PMDD Can Suck It

I have PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder).

I have read that PMDD is PMS times a zillion.

That was a quote from a doctor, not someone who suffers from PMDD.

I quite agree with that doctor.

Actually, I think that doctor is an absolute genius.

Today my PMDD is rearing its big, fat, ugly head.

You may have heard of the funny meanings of PMS; Pass My Shotgun, Pester My Spouse, Potential Murder Suspect.

But what about PMDD?

Popping My Depression Drugs, Pardon My Detestable Demeanor, or Probable Murder; Downright Defendable seems most fitting.

It's days like this that make me totally okay with the fact that some animals eat their young and certain insects kill their mates.

The Incident

Mr. Schmitty and I are lucky enough to have really, REALLY great friends. Our best friends, specifically, well, we'd be lost without them.

Now, to backtrack a bit, the relationship we have with this couple has a history. And before any of you start grinning, get your minds outta the gutter....we don't "SWING" that way.

Mr. Schmitty and Mr. F. have been best friends since they were young children. Their families were close and they pretty much grew up together.

I met Mr. Schmitty the summer before Senior year of high school. I met Mr. F. the same summer, however, on a different occasion. We talked, they talked, we found out we all knew each other, small world, blah, blah, blah.

I then dated Mr. F. for about a year and a half. We attended the Senior Prom together. Mr. Schmitty, who was not only Mr. F's best friend, but had become mine, went to the Senior Prom with MY best girl friend in high school.

We liked to keep each other close.

So, long story short......Mr. F. and I broke up, he dated his now wife, I started dating Mr. Schmitty (but not for quite a few years later), we got married, they got married, we all hung out, Mrs. F. and I became best friends, they had kids, we had kids, they became my son's Godparents, my kid's love their kids, their kid's love mine, blah, blah, blah.

Now? We spend a lot of time together. We are like a big family.

Sometimes though, no matter how close you are to your family, you keep certain things quiet, right? I mean there are plenty of things you wouldn't want whispered about, at say, Thanksgiving dinner.

Get my drift?

I share a lot about the antics of the Schmitty Clan on this blog. Plenty of those things are embarrassing. My motto is, if you can't laugh at yourself, or make fun of your family, what's the point?

I do, however, keep a few topics locked up. You know the saying, "Zip it, lock it, and put it in your pocket." I mean my MOTHER reads my blog. There are shenanigans that go on, that I really don't want her reading about. And I'm sure she'd rather not burn her eyes with the details of particular situations in mine and Mr. Schmitty's life.

Be that as it may, there are times when I get together with my best friend, and after the wine begins to pour and pour and pour, there comes a moment that I begin to say too much. I begin to over share.

I believe the terminology is TMI.

Before you know it, the two of us are laughing hysterically like we are twelve years old and I kind of wish I had stopped at that last glass of White Zinfandel. Maybe then I could have kept my trap shut (no pun intended).

I tell her to keep it to herself. I KNOW she won't. I KNOW that she's going to tell her hubby. It's not that I don't trust her or that she's betraying me. It's just that it's too darned funny not to!

Hell, I'd tell Mr. Schmitty if roles were reversed.

The secret that I will not EVER reveal here. I don't care how much you beg and plead, has been dubbed "The Incident".

My friends suggested I write about it on my blog. I don't think they thought I would. Tee Hee.

"The Incident" is brought up in conversation constantly. No matter what is being discussed, one of us will eventually say, "Oh, I thought you were talking about The Incident!" or "Must we always go back to The Incident?"

I'm thinking of trademarking the name, you know, like Mike "The Situation" did.

So, unless I find new best friends, I believe I will be hearing about "The Incident" until I'm 80 years old, whether I want to or not.

As for you who are reading this, just take my advice, never turn your back. You just never know when "The Incident" will sneak up on YOU!

Me? Versatile? Who Woulda Thunk It?

Through blogging I have "met" a lot of people over the past few years. Some of these people I have come to consider friends.

I know that we've been told to be careful when "talking" to strangers on the Internet. And I am.

I don't give out my address and other vital, personal information to just any random stalker/serial killer. I'm very picky.

Hey, it's just the way I am.

There are a select few women that I have come to love. And, seriously, I am not worried that they are lying about their identities.

I don't believe they are actually big, fat, hairy, men just looking for a victim. I don't envision them sitting behind their computer screens sweating and Tweeting to me as they play our eleventy-thousandths Words With Friends game.

How could they be? We have been bantering back and forth for a few years now, so if they wanted to come murder me, well, THAT would have been done a long time ago.

RIGHT?!

*looks over shoulder*

Anyway, I learned last week that one of those women likes me too. She really does!

And how do I know this? She has bestowed unto me this award!


Mrs. Priss of The RHOK (The Real Housewives of Oklahoma) aka Jonni Baloney of That's Baloney picked me! And I was at the top of the list! No more last kid picked for the kickball game for me.

No, not me, I was numero uno.

SQUEEEEEE!

You see Mrs. Priss, along with Mrs. Albright aka Dawn of Dawn's Diversions makes me want to uproot from Jersey and move to Oklahoma. I heart them that much!

Okay, who sounds like the stalker now? MUAAAHHHAHHHA!

Ahem.

Well, back to the award. Thank you Mrs. Priss (which really? I'm not sure is an accurate pseudonym. You should SEE some of the words she uses playing WWF!).

I shall now wind this post up by fulfilling my awards requirements.

I must tell you 7 truths about myself.

1. I married my best friend; after I dated half of his friends, back in the day. Gross, right?
   
2. I have a huge fear of sharp objects, especially aluminum can lids. I hate using a can opener and seeing that sharp edge of the lid. I immediately imagine slicing open a finger or two. Maybe I died tragically in a previous life while making tuna salad.
3. I once was robbed, at gunpoint, while I worked as a bank teller. Ironically, after posting #2, I am NOT afraid of guns and am actually a pretty good shot.
   
4. It took me 5 years to conceive my first son and 4 1/2 years to conceive my second son, both with the help of fertility doctors, medication, and procedures. It took me exactly 6 weeks to conceive my daughter. She and son #2 are 10 months apart. You do the math.
   
5. I love Rocher Candy. I would love one or a baker's dozen right about now.
6. I have both PCOS and PMDD. I tell my husband, monthly, that he is not to "eff" with me during certain weeks of the month because I could totally use my condition as a defense in court. Did I also say I love Rocher Candy? Oh, and that I'd like some right now? CAN'T SOMEONE JUST GET ME SOME EFFING CANDY?!!
   
7. I don't know how to accept compliments. I usually blush and get totally embarrassed. You can't see it, but my face is a total shade of pink. But then again, that could just be the hot flashes.
   

I shall now pay forward my award to 7 bloggers:

1. Kimberlee at Autism Mommy - Therapist and I went to the same high school. She has two young sons on the spectrum. She? Is a strong, amazing woman. I am in awe.
2. Audrey at I'm Barking Mad is an inspiration. She has been to hell and back and is now in the process of trying to focus on herself. She has touched my heart with her story.
3. Liz at This Full House is my fellow Joisey girl. Need I say more? She ROCKS!
4. Meleah at Momma Mia, Mea Culpa is another Joisey girl that I adore. Heeeeey guuuurl ~ Fist Pump!!
5. Christy at Tiddly Inks is a very, VERY talented lady. I believe her work should be seen in books, on store shelves, and EVERYWHERE in between.
6. Jonni Baloney at That's Baloney (how could I NOT include her personal blog?) is a lady I want to become BFF's with over drinks, lots and lots of drinks. I know we'd have laughs a plenty.
   
7. Dawn at Dawn's Diversions would have to join Baloney and I because I would not feel complete without her. Yes, Dawn....you complete me.

And there you have it. Be sure to tell me YOUR 7 truths!

Flip Flops Should Come With A Disclaimer

This is not the post I set out to write today. I was going to write about (i.e. mock) one of my children. But apparently, there is some bitch named Karma out there and she cut me off at the pass.

So, seeing as I am totally able to ridicule myself as well as I can the next guy, I am changing the subject of today's post.

No matter what my kids may say, I am fair.

This morning started out glorious. The kids got ready for school on time AND without me even so much as threatening to beat them. The sun was shining and it was a cool 63 or so degrees.

Perfect walking weather.

My two younger ones grabbed their backpacks and I slipped on my flip flops.

(cue music: dun-dun-dun)

We headed out the door, stopping once to pick up our neighbors, before continuing on our way.

My daughter and her best friend, holding hands, frolicked ahead of us. They were greeted at the corner by their third BFF and their group was complete. The "Bad Girls", as they have declared themselves, (that, my friends, is another post entirely) skipped ahead not caring if we were still behind them or not.

My friend and I chatted, as T. walked along beside me. We approached the school and that's when it happened.

Do you know when you watch TV and you see someone falling in slow motion? Think of that as I describe this scene.

The toe of my *$#%! flip flop caught on the small rise of the *$#%! *$#%! sidewalk. I felt myself beginning fall.

No wait. I caught myself.

No wait. I didn't.

WHAM! I fell on the right side of my body. My side, right below my ribcage hit the pavement. I think I bounced. There is something to be said for extra weight around your middle. Next, somehow, I flipped and I rolled right into the street next to the curb.

Did you think about that in slo-mo? No? Read it again, I'll wait.

Funnier, wasn't it?

Now, besides our Principal, there are only three other men in our school. As luck would have it, all three of those men stand directing the buses into the parking lot, IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO WHERE I MADE AN ASS OF MYSELF FELL.

The gym teacher and his assistant (a young and very CUTE one) ran to my side and asked me if I was okay. I went to speak, I couldn't. The wind had been completely knocked out of me. I tried again. Nothing.

All I could think about was whether or not the new gym teacher would have to give me mouth to mouth resuscitation my son who was standing there staring at me. I didn't want him to be any more afraid than he already seemed (my son, not the gym teacher).

On a side note, my daughter? Totally gone. She skipped her self right into school because, well, she was with her friends.

Nice to know where I rank.

Anyway, I finally caught my breath and got up. I wanted to shout, "Ta-Da!" but I just laughed instead. My son's face relaxed (so did the gym teacher's) and he smiled (my son, not the gym teacher).

After being taunted for a few minutes by the male teachers, something that I am sure is not over, I walked my son into school. Only then did I shed a tear or two as I examined my injuries.

Thankfully those were minor. A scraped toe, ankle, and arm. A little sidewalk burn. Nothing a few Bandaids and Neosporin wouldn't fix.

I am hurting a bit from the impact though.

Shit, maybe I ruptured my spleen!

I could be bleeding internally right not and not even know it! I also have wicked heartburn, I think I shot my stomach into my throat when I landed. A ruptured spleen AND a misplaced stomach?! That can't be good. Hold on, I have to Google this.

Okay, your spleen is on your left side.

Oh, did I mention, I also screwed up my toenail polish? Damn it, right?!

To make myself feel better, I purchased a scratch off lottery ticket, which seems dumb because I just almost killed myself. And who buys a lottery ticket when luck really doesn't seem to be on their side.

Anyway, Karma, IN YOUR FACE because I won fifty bucks!!

Now I can get a pedicure.....or a new pair of shoes.

Nevermind Brooke, I'm Going With Molly

Remember this lovely look?

It turned out to be, not a reaction to the Tussionex, but Blepharitis which is an inflammation of the eyelash follicles, along the edge of the eyelid. The cause is overgrowth of the bacteria that is normally found on the skin.

Yea, sounds gruesome but it really wasn't too bad. I just needed to cleanse my eyelid very well, making sure to get close to the eyelash line.

It cleared up in no time.

The other day I was doing some eyebrow maintenance with my trusty, handheld, magnifying mirror. Let me just say, that mirror points out some hideous flaws in this aging skin o'mine. I positioned the mirror at my left eye and.....

WTF?!!!

Now, my children have these GORGEOUS eyelashes. Long and full. I'm green with envy as they apparently did not get them from my genes.

Me? I've got short and sparse. But that's why Cover Girl makes mascara and eyelash curlers.

But back to the mirror. Where was I? Oh yea, WTF?!!!

My eyelashes looked like this:Where the hell did my eyelashes go?!! Emergency! Emergency! Call Brooke Shields. I need me some of that eyelash grower she hocks!!

I googled Blepharitis again. Yup, can cause your eyelashes to fall out. Yippee!

I ran back to the bathroom. I tried to curl. Pathetic. I applied mascara. I had black blobs on my eyelids.

I went back to google and I think I found a solution! This is almost as good as the fountain of youth!

Lashisse from Molly Sims

Just Call Me Rocky (Raccoon or Balboa), I'll Answer To Both

As I told you last year (heh), I've been fighting a horrible cough. It's still with me, folks.

It just won't go away!!

I not sleeping well. I'm barking like a seal. The mere raising of my voice or a laugh will send me into a full blown coughing fit. And every time THAT happens, I just about pee my pants.

Damn it having to birth kids.

Friday I finally caved and decided to go see a doctor. Long story short, he said it probably started as a sinus infection and is now bronchitis. The good doctor sent me on my way with a prescription for a Zpack and Tussionex.

Now, because I'm vain, I did wear make up that day. So, when T. came home from school he told me I looked, "SO MUCH BETTER!"

I told him it was because of the make up and that I really wasn't better yet.

He said, "Well at least you don't have those BLACK eyes anymore!"

My kids, always full of compliments.

That night I took my meds like a good girl. I must say the Tussionex did an awesome job in knocking me out.

I woke the next morning feeling better rested than I had in quite a few days. I walked into the bathroom and as I passed the mirror, I stopped dead in my tracks.

"AAAAHHHHHH!" I screamed.

My face was swollen and my left eyelid was swollen almost shut.


I went downstairs and when Mr. Schmitty saw me all he could say was, "What the HELL?!"

Great! Apparently Tussionex can do this.

The rest of the day I was the brunt of many Rocky Balboa jokes. All I heard from Mr. Schmitty was, "Yo! Rocky!" and "ADRIENNNNE!".

The best was the "Cut me Mick, cut me!"

He was almost granted his wish on that one.

September Has Thrown Me Into A Tizzy

So yea, I'm feeling a bit like a chicken with no head these days. I'm missing the lazy days of summer because since school started, I feel like I'm somewhat out of sync. Our routine is beginning to come together, but we just aren't quite there yet. Actually, I'm not quite there.

I'm feeling a tad overwhelmed.

Three kids in school, one still only half days. Getting up early and starting the day with no one getting out of bed and, "Eat, get dressed, brush your teeth, move it, MOVE IT, MOOOOOVE IT!" Making lunches, paperwork, homework, paperwork, tests, paperwork, projects, and more freaking paperwork!

I'm also watching a classmate of R.'s, two days a week. I'm doing so just for a little extra cash, because honestly, we can use it. VERY sadly, I've closed shop on my business, Doodle Kids®. I couldn't justify the expense any longer. It was the hardest decision to make. I worked SO hard on it for five years. Since the economy has taken a nosedive, my business just wasn't making it. I'm heartbroken. I hope to take a different approach with it in the future, but I'll need to regroup and revamp.

In the meantime, I wish there were a way for me to make some extra cash from home. I know ALL of those work from home opportunities are scams...but sometimes, they just look so tempting. Is anyone out there legitimate anymore? sigh.

I have taken on a school project. I have decided to chair a new program our school is participating in. It's the PTA Reflections contest. It is a national arts competition and I think it's fantastic! If your school doesn't do this, here is a link to their website.

The arts are extremely important to me. I feel they don't get their fair share in our children's education. This program tries to encourage children to express themselves through their art. I was so excited to learn that our elementary school would be involved in this.

As it's our first year, I will be the guinea pig. I'll be finding out how to make it work. What to do and how to do it. It's a big chunk of pie on my plate. I'm thinking, once I get the hang of it, it's going to be so rewarding. This is so up my alley.

But first? I need to weed through it all.....and find that darned head of mine.

And I'll Cry If I Want To

Warning: If you didn't come here to partake in my party of pity, you may want to excuse yourself and leave. Please leave any alcohol you may have brought with you, I am going to need it and don't feel like leaving my cave home to get my own.

So, let's see, where to start....hmmmm. Well, as some of you might have noticed, I haven't blogged in over a week. I missed my Take Us Back In Time Tuesday post yesterday. The one you see there? Last week's post.

I'm not sure exactly what is wrong with me, as of late. I think I might be depressed. Again.

Yea, I've been through this before. I'm usually the anxiety type of girl. I tend to run with panic attacks more than the blues. But depression has visited me in the past, so, I am aware of my current state.

I haven't blogged much, because quite honestly, I just haven't felt like it. I haven't done much of anything in the past few weeks. I closed my business temporarily, in June. I can't come to a decision if I should reopen. I look at projects that I've wanted to do and then turn and walk away. I pick up books and magazines and then put them right back down again.

I pretty much meander around my house and then sit at the computer to stare blankly at Facebook. I don't go out much. The kids play with their friends and I hang around and watch them.

Even when I've ventured out, it's because I've MADE myself go. I plaster a smile on my face and just do it. But inside my thoughts, I want to go home, to be left alone.

I'm feeling weak. I can't stand feeling weak.

I have a great life. There are people I know going through so much worse than I right now. I should just shut the hell up and put on my big girl drawers.

But I can't seem to.

I think my sudden mood swing is a combination of burdens. The normal, day-to-day pressures that are weighing me down. The kids, money, the house, marriage, my business. You know, just LIFE.

I'm upset with myself. I so desperately want to lose weight. I saw photos of myself from this past weekend and was so utterly disgusted with what I saw.

I cried.

But as it sometimes goes, momma is the last to get attention. By the time I take care of everyone and everything else, I'm spent. I don't have the time or energy to focus on ME.

Living with PCOS and PMDD is making the journey that much harder. PCOS causes excess weight gain that is more difficult to take off. I need to eat properly and exercise more. The insulin resistance issues of the PCOS means I should eat six small meals a day. I'm lucky if I get one and then I wind up eating junk late at night when the kids go to bed. Horrible for my type of metabolism. I also can't take the Metformin medication, which can help with the weight problem, because I experience negative side effects. When on the pills, I was a zombie for six weeks.

I don't sleep well, which is caused by my PMDD. I toss and turn all night long and usually wake exhausted. Throw in an average day as a mom with three kids, a dog, a cat, a husband, and a house to wrangle, and there is NO WAY I'm going to jump on a treadmill too.

I'm feeling like....WTF!

I don't seem to know how to get all of these things under control. Instead, I'm shutting down.

Don't Let Your Daughters Grow Up To Be Cheerleaders

R. has always been somewhat shy when you first meet her. She'll talk to you, as long as she is holding my hand or sitting in my lap. She needs that safety. And though she is funny as hell with those she knows well, she does not like to be the center of attention to those she is unfamiliar with.

Yesterday my neighbor and friend, J., called to say that she was signing up R.'s BFF, E., for cheerleading.

"They can be cheerleaders at 5?!" I asked in astonishment.

"Yea, can you believe it? E. wants to do it," she answered.

I thought how adorable the two girls would be together. But I knew R. would never follow through with it. "Nah, I'll pass. She'll never get in front of strangers like that. Good luck with E.!"

Later on that night the girls played outside together. R. ran up to me and said, "I want to be a cheerleader with E.!!!"

I asked her if she knew what a cheerleader was.

"Um, nooooooo," she answered.

"Well, a cheerleader wears a cute little outfit and claps and yells RAH! RAH! to football players at games. They do it in front of all the people watching the game."

"Oh. Nevermind, 'cause actually, I don't want to be a cheerleader."

I told her, "Maybe next year."

I secretly hoped she would want to do it, if only to bust my mother-in-law's chops. You see I was a cheerleader in 6th grade. I only stuck with it for one year because I really only tried out to prove a point.

I wanted to prove to everyone and myself that I could DO it. That I could actually, in a town full of cliques, make the team, on my own.

I had fun, but back then, I'd rather play baseball, soccer, and football with the boys.

But back to my mother-in-law.

I remember when my niece made the cheerleading squad. I can still see the look on my MIL's face when my sister-in-law told her the news. It was a look of total disgust.

She said to my SIL, "UGH. I can't believe you are letting her do that. She needs to stick with her school work."

My SIL looked at me and rolled her eyes. My MIL can sometimes be very opinionated even when she really has no idea what she is talking about.

She continued, "Don't roll your eyes, don't you KNOW what they grow up to be?"

"Ah, here we go," I thought to myself. She's going to throw out the "all cheerleaders are whores" innuendo. Not being able to take her irrational debate on the life of a cheerleader, I piped up, "Um, a wife to your son?"

For the first time since I had met her, she was speechless.

Score one for me. RAH! RAH!

Pests

When I was a young girl I didn't like bugs. I wasn't afraid of them. Apparently, I just didn't LIKE them.

We had a screened-in porch at the front of our house. My mother used to lock imprison (I kid mom, I kid!) put my sister and I out there to play on summer days. One day she heard me yelling. As she moved through the house to see what I was up to, she could hear me shouting, "DIE! DIE!"

As she approached, I wonder if she thought I had my sister in a death grip. Maybe she imagined that I was beating her over the head with my Crissy doll. There was no one else with us, so what else could she be thinking? It had to have freaked her out some, I'm sure.

Anyway, she stepped out onto the cement floor and there I was; stomping on a pile of little black ants. I must have dropped some sort of sugary goodness on the ground and they were all over it. I had my fists clenched and was pounding them with my feet, still yelling at them to die.

And I wonder where my daughter gets her temperament. snort.

A few years later, I recall placing a large black ant in a small glass jar; one the size of a film canister. I then found an Earwig, or pincher bug, as I called it, and dropped it into the jar with the ant. Clearly, I was a sadistic child because I watched that pincher bug chase that ant for hours. I sat patiently waiting to see if he'd catch him in his forcep-like clutches.

I think my parents worried I might grow up to be a serial killer. Or an exterminator.

So, let's jump to the present, shall we?

I've got news for you. Those damn ants, they don't forget. I'm telling you, they have tracked me down and are now paying me back. Tenfold. Last week, I found an army of tiny black ants, running amok on my kitchen floor.

I started stomping on them. I then put down bait traps. And what did they do? They laughed at me, that's what. And the next day, they brought friends. Lots and lots of friends.

We called our bug guy. He came, he sprayed, they dropped like flies. Heh.

Two days later, I opened the cabinet to take out the peanut butter. Four of those suckers were running around INSIDE the cabinet. THEY WERE NEAR THE FOOD! They saw me and ran. I swear one flipped me the bird.

"OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Don't you have a picnic to ruin?! Fine, you wanna play?!" I half asked, half yelled at them. Thankfully, I was alone in my moment of madness.

We called the bug guy again and told him to bring the heavy ammo. I was done fooling around. This would strictly be a kick ass, take names, kind of war.

I cleaned out the cabinet. I pulled out the contact paper. I smashed the hell out of the stragglers that weren't fast enough to get away. I wiped the shelves down.

I waited for my guy and thought of my childhood and my wicked, wicked ways. I shook my head. "NO! I was only a child! I didn't know any better. I did not deserve this now!!!"

There was a knock at the door. My savior was here. He filled the bait traps with a yellow, oozing type of stuff. He told me that THIS would definitely do them in. I didn't ask what was in it. I didn't care, at this point, if the concoction was mixed with plutonium. I just wanted those pesky vermin out of my home.

So, it's been about four days now. There has been no sign of ants in my kitchen. I did, however, have a nightmare last night that involved a giant, glowing ant.

Moral of this story: Do not allow your children to harm insects; it will come back to haunt them!

Hello, My name is Mrs. Schmitty...

....and I am an addict.

This is my first time saying that out loud for all to hear. I.AM.AN.ADDICT.

Wow. Powerful words.

I never thought I had an addictive personality. But then again, I guess if I thought I did, I wouldn't have been in denial for so long, huh?

It all started innocently enough. It was fun, you know? But slowly, I began to get hooked. There were stages involved. Good. Excellent. Amazing. I was under it's mesmerizing spell. And the higher I got, the more I wanted. Again and again.

It began keeping me from my work. I didn't shower or get dressed. It kept me from doing the other things, I so much loved to do. It sparkled like a diamond that was just out of reach. It was always taunting me, always daring me to fail.

Suddenly, I no longer lived in the moment, I was always looking for the next thrill. And there were others there. Watching. Waiting to see what I would do.

I can't let them tear me down. I won't.

Aw, shit, never mind. I'm going back on Facebook to play Bejeweled Blitz again.

I Need A Clone Machine

Got one?

It's been a whole week since I wrote my last fluff for you. You really deserve better. That post blew. (Yes, that pun WAS intended. Bada Ba Ching. Thanks folks, I'll be here all week.)

I've been running around lately like a chicken with no head. I'm ALWAYS busy doing something, yet I feel like I get NOTHING accomplished.

I need to duplicate myself.

Clone #1 can clean the house. I mean actually CLEAN it. Not just de-clutter and hope that people don't see the mounds of dust and dirt. And definitely not the pee on the toilet seat because if my boys don't learn how to aim....I'm gonna.....

Clone #2 can work on the PTA chance auction. It's tomorrow night and this week has been nuts with trying to finalize details.

Clone #3 can sift through the mounds of paperwork and bills on my desk. They can actually pay some of the bills too, perhaps BEFORE the due date.

Clone #4 can go out and get a job to pay said bills.

Clone #5 can start a boot camp for my disruptive and disrespectful spawn.

Clone #6 can um.....take care of the hubs.

Clone #7 can take the dog out every two seconds because that's how often she scratches on the door. And because the backyard is now a mound of dirt and grass seed, she needs to actually be walked, not just thrown out the door.

Clone #8 can answer the phone calls from mom, my mother-in-law, and solicitors.

Clone #9 can do all the miscellaneous stuff like; paint all of the rooms, pull up the rugs, sand and stain the hardwood floors, plant a vegetable garden, plant flowers, paint the railing, power wash the fence, vacuum out my car, wash my car, organize a garage sale, organize the summer block party, grocery shop, oh and get me a pedicure.

Clone #10 can write on this blog. She'd better be funny too because the REAL me, well, kinda sucks right now.

Maybe I'll check Craigslist for that machine. Now that they caught that guy and all.

Howdy Y'all

Well, my weekend was very relaxing. We had lots of laughs, wine, shopping, and fun. It went by oh so quickly though.

And one downer....the hot tub never got used. Why is it that when women get together their cycles all sync up? Thankfully we had plenty of liquid happiness, chocolate chip cookies, and a heating pad. At night we'd all snuggle up under blankets on the couch, in front of the fire, and watch chick flicks.

We did some shopping at the outlets...though these outlets are guilty of false advertising, if you ask me. When I think "outlet", I think great prices. I have to say, there were some great sales, but the regular prices? Not so cheap. I think I'd do better at Target.

The Coach Factory Store was a big hit. Two girls got gorgeous bags for 50% off...but it still cost them each over $200. I hope they get their money's worth! I'm not sure I could spend that much on a purse.

So, now it's back to the old grind. A weekend was a nice treat...but I really think I needed longer to recharge.

This Will Be Me In A Few Hours

At approximately 1:00 pm EST, I will be heading off with my neighbor and friend, J., to the Poconos. We are meeting four other women for a Moms Only weekend. We will be staying in house with a fireplace and hot tub.

Pajamas - CHECK
Wine - CHECK
Pop Culture Magazines - CHECK
Wine - CHECK
iPod - CHECK
Wine - CHECK
Chick Flix - CHECK
Wine - CHECK
Cash and Debit Card for Shopping - CHECK
Oh and Wine - CHECK, CHECK


I will catch you all on Monday!!! Love you.....MUAH!

UPDATE: Bathing Suit - CHECK! (No chunky dunking for me)

Cue Spooky Music Here

This morning I was working diligently on a few orders for my business. I had received them while I was being ravaged by THE BUG FROM HELL.

I was in the zone, I tell you. I had Carrie Underwood playing on my iPod, as my fingers worked furiously over my computer's keyboard. I was processing invoices for the orders that I had completed. Cha-Ching!

Suddenly, I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. An eerie feeling crept over me. I was afraid to look over my shoulder. It was as though a presence had joined me in my office; one that was not human. I could just imagine the eyes boring into my soul.

I slowly turned in my chair and came face to face with this:

DAMN KIDS!

It's Been A Hard Day's Ride

Last Sunday, the Schmitty clan decided to pencil in some much needed family time, and took advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. We went to a local park and did some bike riding. We had a fantastic time. It was so nice to get out and spend some quality time together.

I was a little worried about feeling my age the next morning. It's been a while since I exercised that much. I really thought I would wake up with sore thighs and calves. When I got out of bed, I was quite surprised that I felt no tightness or pain in my legs.

However, my girly bits? Yowza! I felt like I had done a lot more than just ride a bike the day before. If you get my drift. [wink, wink]

After questioning Mr. Schmitty and making sure that he hadn't had his way with me while I slept, I decided to Google women's bike seats. I figured if I was going to get some good old fashioned exercise, I'd need to soften the blow to my nether regions.

The bike seat that I have now looks like this:

As you can see there is more than enough cushion for the bum. For me, not an issue, I've got plenty of my own cushioning. But padding on the section for the more sensitive parts? There's not so much.

There are a few different styles of women's bike seats available. Take this one for example:

See the strip in the middle? That's a ventilation channel to keep you cool. Yes, that's right ladies, as you ride you can have air wafting up into your hoo-ha to avoid overheating. This seat also comes with a special pad that absorbs shocks and reduces vibration. Shit, if I have to exercise I don't want to be reducing any vibrations, I've got to have some enjoyment, don't I?

And what's with this seat?



Nothing says, "This is a girl bike," like a Vagina inspired seat. Well, nothing says it better than maybe one in Labia Pink:And I just know that a man designed this one. He made sure to include the easy access feature:


This one? Not even an option:



I don't even want to know what kind of damage this would cause if you should hit a bump and slip off the butt pads.

And check these out:




If you are as freaked out as I am about how the seats look, you can cover them up with these animal seat covers. Because who doesn't want to go for a ride in their neighborhood with a goat, bear, or dog looking like it's sniffing your crotch or shoving it's head up your ass? I mean you just don't get better than that!

And one last thing. This is for you sir, whoever you are, that invented this male bike seat:


Overcompensate much?

And This Is What I Have To Live With

After I dropped T. and R. off at school on Monday, I stopped by the grocery store to get something for dinner. Mr. Schmitty likes the orange Vitamin Water, so I wanted to buy him a few bottles. I reached up to the top shelf and grabbed a large bottle in each hand.

I suddenly felt something splash on me. The lid on the bottle in my right hand was cracked. I now had sticky orange drink all over my hands, in my hair, and on my jacket.

Great.

There happened to be an employee standing by, restocking shelves, so I handed her the broken container.

Upon returning home, I noticed that Mr. Schmitty had recently been there. I gave him a call to say that I was sorry I had missed him. I told him about getting doused with the drink, which had left strands of my hair sticky, hard, and stuck together.

He burst out laughing. I mean he really, REALLY went hysterical.

"Okay, hon, it's not THAT funny," I said.

"I did it!" He shouted into the phone between fits of laughter.

"Huh? You did what?" I asked, totally confused.

"The other night when I went to the grocery store, I dropped a bottle!" He was now sounding like he might hyperventilate.

"YOU broke that bottle? And you put it back?"

"Snort. Uh-Huh! SNORT!"

"You're an idiot."

So basically my husband set a booby trap for me at the grocery store. Only in my life could such a thing happen. This my friends, is a Schmitty Life!

The Silent Scream

My daughter, who is usually a brute, has realized that there is another way to get attention other than punching, kicking, and pinching.

She has learned secret weapon #1 of a woman. Resort to crying when all else fails.

If her brothers are mean to her, she will now seek me out, to cry on my shoulder. I can hear the sobs from rooms away, the drama getting louder, the closer she gets. She should, quite frankly, be up for an Oscar this year.

She'll see me and the crocodile tears will be squeezed out of her big, beautiful eyes with more urgency. She'll squint and grit her teeth so hard, trying to squeak out every ounce of liquid she can.

I just want to burst out laughing.

Just the other day, I was once again a spectator to one of her performances.

"Mamaaaaaaaa, my boys are being mean to me!" She whined.

I picked her up and placed her on the kitchen counter, "Awwww, what did they do?" I asked, trying to look sympathetic as I bite my lower lip.

She grabbed me around the neck and hugged me. "They won't let me play Wii!"

Oh the nerve!

"Well, honey, they were playing first. I am sure they will give you a turn," I replied, as I pushed her hair off of her wet face. I gave her a kiss on the nose and she smiled.

Mr. Schmitty walked behind me and asked what happened. I turned slightly and began to fill him in on the current spectacle.

Then suddenly I felt it. It was an excruciating pain. It was like none I had ever felt before. I spun around and clung to Mr. Schmitty so I didn't fall to the floor in agony. My mouth was wide open but no sound was escaping. My eyes teared up and I didn't know whether to cry or laugh uncontrollably.

You see, as I was talking to my husband, R. decided to give me a purple nurple a titty twister pinch and turn my nipple on my right breast upside down.

It seems as though my daughter still needs to resort to violence if she doesn't have your undivided attention!

Take A Cue From Me

The first thing I have always noticed about a person is their smile. Unless, of course, I'm being introduced to a hawt guy, then it's his butt.

[wink, wink]

I am forever envious of those with perfectly aligned teeth. Those who were blessed with gorgeous grins, whether achieved through DNA or the expertise of an Orthodontist, always make me aware of my own set of chompers.

You see, I have a less than stellar set of teeth. Believe it or not, my mouth is too small for them all. Yea, can you believe that? Okay, stop laughing.

The crowding in my mouth warranted braces when I was a teen. My parents didn't have dental insurance. And to save that kind of money, well, interfered with my father's social agenda. I mean, just compare the two; braces for his daughter or buying round after round of brewskies, weekly, for his drinking buddies. I seriously couldn't expect him to disappoint his friends, now could I?

I endured teasing, as you can imagine. My teeth protruded, for a while, so I was at the receiving end of all of the "bucktooth" jokes. I swear I semi-corrected my own overbite by making sure that I had my front teeth pulled in behind my lips at all times.

But the overbite wasn't the worst of it. My right Cuspid, or Canine tooth, grew in front of the others. I took on the nickname of "Snagletooth". Something like that, just does wonders for a teenage girl's confidence. The cruel remarks were made behind my back, which was fortunate for them, because they were free to live another day, but the comments always seemed to find a way to my ears. One way or another.

It stung.

When I was eighteen I saved the money I earned while working as a part-time receptionist. I went to our family dentist and demanded he extract my right Cuspid. It was all I could afford to do to help ease some of my pain. He was very upset that I wanted to pull a perfectly healthy tooth.

I didn't care.

He may not have understood. He may have been angry. But pulling that one tooth, restored a little bit of a young girl's self-esteem.

A few years ago I talked with my current dentist and asked his opinion about correcting my teeth. I didn't so much as want to for cosmetic reasons, as I pretty much have come to terms with my smile. It is something I happen to do quite a lot of, thank you very much.

But I was interested, because of some sinus issues I have, due to an extremely high palate. My dentist told me that because of my high palate, it would a very unpleasant experience. He continued to say that had the work been done when I was a teenager, it would have been easier. He did not recommend that I proceed at this point in my life.

Thanks again, dad, how's the liver holding up?

Not surprisingly, my children will probably all need braces. W. has already been through phase one. He had braces for about a year, which were placed on the adult teeth that he has so far. They were then removed and he now wears a retainer.

That is, he wears it when I practically shove it into place.

He frequently forgets to put it in his mouth after eating. It drives me batty. I really have to go find my freshman high school picture.

I bet THAT will make him more willing.

How Memories Can Come Flooding Back

I was wondering tonight. How many of you allow your children to play with toy guns? I have never purchased a toy gun of any kind for my kids. Even water pistols are the animal type that don't resemble a gun in any way.

My brother gave the boys Nerf guns last year for Christmas and they also received, from someone, a western shooting game. The game has plastic cans and bottles you "shoot" off of a log. The gun is a bright orange six-shooter and would never be mistaken for a real handgun. When used in target practice, those toys are fun and seem harmless enough.

Still, I feel that little cringe when I see them pretending to "kill" one another with them.

I'm not afraid of using guns. I've done my fair share of target shooting with shotguns, rifles, and handguns. I quite enjoy it, actually, and am a pretty good shot.

Mr. Schmitty is also in law enforcement, so guns are a part of my life, and I respect them.

But tonight, when my daughter stuck that bright orange handgun in my face and yelled, "BANG! Mommy your dead!" I reeled a bit and lost a little facial coloring.

My mind went flashing back about nineteen years. I was working as a head teller in a bank. It was a small town bank, just around the corner from my house. I had worked there for about 5 years and because I grew up in the town, I knew most of the customers that came in.

One summer afternoon, three of the seven employees had gone out to lunch. I and another teller were preparing our teller drawers for the end of the day. A man, I had never seen before, came into the branch and walked to the desk of the assistant manager. He seemed to ask her a question and then turned and headed for the far lobby. He stopped half way across the room and again turned toward her desk.

Does the hair ever stand up on the back of your neck and you just FEEL that something isn't quite right? I had just turned to my coworker to say, "This guy is making me nervous", when I heard her yell, "HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

I turned to see the man punching, the only male employee, in the jaw, repeatedly. He then instructed him to get behind the teller line and onto the floor. He went to my coworker and told her to put her tray of money in his bag. I just stood in my booth, paralyzed. He then told her to get on the floor too.

He turned toward me. He walked into my teller booth and stood to my right. He placed the bag on the counter, pointed his gun at me, and told me to fill the bag. I opened my drawer and instinctively grabbed for the "bait money" (strapped money with pre-recorded serial numbers) and placed that in the bag first. Damn him if I wasn't going to at least TRY to do something! At least they could prove where the money came from if they caught him with the cash. I didn't know how effective it would be, but it was the first thing that came to my mind.

After I finished he told me to get on the floor. I couldn't move. All I could think of was, "OH NO! The teller door can only be opened by a key or a buzzer!" It had closed and locked behind him when he had entered. I couldn't reach for the buzzer to let him out, he might think I was trying to push an alarm button. What if he panicked because he couldn't get out?

The thought of this only allowed my body to get into a squatting position. My mind raced with what could happen next.

Suddenly he threw himself up onto the door and over the top. He began to run through the lobby. I jumped up and started screaming, "HIT THE FUCKING ALARM!!" I desperately wanted that asshole's image captured on the cameras. I then picked up the telephone and called the local police department. My cousin, a patrolman, answered. I calmly explained what had happened, what the man looked like, and in what direction he was heading.

I then hung up and reached for my cigarettes and lit up. I think I proceeded to smoke an entire pack in about an hour.

Local police came. Bank officials came. The FBI came. Mr. Schmitty, who was then my fiancee, came. I could see him trying to peek in the windows. I smiled at him and gave him the thumbs up.

I noticed then how badly I was shaking.

It took a long time for me to get over the irrational thought that this man was going to get me in my dreams, in my room at night, or from a bush he was hiding in. Even after he was caught, only days later. I still don't know how I took such initial control and so calmly called the police. The company psychologist told me that I had very strong survival skills.

That may be true, but it's a day I don't think I'll ever forget. It's a memory that will send me into a tailspin by something so trivial as my daughter playing cowgirl.