Well, at least I thought I was once. But, as anyone who has a child near the ten-year-old age mark (that lovely abyss between not-quite-pre-teen and full-fledged-pre-teen) will attest, these kids see all in black and white terms. No shady areas in their world. Things are either good, or bad. Right, or wrong. And of course, the every increasingly important: cool and not cool. I have had my share of bug-eyed iducing, cringing, darn near vomiting on my shoe looks of death from my ten year old as she shows me in how many ways it is that I am not cool.

I am 31 and I have three kids. I like to think that I don’t look like a “typical” mommy. Apparantly, my kid agrees. However, this is a bad thing. I get repeated pleas of,”MOOOOMM! You look like a teenager!” I think this is great. She doesn’t. Well, she looses on this one because Shylah says I dress cute so too bad, booger butt. The mommy club wins over the kiddie club, two to one!

I also listen to what I have always thought of as “cool” music. I still listen too and watch MTV and VHI regularly. Again, Bri is there to point out to me just how mortiphying this is. As I am dropping her off at her friends house yesterday, she actually forced me to TURN OFF MY MUSIC! Hell, yes I am using caps, as I was quite annoyed by this. I was listening to one of my favourite Eminem songs, and she was terrified that they would hear it through the car! Aparantly, having a mom that knows every word to all of Eminems songs is waaay not cool. Her reaction was actually slightly amusing. I think part of my agreeable attitute towards shutting it off was because of how hard she freaked. It caught me off gaurd the first time, but next time I will be ready for her. I am gonna blast something really “old” like Nirvana, Smells Like Teen Spirit. Ha, mom wins again!

So, while I may be living in a world where my harshest critic (besides myself) is my ten-year-old daughter, I am brightened by the knowledge that this is just a phase and like all things it will pass.

Dammit. I just remembered that she is my oldest child. Oh God! I don’t know if I can do this two more times! If each kid does this from the age of ten until the age of eighteen, that is like twenty-four years of hearing how everything I do is wrong and how much I suck!

Anyone want to move with me to Vegas?

I am having an affair on my blog with a hard cover, sexy little notebook. It started out innocently enough, with me picking it up out of the bargain bin at some random book store so that I would have someplace to jot all the little things that I am not comfortable posting here. True indeed, it started out like that. However, it soon took over.

While I adore blogging, I have never done it regularly, partially because of the very reason that I have to hold back the good stuff. I mean, I can’t very well get on here and write a paragraph about being pissed at Shylah. Besides the fact that I know she reads my blog, she is also the one who generously hooked me up with a blog of my very own to begin with. So being negative about her here just would not be cool.

That was all just an example, by the way. Lucky for me, Shylah is freaking awesome and I don’t have to worry about it. But, you did get the point, right? Well, the point is now all the good crap is in my little whore of a journal, and therefore I feel like I have nothing to write here.

The other stuff is poison though. You are better off in the fluffy-bunny world that I create for you in which all things are safe. Let’s just try to compromise and I will give you a little peak into the vomit inducing hard core world from time to time.

Deal?

I had originally intended to make the assumption that most everyone knows what a MILF is, but then I came to the likely conclusion that one of my few readers (my mother) might not be in the know on that particular term. Therefore, for Mom and anyone else who is fortunate enough to discover the hidden jewel that is my personal blog, as well as fortunate enough to not be so absorbed with the pop culture that creeps virus-like into every aspect of our lives that they fully comprehend the literal meaning of the acronym MILF, I will spell it out for you. The literal translation is Mother I’d Like To F**k. Ah, we Americans are so clever with our catchy little acronyms and phrases. BYOB, anyone?

In Jennifer world (which is by the way where I primarily reside unless on a temporary vacation curteousy of the phenominal powers of Demoral), the acronym MILF recently received a face lift,and none too soon either. My personal first experience with this pseudo-word came during the early years of the 2000’s, viewed in the movie American Pie. Which came first, the movie or the word, is unknown to the likes of me. However, what is quite obvious to someone of my relatively low pop culture stature is that though this word is still around, like Babe or Stoked, this one seems to be currently used more by those who make their living promoting pornography, and less by the general public. That is all about to change.

Thanks to me, the word MILF has been updated to include a possible verb usage.

MILF
Noun, Verb
1. Acronym for Mother I’d Like To F**K.
2. An action in which a woman who has children, i.e. a mom, uses her immediate appeal or obvious potential to interest or excite others, as by appearance, style, or charm: “I totalled MILFed that guy into giving us free food.”

This little gem came to me recently when my husband and I took our four year old to a local kids arcade. Jaden is crazy over spiderman, and I am usually quite excellent at retrieving those little stuffed animals from the claw game. However, on this particular occasion, five dollars later, I still could not get for him the large, black Venom character that he so desperately wanted. Did I leave my baby boy disappointed? Of course not. I totally MILFed it for him.

My sinister plan first reared its crafty yet effective head when Matt and Jaden took off to other wonderous adventures curteousy of the bug stomp game, leaving me to produce the elusive Venom. After a few frustratingly unfruitful tries, a young man happened to come over to rearrange all of the stuffed animals in all of the claw machines.* I smiled and casually mentioned my plight to him, and after looking around quickly, presumably for management, he made sure that when he arranged that machine he put all of the Venoms at the top, with no other characters allowed to impede the journey of Venom into the machines clutching claw, and ultimately into my sons expecting hands. Thanks much, young working man, but it did me no good. Try as I might, I was still unable to release our aforementioned hero from his glassy prison. However, my encounter with him was the encouragement that I needed to put my plan into effect.

I sashayed up to the counter, hoping that I would get the bored looking young man to assist me, rather then the attentive and eager looking young woman. Smiling my best, I simply told him the situation and asked him if he would be willing to open the machine for me and retrieve the highly coveted Venom, and I would in turn just give him my dollar.

I can not explain to you how astonished I was when this actually worked. Not only did he take me right over there and open it so that I could have my pick, he wouldn’t even accept the five bucks that I offered him. I had no clue that my womanly powers would still work, at the age of 31, very married and with three children.

Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he would have done this for anyone because he hates his job and doesn’t give a crap. Maybe he felt sorry for the old lady. I can’t say for sure, and honestly neither can you so shut up. What I can say is that, as often as I have frequented these types of establishments in the past ten years, I have yet to see them do this for another customer. Take it as you will. I will take it as I totally MILFed the sucker!

*Please note that while these were young men, they were not underage by my estimate. I would guess late teens to early twenties. Yes, I realize it doesn’t matter for a little flirty behaviour, but still. Even I have my standards.

We started working on the cadavers in my anatomy class. I thought that it was going to gross me out but it didn’t. It is actually really interesting and I am enjoying viewing the organs that we have already read about in our text.

There is only one thing that is bothering me: the male cadaver penis.

The man has been deceased for thirty years, so his skin is now so leathery that you could quite possibly use him to make clothing, Silence of the Lambs style. Dead, leathery penis is not a pretty sight. Especially when one considers that you could hollow it out and make it into a very small boot.

Adding to the horror is the pubic hair. I have no idea what color this mans original pubes were, but they are now a horrid shade of rust red. This wouldn’t be so bothersome except for the fact that I am pretty sure that this man was not a red-head to begin with. Add that to the fact that his pubes are now so stiff that they resemble a well-worn brillo pad, and you have the image that is going to haunt me in my nightmares.

It was so odd, standing there with this naked cadaver for the first time. There was absolutely no reason for his private area to be uncovered. We were going over the muscles of the arm for goodness sakes! I think our teacher just wanted to see if any of us were total pervs. Well yes sir, that would be me. Raise my hand for perv of the year because I was totally distracted by the fact that there was this nasty, naked penis in our group yet I was the only one who seemed to notice.

I felt like saying,”Um, anyone else see the dick or is it just me?”

I know. Sometimes my maturity astounds even me.

I have a love/hate relationship with soccer. I hate it because it is a sport, and pretty much all sports are boring as hell to me. I love it because my husband used to play, and both of my girls play now. The games can be stab-me-in-the-eye-with-your-cleat-and-put-me-out-of-my-misery boring, or they can be edge-of-my-seat-screaming-like-a-madwoman exciting, depending on the game. Regardless of what kind of game it is, I love watching my kids play.

Every parent thinks there child is the best, prettiest, awesomest, whatever. I don’t think my kids are the best players on the field. All I know is that they rock that field hard, and make me one proud mama.

Sadie surprises me with her agressive playing tactics. This is her first year, but that little girl shows no fear. She was averaging two goals a game. It was funny to watch because she is not really agressive in her day-to-day life, but she kicks butt on the field. Sadie is normally pretty lazy but she runs almost the entire game, staying with that ball and loving every minute. She enthusiastically infroms us that she is going to play again next year.

Brianna has played for about five seasons now, and she has became quite the defender. Perhaps it is the sadistic side of me coming out, but I love watching her nail the opposing team. I get a bit of a perverse thrill when she knocks someone down or gives them a good elbow, if it helps her team. I would never want her to hurt someone on purpose, but sometimes those moments can win or lose a game.

Bri is going to play indoor soccer this year, so the “fun” continues.

While visiting my 90-year old grandmother tonight, Jaden picked up a mirror that she keeps by her chair.

Looking at himself he declared, “I am so cute!”

He then passed the mirror to his great-grandma, stating “Here. Look at yourself. You are old”.

A few days ago, I told my oldest daughter the truth about Santa.

Brianna took me by surprise when she brought the subject up while we were sitting on the sidelines at Sadie’s soccer game.

Brianna is nearly ten year old, so I was surprised that her belief in all things magical had remained so strong despite the naysayers that she encounters in the classroom, television and other aspects of life. She continued to believe to the point of angrily confronting other children, citing such things as Santa’s bootprint in the ashes and the fact that her dad and I can not afford the extravagant gifts that Santa brings as evidence of the jolly old elfs undoubted existence. She believed so strongly that I began to become embarrassed for her, knowing that the other children would think that she was gullible and naive and that her innocence would be mocked. Honestly, I was feeling guilty that I was contributing to something that could potentially make her a target of ridicule amongst her peers. So, when the subject came up I decided to come clean.

It was a simple exchange, really. I told her the truth, she asked a few questions, and that was it. Nevertheless, it brought tears to my eyes. The look on her little face was one of bewilderment, dissapointment, and embarrassment all at the same time. As much as it hurt me to have to destroy that little bit of childhood magic for her, part of me felt guilty for allowing it to continue for so long.

I told Brianna that now that she is privy to the secret, she has a responsibilty to perpetuate the fantasy for her younger brother and sister. My compromise for her is that by not ruining this aspect of the Christmas experience for them, she would be allowed to help us with all of the Santa festivities from the adult end, with the exception of handleing her own presents.

She seemed satisfied with this, but the look of dissapointment that wore that afternoon is one that I will always remember.

Sometimes, being the parent sucks.

I think that my mother-in-law is a close relation to Lucifer himself. Seriously, the woman reeks of brimstone and demon seed. It is almost impressive how a woman whom we barely see can cause such chaos in our life.
I started dating my husband when I was thirteen years old. The woman who was to become my mother-in-law never liked me or wanted me around. I have never understood her rejection of me and my relationship with her son. I was just a little girl, really, when she first met me. I was his first serious girlfriend. I was his first kiss, his first everything. One would think that she would have been nice to me, if for no other reason than the fact that her son was crazy about me. Over the years she has caused many, many problems for my husband and I, and for our children as well. It is way too much to go into in one post, but here are a few highlights:

*When Brianna was a baby, Matt had Brianna as the beneficiary on his life insurance because we were not married yet. I was fine with this and actually encouraged it. But, I was the custodian or whatever it is called. I was to control the money until Brianna was 18 and could access the funds. My mother-in-law had a fit and wanted him to make her in charge of my daughters funds. Even though he did not give in to her, I still hate her for that.

*The only part of our wedding that she paid for was the wine and cheese table (something that was for her because she loves wine. Matt and I did not even drink wine at that time and did not want the stupid table). She tried to say that etiquette says that she did not have to pay for anything, even after I showed her how the books say that is old fashioned and the grooms family should at least pay for the honeymoon, rehearsal dinner, music, etc. She did not pay for anything, yet she proceeded to invite a plethora of people that my husband did not even know. This woman uses every life event for my husband and I as a way to show off and get attention for herself.

*Even though she and her husband are fairly well off, she has never helped us in any way. Matt and I have been through some tough times, and it has always been my family that has seen us through. When we got our first place together when Bri was a baby, she did bring us towels. Old towels. Wore out towels with holes in them that had been their garage towels. I still can’t believe that she was not embarrassed to give those to us and act like we should be excited to have them.

*She did buy us a washer and dryer when we got our first place. That would have been nice, if she had not bought it with my husbands money. That’s right, she could not even use her own money. Instead, she used an account that was set up for my husband when his grandparents died. So, it was kind of like he bought it. But of course, she still expected us to thank her profusely.

*She closed aforementioned account and kept the money when she and I got into a fight.

*She and her evil sister stole the champagne from our wedding. They took it back to her house and drank it at an “after reception party” that she had for her friends and family. A party that none of my family or friends were invited too. She then denied taking the champagne, even though several people saw her and her sister’s sneaking it out the back door. And, even though some of the people that were at her stupid party told Matt and I that she took it.

*Out of everything, this is probably the worst: She did not come and see my children from right after our wedding when we fought, until my son Jaden was 9 months old. That is almost exactly six years. She lived in the same town as us the whole time. If that does not indicate what a selfish, semi-insane asshole she is, I don’t know what does. Regardless of how strained her relationship is with me or her son, how anyone could not come and see their grandchildren for years will forever remain beyond the scope of my comprehension.

Need more proof that she has sold her soul? The church that Matt and I were married at has been demolished to make room for a new city building. I am convinced that this is a result of her evil ass setting foot in there, contaminating all that his holy.

As a result of her erratic, arrogant and frustrating behaviour, I have appropriately named her the Barracuda. While I try not to dwell on her and the problems that her presence causes, there will definitely be posts about her from time to time.

I guess the only semi-positive thing that I can say about the woman is that her sociopath behavior is sometimes entertaining and makes for some interesting posts. I have to take some stuff that she ordered from Sadie there soon, so be on the look out for more on the infamous barracuda soon!