Thursday, July 19, 2012

It's a real pisser~

I’m a lucky gal.  I know quite a few people, who do quite a few nice things for me, because they are good people, but mainly because business is business and some folks are still smart enough to realize that what goes around comes around.

One of the many perks I get from my side job managing rental homes is that whenever someone moves out of our neighborhood, like the most recent departure of our Sister Wife/Husband, Soul mates, Once in a Lifetime Besties, the neighbor who you could literally borrow their last roll of toilet paper (or at least poop at their house if need be) – this will eventually be an entire blog in itself, departs, is that when the carpet cleaning company comes by to clean the vacant home, the awesome carpet cleaner dude always stops by my place and cleans my carpets as well.  Fan freaking tastic!

As many of you know, G was lucky enough to get a new boxer puppy for his birthday.  Well, in all honesty, G was lucky enough to have his super duper wife bring home a $500 puppy that he had no desire to have, during the 2nd week of June, so technically for his birthday.  Our agreement had been that once everyone was out of diapers we could discuss bringing something else that thought it was perfectly appropriate to defecate on the floor into the house.  Big baby had just dropped her 1st deuce in the toilet instead of one of her $0.45/ea Huggies, so I figured what better time?

Priscilla is a lovely, very calm, beautiful pup, and for the most part great with the minions.  She isn’t much of a barker (yet), doesn’t really jump up on people, and sleeps thru the God Damn night, which apparently in the Mongrain household is enough to qualify you for life long amnesty.  She even holds it all night long.  Daytime, however, is a totally different story.  Miss Priss pretty much treats the main floor of the house as urine utopia, feeling free to let it rip (and drip) whenever and wherever her pretty little heart desires.

So, needless to say we were VERY excited for the carpet cleaners to come by and rid us of the stench that is starting to become the signature Mongrain Baby Farm scent.

One of the worst spots in the house is our master bedroom, which after having the luxury of being the upstairs room that hosted the diaper genie for over a year, and being Prissy's toilet of choice, is really, really due for some “fresh air”.  Being the stellar mouth breather/sleeper that I am, combined with the steam from the en suite bathroom shower, and having the side of the bed located dangerously close to the master toilet, this Mama was oh so eager to have those carpets restored to their original state of only harboring mold and mites.

Even though I am pretty sure we all realize how this blog will end, it’s important to realize the frame of mind that a 34 yr old working Mama is in on a daily basis.  Nobody is whining, or looking for sympathy.  Trust me when I tell you that NO ONE wants to hear that “You shouldn’t have had kids if you weren’t prepared to be a mother to them” because as any Mama knows, people who say stuff like that are just Bitches.  Bitch please, do you think that when I signed up to have kids (and really, I could argue the fact that my family dynamics are not really what I “signed up” for, but bygones) that some lovely, experienced mother type sat me down and had a heart to heart to prepare me on how much my life was going to change and that my young, still somewhat firm, late twenty something ass really had a decent grasp on what I was going to get myself into?  Seriously, the hospitals should take their videos about the “purple cry” and shove them where the sun don’t shine and send new moms home with a video series about What to Expect When a 20-40lb Creature Rules Your Universe.  The intermediate series can be Bringing Home a Sibling That Your #1 Child Could Give 2 Shits About; and the grand finale Child #3, Now That You’ve Gone & Outnumbered Yourselves.

As a mom who works, and let me stop you, the last thing I need to hear is a lecture about moms who choose their careers over staying at home, my frame of mind is probably a little more skewed then most.  Hell, as a total nut job, my frame of mind is likely more skewed then most.  I know that normal kids grew up with normal parents, they were taught how to swim, that graduating high school is important, and so on and so forth, but I wasn’t.  No time for tears & tissues, but my point is that I am doing the best I can with a limited amount of role modeling.

Anywoo, back to the working Mama dribble.  I work.  Not because I am dying to be on the cover of the local business section one day, but because I am broke.  And I like to shop.  One of these probably feeds into the other.  And I have issues.  I want my kids to have stuff that I never did, and I want them to appreciate that I work my ass off for them.  I pride myself on reminding them of that on a daily basis.  Joking aside, I also have 3 girls, and I want them to realize, hopefully from my stellar example, that they have the capabilities of taking care of themselves and not being dependent on a man/woman/partner or whatever the hell they choose to shack up with one day. 

Because of choices I have made, my career options are limited.  After years in the Casino industry, I have worked in the construction industry for years.  It works for me, I get a long with men better then women, likely because I can’t filter the shit that comes out of my mouth most of the time, and also because most women are snatches.  Whatever.  The thing about being the only female in an office full of men & construction workers, and the one primarily running the show, is that the frame of mind I have to keep in the office is not necessarily the best one to have at home.  Tears will get you nowhere in the world of framing, rough plumbing and construction to perm loans.  Do not drop the ball and let someone make a mistake on a home that will take weeks to fix when you are paying hundreds of dollars in daily interest.   Do not let anyone call you sweetheart, unless of course he isn’t too gross, and also happens to have a corporate expense account. 

The point to this babble is that often I have trouble transitioning from the world that I spend 7am – 5pm and sometimes more in to the world that is waiting for me between 6pm- often 12am and on weekends and holidays.   The approximate 10 seconds I get between the car and front door to readjust myself is usually not adequate.  I struggle daily with needing a break from work and a break from kids, often in the same evening, and unfortunately or fortunately depending on your perspective, it’s usually the kids that stay with a sitter so that mommy can have some alone time or time with Daddy.

If you are neurotic like I am, you can torture yourself over these things.  You can lay awake at night, promising to be a better mom the next day because you were short tempered and yelled at #1 to get back in bed after telling her to go to bed 7 times.   You can play back work scenes over and over in your head, realizing what the better, wittier thing to say would have been.  You can feel guilty for locking yourself in the bathroom and reading 50 Shades of Grey while your 2yr old banged on the door demanding to be let in and help you wipe.

If you are a “fixer” like I am, you will also find ways to make yourself feel better about your shortcomings.  Yes, I hate play dough, stickers and socks totally gross me out.    I can’t teach my girls to swim, but I can pay for the lessons.  I will never be able to ride a bike with them, but I will make sure they know how to, and they will have helmets while doing so.  They might have to sit and endure episodes of Diners, Drive Ins & Drives or Say Yes to the Dress while Mama has a glass of wine in order to log some quality mommy time, but it’s time, and lately that is in short supply around the Baby Farm.

Being a “fixer” or just plain getting old, you also learn to compromise about a lot of stuff.  Shit that would normally send you over the edge.  Like a carpet cleaner completely forgetting to shampoo the master bedroom.  You know, pretty much the most important room in the house.  The one that you sleep in.  The room where the magic happens(ie one parent argues with the other about who is going to be the one going to jail for giving the baby Nyquil that is clearly labeled “for children 6 and older”).  The one that smells so bad you can taste the dog piss every time you roll over to see the dark, beady eyes of your 43lb 2 yr old staring at you @ 1:36am.  Because you know what, the dude was doing you a favor.  And the piss happy puppy makes your kids happy.  Really, really happy.   And when you are a Mama doing the best you can, sometimes you take what you can get.  Even if it means that most of the hubby’s Christmas bonus is going to have to be used replacing the carpet.   

Sometimes life is just a real pisser ~

Tuesday, May 29, 2012


Please don’t ask how on earth I even came across it, but I will tell you that while it did occur while at work, I was most certainly “on a break”.  I also really have no excuse as to why I clicked on the link, except for sheer curiosity and my commitment to my now full blown mid life crisis.

While I certainly expect a few raised eyebrows, you and I both know damn well that there are few ladies out there who would be able to ignore VAJAZZLES! in glittery pink font without clicking on it.  I am not one of them.

I am all for keeping your girlfriend in tip top, fully groomed, as pretty as she can be, on a regular basis, shape.  I can recite to you all of the latest and greatest hair removal techniques, and which one I would recommend for your particular breed of hair, as well as tell you the pain factor involved with each.  I have excitedly made appointments to be waxed, only to have sweat dripping from my palms as I pull into the parking lot wondering who the f@(k thought that this was a good idea, and why do I give 2 shits what anyone cares about how MY who-ha looks?

Well I do care, that seems to be the problem.  As I get older, and good lord does it seem like that is happening faster and faster lately, I seem to care a ridiculous amount more then I used to.  It seems like for every chin/neck hair I find and tweeze, the urge to groom other poor, defenseless places just grows and grows. 

That being said, I feel as if I have exhausted all of the available choices on how to groom my little girlfriend, and while I am quite happy with my current state of hardwood floors, the chance to kick it up a notch without piercing something and scaring the bejesus out of my unsuspecting husband was more then a wee bit intriguing.

VaJazzling, from what I can tell, is the equivalent of Lee Press On Nails for your kittyboo.  Apparently you can pay someone to apply a very intricate design, or DIY.  The latter not being the best plan for someone like myself who struggles to paint her own toe nails.  You can VaJazzle for a variety of reasons, anything from trying to cover up a c section scar or covering up post waxing rashes, to needing to feel a little pretty after a breakup (google Jennifer Love Hewitt).  I am still puzzled by a few details; such as how long does it lasts, what happens if a stone falls out, and so on and so forth.

Interesting to say the least.  Expensive if you are cheap when it comes to decorating your lady parts.  That’s not to say I have completely ruled it out.  Sometimes a girl has to go to extremes to be cutting edge.  But I worry that it would become addicting.  Is it like getting your nails done?  Will I need to change my design to keep up with the next holiday?  Is it patriotic to plaster an American flag on sweet little Virginia in honor of Memorial Day?  Would it be wrong to decorate the honey pot in honor of the girls’ upcoming birthday party themes?

Oh the crap that runs thru my head.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Does the mom hair cut lead to mom jeans?

This morning while I was getting ready for work, running late as usual, and had absolutely nothing important to think of, I stared at myself in the mirror and made the very life changing decision to get hair extensions.

Those of you, who know me well, know that I love my short hair.  The ease of styling, the ability to wake up from a nap that included both drool and dreams and not have it look any different, the shampoo savings, I could go on and on, all make my “middle aged mom” do all that more satisfying.

However, as I move towards fully embracing my midlife crisis, something this morning made me want to justify having long, gorgeous, flowing hot chick locks.

Maybe I made the decision to love such short, low maintenance hair under a lot of freaking pressure, ok?  How many people out there have to live thru my daily personal hell?  How many of you have a husband who thinks its ok to take a crap while you brush your teeth? Is there something wrong if I just want really hot, sexy, easy to tousle hair, dammit? It could change my life, right?

Maybe it's the fact that I have to put a hand towel down on the sink in order to prevent my spare tire from resting against the cold tile countertop?  The fact that pretty much daily I have to dig thru my bathroom drawer to find the “good” tweezers to pluck the newest offending chin whisker?  That when I dare pick a pimple, there is a good chance that it will leave a scare, or worse, a wrinkle?  One of the benefits of being “fluffy” is that you don’t show as many wrinkles, but sheesh, what a compromise that is to make!

Every morning when I bend over to shave my legs, and yes, my toes, my back pops and cracks and reminds me of the torture I exposed it to in my younger days.  My poor ta tas angrily refuse to look up any more, punishing me for days when I thought bras were optional, and for relinquishing them to a very aggressive baby Mia.

Beautiful, chocolate brown, layered extensions could fix all that, right?  One flick of gorgeous hair over a somewhat supple shoulder and my husband will want to forget about taking the trash out and the dishes in the sink and throw me over his shoulder and carry me romantically into the bedroom, wouldn't it? 

My girls, who at many times have seen me curled up into a fetal position, banging my head against a wall,  or in a corner with a box of wine, would look at their gorgeous mommy with her long, lustrous hair with new eyes, stunned by her new found ability to be super mom, super wife and super employee all with one good blow out.  Not every mom in the Boosters club could pull it off, could they?

How hard could they be to take care of?  It’s not like I am that busy??  You can justify charging real hair on a credit card, can’t you?  Don’t get me wrong, I would never think of charging synthetic hair, that just wouldn’t make sense.

I went to the mall at lunch to return a pair of shorts that didn’t fit, to Torrid.  I groaned as I walked in and remembered once being delighted to wear the smallest size in the fat chick store.  As I waited impatiently for the clearly under trained sales associate to figure out how to credit my debit card, I studied the poster of the model on the wall above the cash register.  Obviously, the fact that she was probably a size 10 in a store full of chicks who wear elastic waist bands way more often then we would like to admit helped her look pretty smoking hot.  But guess what else she had?  UHHHHHHHmazing freaking hair! 

I came back to work to google my new must have accessory.  I know that my stunning hairdresser can work magic, but at what cost??

Apparently a pretty high freaking cost.  Sigh.  So what if people may think it’s a little selfish, and ok, kind of crazy.  How many years of poopy diapers, taco bell dinners, thankless children and a husband who accuses you of maybe sneaking oxycotin left over from your c-section should a girl have to endure before she can justify such a splurge?

My fantasy quickly ended when the cheap side of me remembered the stash of wigs buried somewhere deep in the depths of my closet.  Way underneath the piles and piles of dirty laundry, and clothes from many, many sizes ago.  Those will just have to deal for now.  But if one day soon one you happen to see me smiling broadly with my new Frederick’s of Hollywood do, make sure you help a sister out and leave a casserole of some sort on the doorstep of the Mongrain Baby Farm, because I am sure that we will all be tired of eating mac and cheese @ that point!

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Parenting via TV

Last night while I was drifting off to sleep at about 11:45, knowing that 5:06am was going to come all too quickly, the ever faithful DVR’d version of Monster’s Inc was playing on our bedroom tv.  Proof that one of the minions had insisted on falling to sleep in mama’s bed instead of her own.  I flashed back to when I was pregnant with said minion and reminisced about all of the tv shows I used to have time to keep up on and enjoy on a regular basis.

During the last term of my pregnancy I was pretty much bed bound, and Annabelle only went to preschool on Mon & Tues, so it only made sense to spend the rest of the week hanging out and catching the latest episodes of Tori & Dean’s Home Sweet Hollywood, The Real Housewives of New Jersey, and of course TLC’s The Baby Story, supplemented with Days of Our Lives, and if really desperate or in the early am, The Food Network.  Diabetes or not, how can you not love Paula Deen?  And the husband from The Neelys??  Yummo!

While my sweet Belle has owned my heart from the first day I saw her in the NICU, all teeny, tiny, red and sick, it was really over that summer that I fell in love with her all over again.  It was lying in bed watching the famous table flipping scene from the RHONJ that we bonded for good.  She was the first person to tell me that a water birth was really the way to go, since the babies came out cleaner that way, and clearly, who wouldn’t want to have their brand new baby come out all clean and shiny versus cheesy and icky?  She explained to me that Dean loves Tori so much because she cooks really well, throws great parties and really knows how to decorate a house.  In between trips down the stairs to stock up on Diet 7up and popsicles, we discussed the pros and cons of Extreme Couponing, and whether Carol’s Corner Café was worthy of a visit from Guy Fieri of Diners, Drive Ins & Dives.  After snacking, we would doze peacefully, her woodstove of a body cooking and snoring away as I would watch her sleep.  Waking up to watch Oprah and see what Dr. Phil & Nate Berkas’ latest pitches were was a great way to start the afternoon.  We would head down to the kitchen to try out new food network recipes for Daddy & T’s dinners. 

To this day, Annabelle loves movies, and tv as well.  She always has.  I really don’t watch anymore, but I have to admit, every time she grabs the iPad and snuggles down to watch something from Netflix, my heart skips a beat and I remind myself of those days, that seem like so long ago.  I remember looking at her tiny, baby hands, the only chubby part of her body, blink and look at my now 7 yr old who is becoming a young woman.  Mind blowing.  I know that I should not worry about baths, jammies, vitamins and etc, and just snuggle in and watch with her.  Even if it is another freaking episode of The Suite Life.   

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Please turn off my brain

1:27am Crying. Loud crying. “Mamaaaaaaaaaa”

“Ignore her, at some point she needs to learn how to sleep thru the night.”

“But she is going to wake up Molly. And everyone else for that matter.”

“She will stop eventually.”

1:46am Still crying.

“I will give you anything you want if you go get her and bring her up.”


1:50am “Mama, mama. I was missing you. Where’s my baba? Where is my pillow? Mama, help me. Mama, you wrap me?”

Amazing that I can actually smell her tears. Her little hands are wrapped tightly around her bottle as she gulps, gulps, gulps herself back to sleep. One hand loosens its grip and finds a chunk of my hair to twist as she dozes.

2:46am “Mia, you have to move over, I have no room. Christine, move over so she can scoot over. Ugh!! I should just go sleep on the couch.”

5:06am Alarm. Snooze.

5:15am Alarm. Snooze.

5:24am Alarm. Snooze.

5:33am Alarm. Snooze.

5:42am Alarm. I’m up, I’m up. Crap, G is occupying the shower. Should’ve snoozed again. Crap, it’s 5:45am, I am so late. Pee. Why do we still have freaking rv toilet paper in the bathroom?

Brush teeth. Eyebrows are really, really bad. Cannot put off wax any longer. Really should take off makeup before going to bed. If not because it’s bad for skin, because I should stop scaring the girls and myself when I wake up.

5:50am Shower. Crying. “Maaaaaamaaaa, you cuddle me? Maaaamaaaaa.”

Hurry up. Should’ve shaved. Legs are gross. Dry off. You are going to be so late.

More crying.

Ugh. Seriously? Please stop crying!! Whose idea was it to have kids??

6:15am No time for breakfast, grab soda to take to work.

6:33am Not so bad, not too late.

Seat warmers are a good thing. Stay awake. Traffic sucks. STAY AWAKE! Remind G to refill heart medicine. Why do I have to nag him? He’s an adult. Still need to buy little girls jackets. Horrible mom, it’s been months. Shit! Speaking of months - Note to self- MUST GET MIA’S EPI PENS PRESCRIPTION REFILLED!! So lazy. ugh. Who lives like this?

Chronic Liver Disease.

7:05am. Work. Not too late. Even had time to pick up coffee.

Bank draws. Customer funded. Change Order #8. Pay interest payment for spec. Don’t forget to process payroll. Internet not working, suckage.

Do not forget to process payroll. Hurry up so you don’t get stuck staying so late, and you might be able to wax those horrible brows. Should really schedule dental appointments for the girls. Bella still hasn’t had well child check for her January birthday.

“Did you send out the checks for the P**** job? Customer A is calling to see where they are.”

Chronic Liver Disease. What if she dies?

“How late can you stay today?” “Did you receive the invoices from *** Concrete? They want to know which liens you are missing.”

Liver Failure. Don’t forget to pay the freaking cable bill; otherwise you won’t have internet service at home either.


Must file paperwork for Sec of State for Elementary School Boosters. Otherwise this chick will never stop emailing. So tired. Need more coffee. Wonder if I should get blond highlights? Text Molly, remind her to take AB to Wednesday meeting. Molly says running low on lots. Must go grocery shopping.

Lunch. Gas light is on.

Check fb. So many stay at home moms. I miss my girls. Maybe we should add 1 more to the mix? G would freak. Should be making grocery list instead of facebooking. Should be skipping lunch and getting gas. Wonder what Crystal is up to?

Meeting with potential customers in 2 hrs. Boss is yelling again. Sigh, happy to stay back in my office out of the way.

I miss my old office. Miss my old boss. Should be thankful to have a job. Must text old boss and remind him I will be late on Friday since Mia needs lab work done. Super suckage.

Liver Failure. Can you have a transplant as a toddler?

Check the mail. For the 2nd time today. File B&O taxes. Upload data file with backup copy of quickbooks instead of accountants copy.

Funny. One would think if you are uploading a data file to an accountant then you would send an accountant’s copy, huh. oh well. Nothing like a waste of an hour. sigh. tired. Molly says #1 being a brat again. What is the deal? Call home, talk #1 off the ledge. My nails look like crap.

Wonder what is on TMZ today. Wonder what Brett Favre is doing? Still raining. I miss Vegas. Missed call from brother. Crap. Wonder what he is doing. Newly married, how fun. Jealous.

Run to post office. Gas light is still on.

Could swear I just saw my dad walking out the post office. Weird. Probably not normal to be seeing dead people, lol. Wonder if there is a heaven? Probably not. He probably wouldn’t be there anyway.

Back to office.

Crap, easily going to be here another couple of hours. G wants to know what to make for dinner.

Phone is ringing. Cell phone is ringing. “Are you going to be able to come to the car lot today?” “I need you to stay here for a meeting.” “Did you process those change orders yet?”

Leaving. Now. No matter how much is left to do. Need to actually help AB with her homework. We are awful parents.

Traffic. Rain. 16 miles into gas light.

People should really be able to handle driving in rain here. Brutal. Liver Biopsy. 2yr old with extremely out of range levels. Her ALT is better, but not anything else. Are you sure she isn’t exposed to anything environmentally?


“Wow, you are home early. No car lot? Don’t you need to be over there?”


Crying. More crying. Fighting over a soda.

My 2yr old with liver failure is drinking a diet soda. Wonder if that would qualify as an environmental exposure? 7yr old is watching TV. By herself. Again. And she is starting to get boobs. Sigh. Still tired.

“Mama, open door! You open door for your baby!” “Mia, let go of the door handle like that, you are going to break it.” “This is your baby, mama! Big baby sit on your lap?” “No, you cannot sit on my lap while I am going potty.” “I lock door mama. Tessie no come in.”

8:00pm. Gummy vitamins, melatonin, bottle, downstairs. Tantrums. More tantrums. Tummy aches. Fights over the sleep timer.

8:30pm. Lay down with #1. Talk about her day. Talk about the fact that no one is helping with her homework.

Dig thru the 6 baskets of unfolded laundry to find cozy clothes. Hate doing laundry. If I ever win the lottery the 1st thing I will do is hire someone to do the laundry. G is doing the dishes again. Should really be helping instead of playing Draw Something. I wonder if he will go get us Blizzards. Maybe he will get gas for me?

10:15pm “When you do you want to pay up your “I will give you anything you want if you go get the baby” offer?” Shit.

11:08pm Forecast says rain again.

Forgot to pay the cable bill, again. Forgot to get Mia’s Epi-Pens refilled. Should go to sleep and stop googling liver biopsy. I can see my awful brows in the reflection of the ipad. Rude. Liver Failure. ugh.