Friday Flip Offs 7-15

I didn't plan to Flip shit off today, but DAMMIT, I have to!

Don't know what Friday Flip Offs are? Well. What I do is post my grievances on Friday so that I can enjoy the weekend, hopefully guilt free. Yah? Yah. OK - so join in if you want. Grab a button. I'll even try to get that linky working again. [not the most technically sophisticated kid here.]

<br /><center><a href="http://mommakiss.blogspot.com"><img src="http://i957.photobucket.com/albums/ae54/mommakiss/2010badgefridayflipoff2.png" /></a></center><br />



So my only flip off today?

TO MYSELF! My kid lost his 5th tooth yesterday. He's now lost 3 on top, 2 on the bottom. And he knows the tooth fairy routine. [Check this pic of the day he lost his first toof - he's fucking cute.]

Anyway. We use a super special dish for the teeth. It's from Mr. Kiss' gramma, it's the perfect size and we put it on the dresser. Who the hell fishes for teeth under a pillow? Jeesh. So he went to bed, excited about getting money. And then so did I.

I heard him wake up, heard the glass dish open, heard it close and smacked my forehead.

I. Forgot. To Put. The Money in.

Mind you, Mr. Kiss could have done it himself. But he didn't. So we both forgot. But WTF, there's another Flip Off. WHY is it that I take all the guilt? Whatever.


The thing is, this kid is such a schmoopy happy boy. He's generally well behaved. And he is SO into this crap. The tooth fairy, Santa, The Elf on the Shelf, Easter Bunny. Cripes, I could create a fictional person like a Master Pooper Scooper or something and he would probably believe in it.

And that is magical to me.

And I fucked up.

My solution to this fuck up is to recruit a friend [Thank You Poppy] to call my phone today and leave a message pretending to be the tooth fairy, saying she was sorry and too busy or something. I'll play that message for Big Kiss later on when I pick him up. Hopefully he buys it - and bet your ass he's getting double tonight.

There. I do feel a little better. A little. Tell me it's ok, even if you have to lie to me.


If this works, feel free to link up! I promise to visit - love me some Flips!

Happy Birthday Bro's

Today I'm re-posting something that I wrote 2 years ago. 2 years ago to the day. Today is weird for me. It's Father's Day. And I am glad that my children have a kick ass father. And Mr. Kiss has a kick ass father. And we celebrated them. But I don't really remember my father. My 3 older brothers were more "father figures" than anything. I miss my brothers. And so I'm sharing this from 2 years ago - the new words just wouldn't come today...

###

42 years ago, my brother K was born. He was the 3rd of my mother's eventual 6 children.

On his 9th birthday, while he tried to enjoy a day at the lake, he instead got the gift of a little brother. Yep, my bro P, the 6th kid, ruined K's birthday. Or made it the best b-day ever, I'm not sure, I was little.

I'm the 5th of 6 kids. P and I were thick as thieves when we were little. Our 4 older siblings were each two years apart, wait six years, I'm pretty sure I was 'whoops' then Momma had P to keep me company. We were the 'little' kids. The babies. Our siblings took care of us, teased us, threw us around, taught us, parented us.

When I was a senior in high school, Momma had an amazing opportunity for a new job. It was midway through the school year - my senior year - and there was NO way I wanted to move. So, in a decision I know must have been so hard for her - she let me and P stay - alone - in our house and moved 3 hours away because this job just wouldn't wait.

I worked part time, drove P around to his sports and such. I had my first experience with being a 'mom' even tho I'm not sure I was very happy about it. But it was the best choice for us. It was a family decision. And P and I made it through.

The next year he was Junior in HS and moved to live w/ Mom, while I moved to Montana to live w/ my sister. I worked 3 jobs, enjoyed being free, and 'sewed some oats' before deciding I didn't want to work like that for the rest of my life so I moved back close to home and started college.

One Monday morning, a cold cold January morning, P went for a ride with his girlfriend. Turns out, it was the last ride of his life. He was 17. He was a senior in high school. He was too young.

I was in college, on winter break, actually, staying w/ a friend. Mom had to track me down. Actually the sheriff tracked me down because my mother was understandably not well.

The past 16 years have been - well - they've been.

Sadly, life moves on. I got married, without my little brother present. My husband didn't get to meet P - my best friend on earth. I had kids, without my little brother present. My kids don't know their Uncle P - in person. My first son is named for my brother, yet he'll never know, really know, what kind of guy he was. He'll hear more and more stories, but because of some icy roads and a mini-van driver not paying attention, he only has pictures of his Uncle.

Thankfully, I'm not sad today. Today I remember my brother and remember his birthdays growing up. I also think of my older brother, and wonder if his birthdays have ever been the same. He had to share from the time he was 9. And since 1994, is he reminded that his kid brother should be celebrating w/ him? I don't know.

I called my mom today. I plan to call K later. And I will sing Happy Birthday to my brothers, both of them.

Love you P! Hope God gives you lots of free time today!

###

Today P would be 35. K is 44. Happy Birthday Brothers. One on earth and one with God. I love you both.

Let's talk about waxing

Let’s talk about waxing.

No, not waxing poetic. Not that. The hot wax that rips the hair off of your body.

That waxing.

I should preface this by saying I’m blond. And not particularly, um, hairy. Ok? Got that?

But I do like to trim the bushes, ya know? I do not like rockin’ the pizza slice. And I used to do it by myself. Then one day a new family moved into the neighborhood and the ‘established’ ‘hood mommas invited this new momma over for drinks. New Momma is Irish. Doesn’t everyone just want to sit and listen to that Irish brogue for hours? Well I could. Long story short, on the very evening that we met, I had to share the story of how I had an “incident” shaving down below.

She asked me to expand. Fine – I sliced right up my labia. I did. And it bled like a motherfucker. And then I had to wash off the shaving cream. And I screamed like a banshee. Twice.

As she watched me with that “I’m fucking horrified face,” I thought I was a goner. She’s probably thinking Who are these people and why am I in her basement? But no – she then told us that she’s an esthetician. Has been schooled by Elizabeth Grady. Since having her twins, she doesn’t work there anymore, but does offer services out of her home. And she said she’d help me so that I’d never be slicing and dicing my lady bits, ever again.

Now that’s the definition of a new friend. Sign me up.

Of course, after signing up, you have to wait a while. I had to let it grow. Out. A lot. I had the pizza slice. I hated it. Every time I’d see Irish, I’d say “Will you come check, is it long enough yet?” Yah, she was SO happy she befriended me. She’s wicked cool, though. Didn’t mind checking. Heh.

Finally the day arrived where I was to experience my first ever waxing. We planned to have dinner, too – you know, foreplay before she lured me to the basement to commence the hair ripping.

I was quite impressed with the set up. She has that big chair that you lie down on (the kind like when you get a facial), wax heating, gloves. All professional and stuff. I’m not typically shy by any means, and wasn’t on this night either, but I was a bit afraid of the actual ripping part. The pain of it.

Which is why I had 3 glasses of wine and a Percocet.

Didn’t feel a thing.

She chatted the whole time which also helped the situation. I’m telling ya, that brogue. She could have asked me to watch her kids for 3 weeks and I’d probably have said yes. Instead she just kept asking questions while applying melted wax to my hoo hah. I’d answer and then she’d peel that wax right off all quick like. Then, poof. Gone. Easy peasy.

Anywax, I see her quite often – for non ‘appointment’ type fun stuff. Our kids hang out. We do lunch. We’re very good friends. And when I need a touch up, I just pop in and we get it done.

Well.

This last time, the only way we could mesh our schedules was to have a playdate. Ok, whatever, no problem. 4 children 6 and under? They can keep themselves busy for 15 minutes right?

We go to the basement – and her set up has changed a bit – they’re redoing the room, so the chair is in the unfinished part. You know, like bare walls, stuff hanging around. Dangling lights. Well I’m all unclothed from the waist down, she’s going at it, ripping and I’m all doing the “sssssss” thing thru my teeth and grabbing the side of the chair. We’re almost done, when she noticed a small ingrown hair, and because she’s a professional and all, she couldn’t leave it be. So she was extracting that. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but I know out is better, so I screetched “just get it out!”

my view: [yes, that's my knee]

And then.

My 3 year old walked in.

Just as I’m all tense and laying naked on a chair and Irish is bent over me with gloves on and the room is bare and the dangly lights. He stared at me for a minute, saw some blood, stared at me again and then started screaming. A crying scream. “What is she doing to your Not Penis?**!” “I’m SKERD!” GAWD! I had to tell him that I was ok, that I had a boo boo that Irish was helping me with, that I was not hurt.

Oh lord, do I have enough savings for this child’s therapy? I doubt it. Seriously doubt it.

Especially because he still asks to see my boo boo on my ‘not penis.’



**click that link, it's damn funny

Have yourself a Happy Halloween, y'all!

Seriously (p.i.n.t.)

stick 'em up w/ supahmommy