Bloodthirsty Boys

My boys are creative little creatures - okay, not creative, but bloodthirsty. They find new and inventive ways to smash, crush, kick or trap bugs and small rodents. So steadfast in their cause, they decided to kill a black widow spider perched in the bathroom window - with a BB gun. I didn't say they were geniuses, just bloodthirsty.

Snatchmonster

Some days, I love being a chick. I am one of three in my house, the other two being feline. Living a boy house, much of my time is spent referring, cooking and disaster preparedness in the form duct tape and super glue. Usually I handle the chaos in good nature, but then my monthly gift arrives and the surly persona that resurrects itself is the Snatchmonster.

I feel like a hormonal nutjob riding an emotional rollercoaster while dealing with aching boobs, headaches and a seemingly unending craving for chocolate and anything deep-fried. My raving snatchitude usually reaches its peak when I arrive home from work. Four boys and an equally tired husband all bombard me with questions.

“What’s for dinner mom?”

“Can we have pizza?”

“Can I have a dollar? And a ride to-“

“YOU WANT WHAT?” I say through clenched teeth, seething in hormonal nuttiness. I’m starving, tired and I desperately need chocolate, followed by a bottle of wine.

“Honey – oh, shit, run kids!”

“What about the baby?”

“Leave him! He’s cute, he’ll survive.”

While the husband and kids scurry in fear and the baby is howling “What the hell is wrong with food lady?” He can’t say that, but that’s what the howl means. I forage through my freezer for sweet chocolate relief only to find that my teenager, I mean locust, has devoured it all. Emergency stash.

I check behind the liquor above the fridge. Dammit.

I gather my frightened fiendling and motor off to the store. I am on a MISSION!

Baby Fiend is now happy – he sees all the food which means at some point, he will be fed. I get my supplies and go back home. I down a glass of wine while I cook – the snatchiness is subsiding a little and although I still feel like a bloated meatball on a pms crusade, I know that there is chocolate waiting for me after dinner.

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Sexy Elastic

The horror that is bikini season is upon us. I save the public’s vision by not participating since I’ve had four kids trample through my stretched out body and instead wanted to know more about my fat. We’re frenemies after all!

The human fat cell is basically like the Force, there are a dark side and good side. They’re vital to your health by transporting oxygen to every part of your body. They are also the chemically active part of your cell membranes – so without them, nothing works. They are capable of keeping good fat and bad fat. I stopped when I read this part – you mean my fat is communicating with other fat cells? Or talking to my stomach?  So they can turn on me and keep the bad fat letting my butt become a small continent or my arms becoming all, well, flappy? What, do they like, tweet or something?

Thighfatcell34: “Stomach! Tell her to eat it! It’s fat! That donut is HUGE!”

Buttcell788: “SEND THE FAT THIS WAY!!”

BackfatSally3: “Did you see her scarf that down?!?”

Stomach071: “Well get the whole dozen, Darkside!”

Buttcell55: “WE GET IT ALL! Cellulite ready!”

BackfatSally3: “Not unless we get it first! We have rolls to fill!”

Then, Battle-Ass Gigantica starts – cells doing battle over where the fat will go – hanging stomach or extra chin? What those cells don’t realize is that the bad fat is sneaky – it’s unrecognizable to them as the dark side. Cells are incapable of dealing with them once they are there and replace the good fats. The dark side ensues and suddenly you look in the mirror one day and realize you did inherit, gasp, your mother’s sinking buttocks!

BackFat6: “Keep fighting!!! The butt will not win!”

Midtire92: “We’re swooping in Backfat!!! Back off or we will fire!”

BackFat6: “Fire what stupid? We’re fat cells, not warriors.”

ThighCell54: “AHHH!!! Bad fat! I’m hit!”

Buttcell55: “Buttcell down! Buttcell down! Transfat taking over….”

Buttcell83: “55? 55? Where are you? Trans/sat fat targeted! Oh man, it’s taking over!”

Yoda#1: “Tran/saturated fat is the path to the Dark side. Fats lead to big pants. Big pants lead to fashion disaster. Fashion disaster leads to suffering in sexy elastic. May the bad fat not be with you.”

Thighcell43: “Who the f*&K was that?”  

Wish

Spent the day thinking about wishes. I wish on stars, wishbones and when I turn the hook of my necklace back to behind my neck. I wish my cup of coffee would be poured and on the counter ready when I get up - not having to justify that my cup of coffee is icky to my toddler while I convince him that his water is the best sh*t ever. I wish my ass was smaller and not the size of a small foreign car and that I didn't have to squeeze into jeans a size too small. I wish I could slap Sarah Palin. She's on tour right? It could happen. I wish I could slap that Weiner guy for wasting my time and everyone else's having to think about his penis.
I wish I didn't have to be painfully aware of my muffin top when I pull my keyboard out at work. I wish I could explain exactly why to my kids why life isn't fair. I wish I had more time in the day to write and paint. I wish that my family's clothes would automatically wash, dry and fold themselves. I wish I could get a date with my husband more often. I wish I could go back to when I was seven and it was my sister's and my birthdays - I don't remember what I wished for, but I wouldn't wish anything any other way.