying to kill me. Cause of death? Broken heart.

● Apparently GirlyDiva is now a well known fashion trend setter. EVERYONE in her school is telling her how fabulous her shoes are (you remember..the BELOVED shoes) even with the faded mudstains, she's beating off the admirers with a stick. Here they are.

And last but not least, I have been on my diet since January 7th or so. It's been a month. I have summoned EVERY ounce of strength I have, and aside from the poptart mishap, and the cookie dough debacle and half a piece of Boy Kings Birthday cake I have NOT ingested *ANY* artificial carbs. NONE. If it didn't come from a vegetable, it didn't happen. I have not eaten dairy (aside from cheese) for a month. I have NOT touched a single ounce of chocolate. ZIPPO. And for that, I have lost 2 pants sizes. GO ME!!!
I am wearing a pair of jeans that last month *I could not even GET ON*. And they are even getting loose in the butt. My favorite bra is now about 3 inches too big.
( Slammit, I KNEW those would be the first to go...)

Always Sumthin'

2009-01-29T12:18:00.006-07:00

A delightful morning. That's what it was. The dysd tweens got up in time to make it out the door for the bus without a rush, and there was *NO* morning bickering. A wholesome ~~Toaster Strudel~~ Breakfast was even administered. Peacefully quiet. Then time to wake BoyKing for Pre-school. He woke up in a fantastic mood - he was actually giggling. Got him dressed - easypeasy, even found his shoes in record time. He sat cheerfully and ate his french toast sticks while watching a short segment of Bob the Builder while I finished getting ready to drive him to school.

Oh wait..Have I mentioned that this kind of morning NEVER happens at Dysdhouse?
There is always SOMETHING with the tweens: I can't find my shoes!..Have you seen my hairbrush?! ~ Where's my lunchbox!? ~ Tell her to shuttup!! ~ NO! tell *him* to shut up! ~ Get off my coat! ~ My Strudel was in the toaster FIRST! ~ So what! You're hogging the toaster!

Um..Yeeeeaaaah....

And then there are the mornings where BoyKing flat refuses to even put a sock on. Or wear those pants. Or that shirt.

there. is. always. something.

So anyway.

I am so giddy with the way the morning has turned out. On the drive home, I am so content that I start to tingle.

Wait.. tingle?! There it is again.. Distinct tingling. IN MY UPPER LIP. Oh For Jacksakes. A coldsore??!!

See...there had to be SOMETHING.

Cracker.

Wealthy Women Don't Blog

2009-01-28T15:45:00.005-07:00

Okay Guys. I'm shutting down the blog.
DysdHouse is movin' on up! I've already picked out my Mercedes, and a Hummer for DysdHubby. As soon as all the money gets here, we're sending the dysdchildren to a lovely boarding school nestled in the Swiss Alps. We'll be buying property in London, Bermuda, and perhaps Canada..You know..for the skiing. Goodbye and farewell. Cuz..um..This letter that just arrived to my inbox just HAS to be the real deal.. LOOKIT. It's got all those big official fancy looking words & stuff...And the grammar. WOW. And Barrister? You *have* to know what an official name that is. And besides- I've always felt I had a formerly-unknown-rich-but-dead relative out there that remembered me fondly..

Greetings,

I understand that through Internet is not a best way to link up with you because of the confidentiality which my proposal demands.

However, I have already sent you this same letter one month ago, but I am not sure if it did get to you since I have not heard from you, hence i am constrain to reach you through Internet which has been abused over the years.

I wish to notify you again that You were listed as Heir to the total sum of Three Million Six Hundred Thousand British Pounds in the codicil and last testament of the deceased.(Name now withheld since this is our second letter to you). I contacted you because you bear the surname identity and therefore can present you as the Heir to the inheritance funds.

I therefore reckoned that you could receive these funds as you are qualified by your name identity. All the legal papers will be processed in your acceptance. In your acceptance of this deal, we request that you kindly forward to us your letter of acceptance; your current telephone and fax numbers, bank account number, and a forwarding address to enable us file necessary documents at our high court probate division for the release of this sum of money.

Please indicate your interest immediately for us to proceed. I shall feed you full of details of this transaction upon receipt of your reply towards this proposal.
I look forward to meeting from you.

Yours Faithfully,
Mr. Ben Mark (Barrister)
Telephone +447024058780.

Lick This.

2009-01-26T12:48:00.003-07:00

So there he is, the BoyKing at bathtime. He's frolicking in the suds, pretending that Lightning McQueen has been engulfed in an avalanche. I peek in, ever so spylike, every few minutes to be sure that:

A. He has not decided to move the "scene" into the toilet, which happens to be in easy reach of the bathtub.

and

B. That he does not try to shampoo on his own because he's in this 'I CAN DO EVERYTHING MYSELF' phase. He get's that from his ~~control freak mother~~ daddy.

All is well, and bathtime goes off without a hitch. I tell BoyKing it's time to shampoo and get out.

First, he insists that I check his feet for "granny wrinkles". (apparently if you have no granny wrinkles, it is *not* time to get out of the tub.) Affirmative. Granny wrinkles galore.

I sit down on the toilet lid and lean in with the shampoo and begin scrubbing his adorable little head of hair. (Have you ever noticed that boy hair smells like a wet dog before being shampooed?) I tell him to hold still and keep his eyes shut tight, while I rinse. He giggles as some water drips down into his ear. He pokes a finger in the ear, and waggles it around wet willy style. He squints up at me, sticks the finger in my face, grins and says: "Hey Mommy, Why don't you LICK THIS!"

Ahh..Boys. Ya gotta love 'em.

Random Yakity Smakity

2009-01-22T13:20:00.014-07:00

● Green tea flavor Crystal Light is the EXACT color of pee. I mean. exactly. like pee. yuk. I can't drink it without adding food coloring to it.

● Jack Nicholson is right. NEVER trust a fart. The BoyKing learned that one the hard way today, in his preschool gym time. In his words: "mom! I was standing there having a fart, and all da sudden poop shooted out!!" Needless to say, he's South of the Border.

● GirlyDiva is having a shoe crisis. We went to Ross, and she found the shoes of her dreams. White Canvas Hightops. Quite literally, she kissed them and talked to them, all the way home. Statements ranged from "ohmagosh! These are like, the TIGHTEST shoes evuur!!" to "Mom, can you believe I found these rockin' shoes at Ross?!" Fast forward 24 hours: Front door slams, signaling the arrival of afterschool tweens. Loud shrieks and knashing of teeth follow. "Oh NO!! OHMUGOSH MOM! MOM! Come here quick! I got MUD all over my shoes!!"
You've heard of Georgia red mud right? Well, We invented it here, and sent it to them. It's the kiss of death. Worse than blood and red magic marker..*combined*. I worked on them for hours. To try and at least remove it partially. No. Deal. She is going to be heartbroken. Sigh.

● I kicked DysdHubby out last night. We had an arguement in front of the kids which went like this:

dysdhubby: "BARK YELL BARK ROAR SCREAM YELL GROWL GRUMBLE"

dysdhousewife: "but wait..."

dysdhubby: "YELL SCREAM ROAR ROAR GROWL EXPLETIVE BARK BARK!"

dysdhousewife: "I know, but.."

dysdhubby: "BARK YELL BARK ROAR ANGRYSCREAM YELL GROWL BARK!"

dysdhousewife: "Would you SHUTTUP! Okay fine. I'm done trying to talk to you! You're being an ass and you're out of control in front of the kids!!

dysdhubby: *front door slam* *car door slam*. Speed limit exceeded.

(children weeping, watching tail lights through the window blinds)

dysdhousewife: *calls dysdhubbys' cell* "Don't bother coming home!" click.

He came back three hours later, mumbling something about having nowhere to go. He must have known I was REALLY mad, because he asked me where he should sleep. We've barely spoken. It's not pretty. Limbo- I hate it.

● Oddly enough, I haven't fallen off the wagon since the dough debacle. I've eaten more fish in the last two weeks than oh.. the last 6 YEARS. Lord Help Me. DANG do I need some chocolate.

**UPDATE. Disregard this last statement. I just ate a friggin' blueberry poptart. frack. :::hangs head:::

A Pox On Your Toll House

2009-01-16T15:01:00.003-07:00

I've been coasting. It's been too easy. NO adversity. NO temptation. Satan grew bored with my smug success.

DysdHubby and BoyGenius have a Boyscout camping trip this weekend. They have them once every month.

I *always* make treats for the troop. So, I decided (yes I am that daft) that It would be a great idea to make them some..COOKIES. Whattheheckwasithinking.

Weeeell, ya know the scene in Nemo, where the big shark gets a tiny little whiff of Dorys' blood and all hell breaks loose?

In retrospect, standing above a fresh bowl of tollhouse cookie dough wasn't one of my better ideas. I stood there, staring down at those luscious fluffy peaks of heavenly goodness..and my eyes glazed over...my *inner self* began screaming "Noooo!! Stop!! You can't!! Don't do it!!"

So. I stiffled *inner self* with an enormous dollop of dough, and what ensued can only be described as...Cookiedough Carnage.

It was like starving a Doberman for a month and then tossing him in a cage full of fat little bunnies.

I can't even bring myself to think about the carb count.

The P Factor

2009-01-14T14:40:00.004-07:00

Well. Here's a little tidbit they don't tell you in diet school. You *will* be making more pit stops than a busload of pregnant women drinking cranberry juice.

Previously, I was known as the "family camel". (hey wait..should that offend me?) This is because I can ride in a car for 6-8 hours without even THINKING about peeing. And that's after drinking a soda or two on the trip.

And now, you ask? Russian racehorses ain't got nothing on me. I am constantly in the bathroom. I got up THREE times in the middle of the night. I never get up at night. And it's not just your little "dribble" either. It's GALLONS.

And yesterday.. I sneezed. - and peed myself.

So. Not. Cool.

Diet Update

2009-01-12T14:55:00.004-07:00

You may be wondering how my diet is going. And I can honestly say, I am right on track.

Serious willpower skillz? I haz it.

NARY a processed carb has passed these lips for 5 days. Of course, I am eating a small amount of carbs, in the way of green veggies, but overall.. I am averaging around 15-25 carbs a day. Go on ahead. CHECK a nearby label. I'll wait. Cuz that's a SERIOUSLY low amount of carbs.

I am feeling great. NO hunger whatsoever. All the induction flu symptoms are gone. I am not exactly singing and dancing yet, (you would know, cuz the tremors would be felt into the Florida pan handle) but I've managed to get through this last week, totally cheat free. (There's just that little matter of a body that I need to dispose of)..heh.

Now, if someone could just shut. that. cake. up.

Rehab

2009-01-09T10:42:00.005-07:00

So first, I must thank dear Fairly Odd Mother for bestowing on me my very first ROFL award! Thanks FOM!

Now, on to business. Or should I say torture. As I mentioned, I am dieting. I have chosen the ONLY diet I can do, The Atkins Diet. Why Atkins? Because I recognize a hidden rehab. program when I see one. And well, I *need* rehab. So here's the bad part. For those of you that have not tried a low carb diet, when you abruptly ~~stop taking your drugs~~ stop eating sugar and carbs, you go through WITHDRAWALS. Not just "Oh I really wish I could have a bite of that donut" withdrawals, But full-on "hand it over and nobody gets hurt!!" heroin spins. They call it "Induction Flu".

So, here is what I have resembled for the last three days.

DysdHubby thinks I am dying. LAWDY- I haven't had withdrawals like this since I quit smoking. SERIOUSLY. But.. The good news is, it's finally over. Today, aside from a minor headache, I feel pretty good. AND I had scrambled eggs for breakfast.

New Years Restitution Resolution

2009-01-07T15:09:00.003-07:00

I am fat..FAT FAT FATTY FAT. I can't hide it any more. The big T-shirts aren't cutting it anymore.

I once promised myself (years ago, when fooling myself was easy) that I would absolutely NEVER wear a double digit.

I didn't grow up fat. As a child, I was a stick. I got teased for being too thin. As a teenager, I was a svelt size 5. And for 5'9, that was pretty darn svelt.

Then I had babies. OH lord the sacrifices a mother makes. I got fat WHILE pregnant. And then I got pregnant AGAIN and got even FATTER. And that's when I gave up the promise of never a double digit.

Fast forward a decade and I have two options.

OPTION 1. LOSE WEIGHT NOW. or..

OPTION 2. A new promise: never to wear a double digit that begins with NUMBER TWO. But see, I simply can't *do* option 2. I can't bring myself to OWN this. I can't just be a proud fat girl. I don't have it in me. So option numero uno it is.

As of yesterday I am going Low Carb. I WILL lose weight. I may have to kill several innocent bystanders on the journey, cuz man am I a BEYOTCH without my pie and icecream, but I swear. No carbs shall pass these lips. So. help. me.

It's Here.

2008-12-23T15:13:00.007-07:00

Yes..... According to my little Christmas counter, Christmas is here. So I am posting one last time before I take a couple days off for the festivities.

• The Roast Beast for this year has been decreed. Yea, it shall be ham. All in the land of dysfunction adore ham. I have also learned how to cook it in the crock pot, which means a better feast experience for all, and less cooking hassle. Yay me!

• The birthday kitten. (see below post) You know, the one who looks so cute & innocent? He chewed the sh** out of my christmas lights. ::insert involuntary lip twitch here:: I can't believe we didn't find that little punk fried to a crisp under the tree. He completely severed one strand from it's plug, (mind you, they were plugged in at the time) and, we had to unplug two others because he nearly gnawed them in half - The. Little. Effer.

• We finally got all our Christmas shopping done. After 2 full days and numerous jaunts ~~through the 9th circle of hell~~ in and out of Walmart, Target, Kohls, and Dare I Say It- The Mall, I have just placed myself on the national donor match waiting list, for my impending double foot transplant.

• It snows here. every. freaking. year. You *must* have 4XD in the winter. It never fails- some idiot in a tiny little POS car gets out on the road in a full-on blizzard and manages to get stuck in the middle of the intersection, causing a 5 car pile-up. These Yo-heads are giving the local law-enforcement a migraine, and putting a serious beyotch in my Christmas Cheer. Tire chains people!

And so after much CHAOS, we here at dysfunctional house, are finally housebound. It's all cookies and cocoa from here. Nobody and I mean nobody is going anywhere until well after New Years. So, go on ahead Jack Frost. BRING IT.

OH yeah and to my 2 readers, MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Visa..For Birthdays.

2008-12-15T14:54:00.002-07:00

Cost of Gas to get to the Sizzler Restaurant: $10 dollars.

Dinner & Drinks for 3 Children and 2 Adults: $65 dollars.

Watching my 14 year old DIVA of a daughter squirm like a wet puppy, wishing she could climb right UNDER that table when EVERY Sizzler employee in the place came parading out, clapping and singing at the TOP OF THEIR LUNGS: PRICELESS.

For the full effect, Remove half the people, make the remaining people white and native american..and you've got a pretty good idea of what went down...

OH. YES. I. DID.

The Best Birthday Present EVER!!

2008-12-13T11:03:00.003-07:00

It's official. Let the poop scooping begin.

And YES. This little guy is sporting a big DUBYA on his forhead. Maybe we should we name him George? LOL.

Random Holiday Sniveling

2008-12-11T16:06:00.011-07:00

To the INSANELY ~~hammered~~ intoxicated Navajo man in the dollarstore parking lot:
Heckno. I do NOT have any money for you. First off, it's Christmastime, and I am BROKE. And even if I *did* I would certainly not give it to you, because I know you want to buy a "little Christmas cheer" with it, and...seriously? You're going to die of liquor poisoning if you touch another drop. Also, to effectively mooch around these parts, it's often customary to: open. your. eyes. when speaking to a person. Consciousness is usually something I look for in my holiday panhandlers. FYI- you may want to change your pants, because um..you've peed yourself.

To The WALMART Staff, Suppliers, Owners, Etc. :
(disclaimer - this rant applies to my local Walmart)
YOU. SUCK. That's all there is to it. I have never seen so many lazy people in my life. That teenage girl you have working in the fitting department is a LOSER, and if you are paying her for what she's doing, you might as well give me a paycheck for doing NOTHING too. Also - what the heck happened to the great seasonal merchandise you had last year? Seriously. Half an aisle of gift sets and baskets?! Pft. Last year you had THREE AISLES OF STUFF. And on a side note, NOBODY is buying Hannah Montana products anymore. Except maybe nightgowns. Get. Over. Her. You do realize that most of the town has officially declared your store a CRAPHOLE, and they are all bustling around at TARGET as we speak...you do know that....right? OH. and you have what appears to be a ~~dead~~ heavily sedated man in your shoe department.

To The School Office:
My son is NOT sick. He suffers from occasional low blood sugar, and often feels nauseous and light headed if he doesn't eat regularly. He was running late for the bus this morning and dashed out too fast for me to ~~throw a Toaster Strudel at him~~ feed him a proper breakfast. And his silly teacher won't let him grab a "snack" out of his lunchbox to tide him over until lunch. GIVE him a freakin twinkie for jacksakes and stop calling me.

To The General Public:
How hard can it be to find a KITTEN? I mean Bob Barker isn't THAT effective is he?? IS HE?? I have called 50 some-odd places and NOBODY has any kittens. Not even *the pound* has any kittens..What The? GirlyDiva is going to be very annoyed if one of her birthday presents isn't purring through the wrapping paper.

Holiday Sniveling Fin.

**UPDATE**
YES!! Nener Nener Bob Barker. I have found a kitten! Interestingly enough, the girl who WORKS in the Petsmart Adoption department has kittens at home (Job Security?) They are 9 weeks old, an orange and a grey tabby. NOW I just need to PICK one. I hate choosing. Maybe I will take them both.

Oh Crap.

2008-12-10T15:02:00.003-07:00

I don't know how it happened. A time warp. Black hole. Early Alzheimers. All I know is that I am having a total panic attack because I just realized, (yes literally just now) CHRISTMAS IS IN 14 DAYS!! AARRGGGG!!! I don't have ONE gift purchased yet. I don't have a single card filled out, much less MAILED. Oh. My. Gawd.

::::::dead faint:::::::

Big Strong Hands

2008-12-04T16:46:00.005-07:00

Many of you who used to read my blog, know my childhood was pretty pathetic. Drunk Mother.. Bad influences.. Barely escaped alive.. etc.

I also grew up without a father in my life. There was a strange and blank void where I should have been able to put a face. Most of my friends had fathers. Some of them had awesome fathers. I would jealously watch as they interacting with their dads, watching the relationships, wondering what it must be like. I had a recurring daydream about slipping my tiny hand into a strong fatherly grip, walking alongside a towering figure, knowing that if I happened to stumble, that big strong hand would instantly whisk me up, and gently set me right again. Oh how I longed for that.

As the years passed, I got older and learned to ignore those feelings. Instead I became bitter. I pictured the day when I would tell my father how much I hated him for leaving me all alone to try and survive with a drunk and broken woman that could barely manage standing straight, much less put forth any parenting skills. I pictured a verbal revenge. Scathing, hateful words that would bring him to his knees begging for my fogiveness.

And then....then I found my husband. My dear sweet DysdHubby. And we had children. I began witnessing what a true and tender father really was. Slowly the angry revengeful feelings were replaced once again with those pangs of longing and jealousy that I had felt as child. And yet I know I can't turn back time. My childhood is long over. I have since found my father, but it has been terribly bittersweet. Yes, I have a face to fill in the void. But still, I will never feel the grip of my Daddy holding my hand as I walk alongside him, feeling his loving strength as we walk. But Gosh Darnit. My children will. And somehow that gives me peace.

Of being too noisy

2008-11-24T13:23:00.004-07:00

Last night after getting the kids to bed, Dysdhubby and I settled onto the couch for some much needed potato-ing. We decided to watch our latest recorded episode of The Unit. (mighty fine show I might add)

But wait, let me digress a moment to say that Dysd hubby has had ~~raging pneumonia~~ a small cough the last few days.

So as we began watching our show, every few minutes it would creep up on him.. 'hack-hacka-cofcofcof' followed by some interesting throat clearing sounds. After a few of these "coughing interuptions" I grinned big and playfully teased him with "Good grief, you sure are being AWFULLY noisy arenchu?, I am TRYING to watch this show ya-know." He laugh-coughed and we settled back in. And Then..

FWWWAAAARRRPPPYY FWAAAAPPYY FAAAAARP FAAAAAAAARP.

Oh. my. gosh. I ripped one. A BIG LOUD ONE. In fact, somewhere in Canada a cow turned their head in startled amazement.

Myself surprised at the sheer force of it, I quickly donned my "whoa- how did that get in there" face, and looked over at Dysdhubby. Without even glancing in my direction, (and totally deadpan) DysdHubby stated: "seems to me YOU'RE the one with the 'noisy' problem around here."

After another brief moment of silence, we laughed our dysfunctional butts off.

I'm Thankful For: Preschool

2008-11-18T10:28:00.007-07:00

At the ~~ridiculous~~ tender age of 17, I gave birth to my first child, GirlyWoman. (Do you KNOW how stupid it feels to have people mistake your baby for your sister? OIY.)

So later on, I had two "planned" kids, and then we had a little "surprise". (Oh, you know the kind.. The ones that make you crawl behind the toilet while you grip a small pee-stained stick, sobbing, and begging: "Why Lord WHY?!?!" Yeah. that kind.)

Now GirlyWoman is a mere month away from her 20th birthday. Man I feel sooo old... Anyway- This is the *first* year of part time pre-school for the BoyKing. He goes twice a week. So you could say this is my first taste of FREEDOM from children in.. Oh, TWENTY YEARS. Please don't get me wrong. I LOVE my kids. I LOVE being a mom. But-

Silence. Is. So. Sweet.

Call 911

2007-04-16T10:20:00.001-07:00

:::opening scene - DysdHousewife walks out of bedroom Sunday morning, to find BoyGenius watching cartoons:::

DysdHousewife: "Hey buddy, what's up?"

BoyGenius: "Hey mom, just watching TV" (Glances towards his mom)

(BoyGenius does moviestyle doubletake)

BoyGenius: "GOSH MOM what's wrong with your HEAD?!"

DysdHousewife: "Whadya mean?"

BoyGenius(moves closer to get a good look): "WOW What *IS* that thing?!! It looks like you GOT SHOT in the head or somethin!!"

Dysd Housewife: "Shuddup."

Niiice.

Mt. Zituvius

2007-04-13T14:15:00.001-07:00

There's big news on the scientific front today readers. A previously undisturbed, dormant Volcano has been discovered in Northern Arizona. Unfortunately, it seems to have increased it's seismic activity dramatically, and the evidence strongly suggests that at the current rate of growth, a violent eruption is eminent. The local authorities are evacuating a 100 mile radius of the eruption site:

Dead-Center of DysdHousewife's FOREHEAD.
Right. Between. The Freakin'. Eyes.

For Jacksakes people~ I am THIRTY-SOMETHING. I haven't had a zit of this magnitude, since Michael Jackson had a fat nose. Somebody pass the proactiv. I'm calling my lawyer.

GOT BUGS?!

2007-04-05T09:42:00.001-07:00

Why yes indeedy. I do in fact, have bugs. Let me preface this with the fact that I keep my house fairly clean. Aside from various matchbox cars, tank-engines, and a Nintendo gamecube that resides in the middle of my living-room floor, the main areas are somewhat tidy. (disclaimer: All juvenile domains i.e. bedrooms, are outside the guaranteed cleanliness perimeters - enter at your own risk.) I am somewhat picky about my kitchen, and I clean out my cupboards every few months and I even line them with contact paper. Mee Soo Tideey.
So, the other day when I saw 2 teensy brown beetles in my living-room window sill, I thought, hmm. they must be coming in from outside. I mean, I did recently spend most of the day with the front door wide open due to Someones Norwegian Grandfather. When I noticed a few more beetles in another window sill, I still didn't think much of it. But last night while watching our evening episode of CSI, DysdHubby reached over and said "hey look, a hitch-hiker" And sure enough, there was yet ANOTHER tiny little brown beetle making it's way through a forest of my mans arm hair. Now I was irritated. Climb on my window sill, no problemo. Climb on my HUSBAND, and you're messing with the wrong housewife. Upon closer inspection I noted that these things LOOKED like some type of pantry *weevil*. OH NICE. So I got on the internet and did a quick search, and discovered that I have "warehouse weevils". Oh and did I mention that it's not really a good idea to do a search on creepy crawly things right before you are going to BED? Needless to say, I got up bright and early to start tearing my entire kitchen apart, trying to figure out where these little buggers were coming from. Then I found them. I had forgotten about a big box of dried soup mix I had put in a bottom cupboard. It was like a 5 Star Weevil Resort. Hundreds of beetles, sprawled out in their tiny little hammocks, sipping on tiny little umbrella drinks.

I KILLED THEM ALL. EVEN THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN.

Backdraft: The Sequel

2007-03-29T17:46:00.001-07:00

Yesterday morning I was sitting at the computer. DsydHubby had already left for work and the wind was kicking up outside. From the direction of my woodstove, I hear strange unfamiliar noises. Something reminiscent of... an old jalopy backfiring? So I turn to look, just in time to see SMOKE puff out of every seam and crack in our woodstove. Door, pipe seams, ash pan, ceiling connector- SMOKE. COMING. OUT. So, I get up and stand there for a moment staring in disbelief at the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. I snap out of it, figuring it's just a backdraft. No big deal, all I need to do is get the fire going stronger, so it's burning cleaner, and voilà! No more smoke. right? I casually swing open the door to get a closer look. SMOKE!! COPIUS AMOUNTS OF BILLOWING SMOKE!! Enveloped in an instant cloud, I blindly feel for the handle and slam the door shut. The Stove, apparently scorned by my hasty slamming of it's orifice, begins to pulsate and puff intensely - rather like someone's Norwegian grandfather stoking up a pipe full of imported Copenhagen. HOLY MOTHER OF CRACKER!! SMOKE. IS. FILLING. THE. HOUSE. I open the front door. Smoke pours out. The draft from the front door begins PULLING more smoke *out* of the stove.

ARGHHH!! I Scoop up BoyKing, rush him to his room, shut the door..I return to find the stove continuing it's Norwegian grandfather impersonation. Wait. Was that beeping sound...? AGH! MY EARS! EVIL PIERCING BEEPING NOISE! (yes indeed, our smoke alarms REALLY do work, and *simultaneously* to boot...) Finally, I did what any sensible hillbilly woman in my position would do.

I skillfully plucked each log from the stove using a pair of barbeque tongs and an oven mitt, and tossed them like a plateful of Bananas Foster, out into the driveway. And NOW my house smells like a slow roasted campfire. Marshmallows anyone?

Dirty Hairy

2007-03-29T11:35:00.002-07:00

{{Opening Scene}}
DysdHousewife stands outside school library, banging fists on door wildly~ "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" ::more banging:: "Who in the name of CRACKER gave my daughter this FREAKIN BOOK??!!" ::more banging::

I have answered more questions related to puberty than I care to describe. But this last one is worth blogging about. My daughter is no stranger to the um.. "wankie". My uncircumcised four year old, strolls nude through our house once or twice a week, without inhibition. We have often discussed the musings of the "wankie" And yet, inquiring minds want to know..

GirlyDiva: "Mom, do all girls grow hair in their armpits?"
DysdHousewife: "Yes Honey they do, It's part of puberty."

GirlyDiva: "I think it's stupid to grow hair there."
DysdHousewife: "I know honey, but you can shave it."

GirlyDiva: "So.. Do we grow hair anywhere else?"
DysdHousewife: *trying to disguise smirk with serious informative expression* "Yes we sure do."

GirlyDiva: *slightly alarmed look* "You mean DOWN THERE?"
DysdHousewife: "Yeppers. DOWN THERE." *bagging informative expression, now smirking openly*

GirlyDiva: *Long Pause* "EWWWWWwwww! Thats Gross."
DysHousewife: "It's really not THAT bad.."

GirlyDiva: *Much longer pause, accompanied by 'epiphany face'*
DysdHousewife: "Whats the matter?"

GirlyDiva:"Does that mean BOYS GROW HAIR THERE TOO???!!"
DysdHousewife: *snorts out loud- coughing to regain composure*

GirlyDiva: "OH SICK it *does* doesn't it??!! well THAT is JUST NASTY!!"
DysdHousewife: "Well they don't actually grow hair ON it..just sortof..AROUND it." *more snickering*

GirlyDiva: "GAH! I am so NEVER getting married ~ EVER!!" ::stomps off to bedroom::
DysdHousewife: *No longer able to withstand hilarity and begins giggling hysterically*

Blume To Blame

2007-03-29T11:33:00.001-07:00

It's clear to me who's at fault for GirlyDiva's sudden epiphany regarding the Saggy Sisters. (please read previous post for the full story) When she plopped herself on the couch last night with the classic read "Are you there God, it's me Margaret" I knew immediately why her 'super puberty senses' took quick note of my distasteful Bra-less-ness. I haven't seen this book in decades, and only remembered bits and pieces of it from when I read it WAY back in the day. I re-read it last night just for fun. Ahhh..the adrenaline of youth. The glory of discovering womanhood. The countless repitition of the word "menstruate". And wow..did you ladies that are in your golden years REALLY have to wear that whole belt and pin sanitary napkin get-up? Good Lordy what a nightmare.

That's Just Bra-wful

2007-03-29T11:29:00.001-07:00

I am sure it's no surprise, that I am a creature of comfort. I like my PJ's and I like my bathrobe, and the more time I can spend in them, the better. I also detest BRAS. They were clearly designed by someone who has never NEEDED boob support. With this in mind, I have gotten into the habit of traipsing around Comando Style in the privacy of my own home. Yes folks, I take my bra off at the door. (If there is a ever a contest for bra removal while keeping your shirt on, I WILL win.) Sadly enough, it's not the purtiest sight to see. I HAVE given birth to four children afterall. So, the other night I was standing at the stove, minding my own P's and Q's, stirring the chicken stew for the evenings meal. Along comes GirlyDiva to do her usual drive-by dinner inspection. (if it's something she likes, she will skip through the kitchen and loudly proclaim "I CAN'T WAIT TIL DINNER". If it's something she *doesn't* like, she will stomp through same said kitchen and proclaim "I AM SO NOT EATIN' THAAAT.") So, she saunters up and stands next to me for a moment. I brace for the proclamation. Nothing. I look at her. Her usual food inspection look has been replaced by another expression entirely.. Something like.. *kid who just walked in on his 90 year old grandmother getting out of the shower* Face? Suddenly she squeals in terror: "EWWW MOM THATS SO GROSS!! YOU'RE NOT WEARING A BRA -ARE YOU?!!" To which I respond with this face:
She then runs shrieking to her room, and slams the door. I dunno bout you, but I'm guessing she won't be buggin me about whats for DINNER for a while... Heh.

Tank Engines Among Us

2007-03-29T11:24:00.005-07:00

Well, I have to blog about our youngest: The BoyKing. He is shall I say, The Golden One. The Light Of Our Lives. In short, he lived through something unspeakably awful in the first few months of his life, and so now everyone in the family dotes on him as though he is in immediate line for throneship. Alas, he is also..in need of a 12 step program for Thomas tank engine addiction. Of course, we can only be considered the best ~~enablers~~ parents since we purchased him the LARGEST train track set we could find as a Christmas gift last year. He dotes on his tank-engines as beloved family members. He brings them to bed, brings them to the dinner table, knows each by name, and he brings one with him EVERYWHERE he goes. James. James is RED. James is the MAN. Ask him to deny ALL but one, and James is the winner each & everytime. Don't even *THINK* about leaving without James, because there *WILL* be hell to pay.

So anyways..
Usually DysdHubby gets out of the house for work before BoyKing gets up. Yesterday he didn't make it. He piddled around, and sure enough out comes BoyKing rubbing the sleep from his eyes. DysdHubby HATES to say goodbye to the BoyKing. The scene is usually something like:
DADDY DON'T GOOOO!!! PWEEEZE!! NOOO!! ::SLOBBER-SNORT-BAWL:: ::TEARS STREAMING:: **NOOOOO STAY**
Okay, you get the idea, it is not a pretty picture. So. After much negotiations on DysdHubby's part, the BoyKing agreed to let him go to work. He wipes his tiny tearstreaked face and suddenly, his eyes widen, and he runs to his bedroom. DysdHubby and I exchange shoulder shrugs. BoyKing emerges with his treasured James. He commands Daddy: "Pick Me Up". Daddy obeys, scoops him up and sighs: "Sweetie, I really have to go". Sniffling, BoyKing gingerly opens Daddy's coat, locating the secret inside pocket. He gently nestles James into the pocket, looks deep into his daddies eyes, and softly says "You take James with you...Okay?" And we are suddenly reduced to a collective pile of Dysfunctional mush. And James? He got an exciting day trip vacation, via First Class Coat Pocket.

We're Loafing And We Can't Get Up

2007-03-29T11:24:00.003-07:00

Saturday was the laziest day *EVER* at Dysfunctional House. It was FREEZING outside, and the woodstove was creating a cozy-cabin-feeling in the house. So, as a family we declared it National Couch Potato Day. We dragged out all the featherdown throws, and chose our respective zones on the sofa. Except for GirlyDiva who championed the scrimmage with BoyGenius, for the coveted Lazyboy Chair. BoyKing staked a claim in the corner of the sofa, with extra acreage for Thomas Tank Engine & "family". The only activity that followed was an occasional Amber Alert for the remote control, a single request to "smack Dad wouldja", due to dangerously high snoring decibels, and a small but heated debate over who's turn it was to go get more snacks. After watching 6 episodes of CSI Miami, we unanimously voted NAY against a 'traditional' dinnertime.(that of course would mean vertical positioning.) So instead we paused the DVR made a pilgrimage to the kitchen for leftovers. BoyGenius then cunningly won the second scrimmage for the Lazyboy. And then..after watching Captain Jack Sparrow get taken out by a Sea Monster..We did the only thing left to do..we all went to bed..

"Get To Know Me" Post

2007-03-28T14:36:00.003-07:00

So you found yourself here at my Blog. The place where I ~~whine and complain~~ discuss the finer points of my life.

I am a SAHM to 2 tweens, and a Pre-K. I am also momma to a very "spirited" 20 year old girl (woman) who currently lives in another state.

Okay, so why the Blog name? Several reasons. First, I AM indeed the product of a very dysfunctional life- absent father, "functioning alcoholic" mother, no siblings; all the fixin's of a trainwreck. By age 14, I was in more trouble than your average "girl gone wild". Yet, I am very proud to say- I broke the cycle. I cleaned up my life, got married, had kids, STAYED married (so far ha.) and as they say~ the BUCK stops here.

Second reason for the blog name: June Cleaver does NOT exist. If you ask me, we are all in one way or another, somewhat dysfunctional. I am a good mom, and my kids are loved and cared for. But like most of today's mothers, I have much more going on than baking cakes. In my opinion, anyone that looks like they are keeping it together as well as Mrs. Cleaver, is either lying or taking prescription medication.

Real moms have periods and get irritable. Occasionally we forget to make the kids do homework. We utilize McDonalds and Wendys to their fullest Value Menu potential, and sometimes yes, we let our kids eat junkfood. We've put shoes on our kids *without* their socks, because we were in a hurry. We often have a sink full of dishes, and baskets full of dirty laundry. (And hey let's be honest, some of us like myself, don't even have it in a basket.) We spend a great deal of time in our cars doing chauffeur service, and thus they have an interesting "lived in" look, complete with french fries and crayons ground into the upholstery..This my friends is the life of a REAL mother. It's not glamorous. But if you are willing to embrace it, you will be rewarded with the occasional "warm & fuzzy" feeling of satisfaction, and the opportunity to claim you survived the gauntlet of motherhood.