The Robot-Zombie Zone

The weekend brought with it a large amount of work. I'm talking about the work that pays the bills, puts food on the table, and a roof over the family's head. I was leaving past midnight. Due to stress and lack of energy, my body was telling me to stop by to get some McDonald's french fries. Yeah, I know, so not good.  If you're up that late and on Twitter, then you probably read about my glorious stops. The weekend left me completely exhausted and useless at home.

I have to pause for a moment and give my husband massive amounts of kudos for watching the kids and keeping the house together. He really stepped up to the plate and kicked it up a notch. I would repay him with some great sex, but I'm too damn tired from actually working. I'm giving him an IOU on this. Yes, I'm posting it out there for all the world to see. I'm making it all official and legal.

MamaOnDaGo is giving her husband an IOU for sex because he's gone above and beyond and deserves it

Notarized and all that legal mumbo jumbo

Back to what I was originally going to discuss.

Work left me completely useless at home. We all know that our jobs as mothers and fathers does not stop because we are tired. The children continue to wake up at the butt crack of dawn. With day old mascara smeared upon my blood shot eyes (because I was too tired to do a decent job removing it), I would wake up. Actually, my body would be moving but my mind and my soul, I felt was elsewhere. I call this my robot-zombie zone.

The zone where I'm so exhausted I'm just going through the motions of being a mama. I neither really feel nor hear. My hands and body are moving as I play with the children, but I'm not really mentally there to enjoy this moment. Instead of being able to multi-task, I put efforts to even accomplish one task. At times, I just find myself zoning out even further. 

I'm glad I can look forward to a few days off. The fine print is I'll be off from work, but I'll be on full-mama duty. It'll be the Misters turn to make some dollars. I'm hoping a few days away from work will help me get out of the robot-zombie zone and refocus. I would say re-energize but that's asking way too much from being home alone with the kids. Here's to refocusing. 

Blogging Brings Families Together by Absolutely Narcissism

I want you all to discover the wonderful world of Absolutely Narcissism. As a sample presentation, she's been gracious enough to do a guest post for me. Please read, enjoy, and check out what else she has to offer. 

 Blogging Brings Families Together

By Sandra @ http://www.absolutelynarcissism.blogspot.com

The kids have been home for six weeks.

That’s approximately 44 days...I’ve even broken it down into hours, minutes, and seconds, but I’ll spare you the tedium.

It’s funny because there seems to be a general consensus out there that mothers are not looking forward to their kids going back to school. Whenever I read various blogs about this mommy who is warning her faithful readers that she won’t be posting for a few days in order to enjoy the last few days with her children before they go back to school, I’m always left with this intense guilt. What is wrong with me that I WANT my kids back in school?

Now.

Like right fucken now.

I have spent these past six weeks inviting other children over to play with mine; taking my kids to the beach on sunny days; taking them to the movies on rainy days; encouraging them to play in the pool; going for bike rides; hiking; fishing.

I’ve been doing as much as I can to keep them out of the house, entertained, occupied, and off the computer, Xbox, Wii, Playstation, and iPod.

In the process, I have been consciously limiting my time checking my email, Facebook, twitter, and blog.

Finally this week, I just gave up. I’ve had it. It’s been cloudy yet humid. Not conducive to the beach. Too sticky for outdoor activities. Too broke for indoor activities.

And I’m tired. No. That’s not accurate – I’m exhausted.

So I’ve been plunked on the couch, laptop in my lap, television playing Toddlers in Tiaras in a continuous loop, and have basically not discouraged my kids from anything. Do want you want as long as it doesn’t require me to get up from this couch.

What I’ve discovered though, is that rather than remaining glued to the electronic devices, they have been gravitating towards me.  Why? Because I have been blog surfing for two days straight, having a terrific time, laughing, talking to myself, and commenting out loud.

My kids love it. I don’t think they ever seen me this jubilant.

They want to know what I’m reading. Why I’m laughing. Who I’m talking to.

And I’ve been telling them: “This woman is so funny. She just wrote that her baby pulled her diaper off, and rubbed poop all over the walls.”

Of course, not at all funny for the blogger in question. But it’s poop. My kids love poop. They love saying it. They love hearing about it. And they especially love the visual of it smeared all over crib bars and walls.

Of course the mother in me tries to make this experience a learning one. I’ve described to them certain sadder blogs in which mothers are fighting illnesses – theirs or their children’s, always ending with a “you should be grateful you are healthy and happy.”

But in general, we like the inappropriate blogs. We’re all about the fecal matter.

Guest Blog on Tie A Little Ribbon

Tie A Little Ribbon gave me the opportunity to guest blog for her. If you haven't checked out her site, please do so. Also, you can catch her on Twitter @tiealittleribbon

Given this wonderful opportunity, I was perplexed on what to write about. If you're curious, check it out, be amazed and entertained! I promise you it's full of crap.

Guest blog on Tie A Little Ribbon 

Tales of a Food Porn Addict

Photo courtesy of The Food Network

I've known for many years that I have a LOVE for food. At first, I didn't really think much of it. It's not until recently that I've diagnosed myself with being addicted to food porn. Whether or not this is a true sickness, I'm not sure. There might also be a more appropriate term for my self-diagnosis. Regardless,  I love food, what's the big deal?


According to my last doctor visit, I'm a healthy weight. I have an appropriate BMI. My issue isn't necessarily with eating food (I could eat healthier though). Surprisingly, I'm a fairly picky eater. I don't even eat meat. This non-meat eating diet has evolved over the years to cut out various items. The evolution of a semi-vegetarian, dessert addict will have to be saved for a later post. Basically, I don't eat meat. I do eat seafood though. I'm sure there's an appropriate term for this as well. Every so often, I tell myself that I would eat a really good filet mignon, but I haven't in quite awhile. For now, let's just say semi-vegetarian.


As a young child, I can recall watching Julia Child and The Galloping Gourmet with Graham Kerr. We didn't have cable and this was way before the Food Network. Prior to having my own children, all I ever really watched was the Food Network. Literally!


The thought of food sends my senses into overdrive. I have a passion for food. I talk about food a lot. Reading and listening to various recipes sends my salivary glands into overdrive. I can look at pictures of food and be fascinated by it.


Sadly, I don't cook as much as I would like. To be quite frank, I'd rather hear and watch other people talk about food. See the problem here?


Although the taste of meat no longer really appeals to me, I enjoy hearing a chef talk about piling a burger with blue cheese crumbs and pairing it with sweet potato fries. I enjoy the sound of a steak being seared at a high temperature to seal in all its juices.

Photo courtesy of the Food Network

Let's not even get on the subject of baking and desserts. My real weakness. I can probably go on and on.
All this talk of food is driving me wild. I need a cupcake!

MacGyver Parents

Am I totally aging myself if I do a post that refers to MacGyver?

For those of you youngins, MacGyver was a show back in the 80s. I was fascinated by the show. It was basically about this guy, MacGyver, who was a secret agent. He'd go on all these special missions. The guy could escape anything and anyone using a few random things and his Swiss Army knife. He'd be able to make a bomb to get himself out of a bulletproof, soundproof safe by using ear wax and pocket lint. He'd be able to whip up a compass using a pencil and rubber band, so he could find his way back to the drop-off point. The guy was a genius. The guy was awesome!

Somewhere along our evolution as human beings, we were blessed with the MacGyver gene. Granted, this gene does not automatically turn on once a child is ripped from a women's body and the umbilical cord cut off. The gene remains dormant. It's buried deep in our chromosomes and one day emerges.

How else could you explain how we are able to entertain our children using Tupperware and a couple pencils? Voila, a drum set. Grab that mixing spoon and you have yourself a mic.

Who else turn couch cushions into a fort or castle?

The MacGyver parent can turn an empty box into a boat. The laundry basket into a rocket ship.

Like I said before, MacGyver was awesome, but once the MacGyver gene kicks in, a parent is a hero!

BlogHer: Not This Year

Just a few thoughts on why I'm not attending BlogHer.

1.) The idea of partying all night and schmoozing makes me tired just thinking about it

2.) Although Hubs has been supportive of my blogging, I can see him locking up the computer and our bank accounts from me

3.) Wait, Hubs wouldn't have to lock me out of our bank accounts because all payments would bounce anyways

4.) My "real" job, the one that puts food on the table and a roof over my family's head, doesn't feel that this conference counts as a business trip

5.) I don't think the people of BlogHer would appreciate my Mama Uniform

6.) I don't have time to lose 10 pounds on such short notice

7.) The NYC pollution is bad for my skin and lungs

8.) I've been trying to throw all the crap out of the house. Why do I need more awesome stuff even if it's free?

9.) I'm still feeling like the new girl in high school
10.) BlogHer would be like going to the prom...solo!

The reality is I've only been blogging for a few short months (how about almost 3 months). I'm very much a novice when it comes to all of this blogging/Twitter/FB mommy high tech stuff.  Quite frankly, I didn't know this conference existed. If it wasn't for all the mommy blogs talking about it, I would have continued on to live without knowing the existence of BlogHer. Heaven forbid!

Perhaps next year!

I know it's just the hurt talking...slightly jealous!

This Not Going To BlogHer was sponsored by A New Breed of Mom. Please feel free to join the rest of us who are not going to BlogHer.

Also part of BlogHerPityParty by Life Without Pink & Mommyfriend because there's just that much hurt  and jealousy. =)

Mama Uniform

A few weeks ago I ran into a blog called Absolutely Narcissism by Sandra. On that particular day, the topic of discussion was clothing and dressing like a mom.

Like the vain woman that I am, I was searching for ways to give myself a little more style. Unfortunately, this particular post wasn't giving dress advice the way I had hoped. It was a post about a woman who felt that after a woman turns 30 and has kids, she should dress like it. Uh, what exactly does that mean? I apparently didn't get the email or manual when I became a mother or when I turned 30 because I have no idea how a 30+ year old mother is supposed to dress. Hence, the reason why I was looking for fashion advice.

I have what I like to call my Mama Uniform.

 Looks like Chubs is cursing someone out like an Italian mafia guy.

Dark top, jeans, shades, and hair in it's usual mess. After park photo.

   -Jeans. My staple go-to attire. Let's make note that they are not "mom" jeans. I deserve a little credit. I just like to make sure my crack isn't hanging out every time I sit or bend over. Variations: khakis, shorts, capris, and workout pants.

   -T-shirts. Variations depend on the weather: tunics, cardigans, sweatshirts, tank tops. 

   -Sunglasses: The bigger the better. No day is complete without shades. It not only provides me with protection but it also hides dark circles and bags way better than any concealer. 

 Looking through my closet, I've found that most of my tops are black, navy, brown, and a touch of white. I can pretty much pull any two items in my closet and it's guaranteed to match. Plus, darker colors tend to hide stains better and supposedly make you look slimmer. I'm afraid one of these days I'm going to find myself in a magazine with the shameful black rectangle on my eyes to protect my identity.

One of the main reasons I really don't put too much effort in clothing is because I always end up with mystery stains on them. It can be one or more of the following: saliva, various food items, mystery sticky substance, regurgitated items and dirt. The top also has to be boobie flash proof because Chubs has a tendency to pull my top down for the world to see the "girls." Princess Ninja is currently obsessed with the word "boobies" and likes to point and/or poke at mine. There is so much running, bending, crawling, kneeling, etc involved in my day that my clothing has to be comfortable and practical.

A few months ago, I was inspired to try to put a little more pizazz to my wardrobe. I invested in a few pieces of clothing that weren't too trendy but stylish. Shopping for these few items was stressful since I brought the kids with me. Another reason why I love online shopping. Since I can't try anything on, I tend to purchase more Mama Uniform-like items.  One of the new pieces also included a sundress. Whoa! I also busted out some of my pre-mama shoes that haven't seen sunlight in 3 years. I was feeling pretty good.

I put on my little sundress and comfortable wedges and sashayed out with the kids to start our day. Chubs kept lifting my dress exposing my albino legs and full-coverage panties. My feet were hurting from the wedges and the kids were able to out run me through various obstacle courses. Since that day, I was back to my "classic" style, the Mama Uniform.

Trying to stop the Italian mafia guy from coming out of Chubs.