What's that Scooby Doo? Me? Cheat? No. Okay, Maybe.

Game night. Usually we pick an age appropriate game for a six-year-old, but on this night she really wanted to play Scooby Doo Monopoly. To be honest I've been wanting to play since I bought it for Joe for Christmas...last year.

We get it all setup, Madison is enamored with the piles of money that lay before her. The game starts, we play as usual. Buying real estate, passing go and all that jazz. Seeing how Madison would get so excited to buy the Scooby Doo real estate I figured we'd play "nice" and wouldn't buy the land that she was buying. So, if she bought a red 'land' then I wouldn't buy the other one when I landed on it. This went on for awhile and I realized that I had no real estate and Madison and Joe were basically moguls.

I had my eye on a color set that neither of them had bought yet and I had dibs, well, in my mind I did. Madison lands on it and wants to stake her claim. "I want it! How much?"

"You don't have enough, my turn." I roll the dice while she lookes stunned at my quickness. Joe was busy keeping his eyes in his head. On my turn I landed on a spot that had me collect a "Zoinks" card, it sent my ass straight to jail. Madison asked "Why do you have to go to jail?", Joe replies without hesitation, "Because that's what happens to cheaters."

After 3 hours of playing this never ending game. How quickly we forget that Monopoly is not a game but can compare only to purgatory. I decide that I'm sick of seeing Joe and Madison rack in the rent and I need a piece of that action so I'm going to buy the next available piece of real estate. Sure enough I land on the last available 'orange' estate, Madison owns the other two.

"I'm buying it!" I exclaim. Madison begins her explanation about how she is buying the orange ones so that one is hers, "You can't buy it! I have the oranges!" she says.

"I can to buy it, you aren't on it, I've been playing nice and not buying anything that ya'll were buying but screw that noise, I'm tired of not owning anything."

A glance at her broken face triggered me to look over at my husband who was at that moment reattaching his lower jaw.

My hysterical laughter didn't help anything, well, except my dialation I'm sure.

So, I had in the last 30 minutes cheated my daughter, my 6-year-old daughter out of real estate and taught her the phrase "screw that noise".

I'm about to have another child, I wonder what fun things we can teach him.


It's a Family Tradition

Most families have traditions. We have quite a few, like we always open one present on Christmas Eve, momma still wraps presents to me and Morgan from Santa Claus, we decorate the tree together every year, on Thanksgiving we get to pick a dessert, my mom's cornbread dressing is a tradition in itself. We also have another family tradition of sorts, we like to scare the shit out of eachother.

I'm not sure when it started, I remember it a lot when I was a teenager but it may have even started when I was much younger. Typically it's the hide behind the door type of scare. My mammaw (she is in her eighties now) would hide behind a door or crouch down behind a chair for as long as she had to, probably didn't help her arthritis but she didn't care. Momma likes to wait outside of your bedroom door or bathroom door and as you open it she screams and bangs on it really loud, my brother likes this method as well. Madison likes to hide around corners or in closets, yes, the 6-year old partakes in the tradition. I have felt a mother's guilt for literally scaring the piss out of her on occasion. Just the one time, calm down. Joe will try and scare me on occasion, he typically uses the hide behind the door method. Other times he takes it to a whole new level and sneaks into the house and then when I hear stuff in the house I call him to see if he's the one making the noise and he tells me that no, he isn't home yet. This method is unacceptable. This method will eventually get 911 called on it.

My reaction to being scared is always a great topic of conversation. The stance I usally take is hands up by head, scream, put one knee into my stomach and crouch into a ball. FYI: This is ineffective in the event of a real attack. I will most certainly be killed if there is ever an actual "bad-guy" hiding in my bathroom.

My method of "scaring" is equally ineffective. I'll paint a picture for you with a recent situation. At momma's house, I see her walk out to the garage so I take my chance and hide behind a corner. While standing there with my hands up in attack position (why? I don't know) I of course start picturing her scared reaction and that makes me giggle a little inside. Well, that little inside giggle eventually erupts into pure hysteria and by the time she makes it back from the garage I am halfway to an unrecognizable heap on the floor. She walks by and the look on her face is pure confusion, and disappointment. I mean, here I am, heir to the throne and I can't even mutter out a "gotcha!"? Useless.

I also had the same situation with Morgan recently. I was already on the floor this time because I was going to grab his ankles as he walked by, bad move. By the time he walked by I was laughing hysterically and pawing at his legs. His reaction was similar to what it would be like to walk past a pile of dog shit, step to the side slowly and look down in disgust.


Happy Birthday Morgie Porgie!

Today is my little brother's birthday, he turned 21. Finally, now he can drink legally...whoops.

Born on this day in 1988 Samuel Morgan Wade was a small town boy, son to a farmer and his wife. No, that's not it. He was born to our parents and was blessed to have a kick ass sister like me. Well, he would know how kick ass I was until just a few years ago because until then we fought constantly. When he was a baby I was very protective over him, then he grew up a little and started talking back, holy shit, I didn't know he was going to do that.

Pretty soon he would look at me and then I would yell at momma that he was looking in my general direction and then she would yell at us that we 'would both be gettin' our asses whooped'.

"You're brother's name is Samuel, why the hell do you call him Morgie Porgie?" Because I want to that's why, shut up. No, seriously, that's my answer.

I could write all day about our lives growing up. That one time that I let him drive the golf cart at the farm house and he ran over his tricycle and we were practically pushing eachother over to tell momma because we figured whoever told first would be in the least amount of trouble.

That time that he got hit in the forehead with a pipe while playing baseball (don't ask), wound up with 18 stitches in the middle of it and he looked like Harry Potter for months (taped up glasses to boot).

Oh, how about that time that he was being such a brat and he pulled my pants down in front of the general store!

Though we fought like brother and sister for so many years in between I am so happy to have such a great relationship with him now, he's a great friend and brother and I don't know what I would do without him.

Okay, that's all the sentiment you get. Asshole.


Lesson 1: Walking In Public

Good afternoon everyone. Welcome to today's lesson, "How To Not Walk Like an Asshole in a Parking Lot", or as I like to call it "Stay Home Dumbass".

As you all know I have seen my fair share of parking lots and while I carry a full assortment of colorful comments and complaints about the cars/drivers themselves, today I would like to focus the attention on the walkers. You know, the people that park and then get out of their cars and seem to stumble aimlessly among the vehicles that are attempting to park in said parking lot.

The main complaint for the day is why do they feel the need to walk in the longest diagonal line possible? Therefore keeping any passing car waiting until their trek is finished. Obviously never heard of the phrase "The shortest distance between two points is a straight line" they live by the creed "Derrrr...wha?".

Please see this figure. That demonstrates a parking lot and a person crossing the lane of traffic.

Fuck. What am I thinking? This is what a parking lot really looks like, sorry for the confusion.


What Can I Get For A Dollar?

Commercial judging time. I know what you're thinking, "what the hell does this chick do with her free time?". Well, don't you fucking worry about it.

Anyway. New McDonald's commercial. This guy is going from place to place with a dollar and asking "What can I get for a dollar?" as he holds up this dollar bill. He goes to a travel agency, where he gets a little palm tree; he goes to a dry cleaners, where he gets a hanger; he gets in a cab, then promptly gets out; he goes to a tanning salon, where he gets a little brown dot sprayed onto his cheek. See evidence below.

Wait a minute. What's that? He has all these goods in hand but he is still holding on to that same measly dollar bill. So, his plan was to distract the vendors with his stupid ass question, get them to give him free shit and while they are wondering what medication he is obviously NOT taking he walks out without paying the one dollar for the palm tree, hanger, etc. Asshole.

So, he arrives at McDonald's and asks the over zealous cashier "What can I get with this?" and the cashier promptly lists all of the things that cost a dollar. This makes the man happy. The next shot we see of him he is scarfing down about $4 worth of food. So, in fact this lunch did not cost $1, it probably cost about $4 you fucking cheapskate.

What can I get for a dollar? Apparently whatever the hell you want.


You Know What Causes Weather? Me.

I have reason to believe that inside of my body is some sort of magnet that attracts forces of nature. Or it could be that I am so large and pregnant that I have thrown the earth off of its axis and now I am the center of the universe, yeah that's it.

This morning was calm, a little cold no big deal. Taking Madison to school I decided not to put my coat on because A) it's not windy or that cold and B) I'm a whale and don't need one more layer on. Again, I will mention that it was calm, no wind, not even a hint of wind coming around.

We get out of the car and walk about 5 feet when all of a sudden we are swept up in a wind storm. Snow is flying everywhere and by everywhere I mean that the direction of every flying object was aimed at my face. Madison has her coat over her head screaming for me to guide her. We're lucky we weren't run over by an SUV or that a house didn't fall on our heads. Now, this is how I know that it's me, that I am the reason for this freak of nature weather. (Well, this and I just know that everything is about me, so there.) We get within one foot of the door to the school and it stops. The wind just stops. Fine, mother nature, good morning to you too.

I get her into school, to her class and I'm looking outside through the windows and it's still calm. Cool. I walk out of the door and I shit you not I am 5 feet outside and the wind picks up again. Practically pushing me down the sidewalk toward the car. Now I'm getting pissed. I get to the car after walking safely to and from the school, being bullied by the wind and I lift my foot to step into the vehicle and down I go. I happen to have stepped on the one patch of black ice in the whole parking lot. I'm sorry to all of the parents and children who had to witness this maniac screaming and cussing while trying to climb into her car.

Watch out world, tomorrow I'm going to dress in full winter gear. Get ready for a heatwave.


Wax On....Wax Off

Joe: "Oh, did they mess up your eyebrow there in the middle when you got waxed? Whew."

Me: (through gritted teeth) "No, that's a pregnancy zit, a third eye, a gunshot wound. Thanks for noticing."

Well Hello There Pregnancy Hormones, Did You Have a Nice Vacation?

They're baaaaack. It's been a couple of months since I've cried multiple times a day, I should've known that those days were waiting behind the door to jump out and scare the living shit out of me when I least expected it. That day was Sunday. I love Sunday's, it's my favorite day of the week but the way my Sunday's have been going lately I'm about to vote it off of the calendar.

Of course we went to Costco. The trip itself wasn't that bad, I was having a million contractions (not the real kind) and had to pee about 6 times but not too bad. We checked out and I vetoed getting boxes because we have the big Costco reusable bags in the car, I usually just cart everything out there and then I load the bags up. We get to the car and dear husband is complaining about me not getting boxes and then he said something and I only remember it sounding like "Please dear, let me sit here and let you punch me in the face; and so you don't hurt your pretty hands please use this tire iron." It was something like that, can't quite get the words right. So, I took a step back and went and sat in the car. Made me cry. (FYI, he did apologize)

We get home and as I'm doing the Hunchback of Notre Dame walk to the house so I can go pee the dear husband yells "Hey!" so I turn around just in time to see keys flying at my skull. I throw my hand up but the key hurt me. Wah. So I go pee and cry.

All day I've been waiting for a call or text from my brother, we typically talk or text about 50 times a day so it was weird that I hadn't heard from him. I had also been trying to call my mother and I could never get to talk to her for more than 2 seconds. So finally, I'm talking to momma and I hear Morgan in the background, he had just come home from work. So I demand an answer on why the hell he hasn't contacted me ALL FUCKING DAY? Busy at work. Whatever. I call him and he doesn't answer! I call my mom back and he had just left to go somewhere. I start crying. (FYI: He did call right back and explained his horrifically busy day.)

My mom called and said that when Joe came out to her house he left without grabbing the bag that I'm borrowing to use for our hospital bag. I blacked out. When I came to she was laughing hysterically, fortunately for both of them she was kidding. Cry again.

Finally, it's the end of the day. I'm exhausted, I need a hot shower, my feet hurt, my back hurts, my cervix hurts, my head hurts. I laid down in the bed just so I could rest for a little bit before jumping in the shower. Husband has million things to ask and say and it's just too much. Cry. Cry. Cry.

As he sleeps I lay there and notice that I'm having like a million contractions, honestly I'm too tired to really care or count them but I do know that I'm having a lot. So, I lay there for a while. I get up to go pee and realize that I need to poop. I had been laying there in bed, counting poop contractions. Fabulous.

Yeah, remember that post from a few days ago about how I hardly ever cry? Shut up.

Pajama Day

I'm sure when you were in school you remember days like pajama day, spirit wear day, wear red day, etc. The one that always sent me into a panic was pajama day. I would spend the whole night before checking the calendar to make sure that yes, in fact, the next day is pajama day. Making sure that the pajama's I picked out were cute and there was nothing waiting to embarass me. All night I would worry that I had the wrong day. In the morning, after checking the calendar for the millionth time I would finally leave the house. All the way to school I would be in a comatose state of panic until I saw that my friends were in fact wearing their pajamas. I would then vomit into a bag.

Madison had pajama day at school this week. Same thing. I spent all weekend making sure that yes, in fact, it is going to be pajama day. Spoke with other parents about it, they had the same fears as me fortunately. Who wants to be the mother that ruins their child's life by dressing them in pj's on a non-pajama day at school, might as well just give them a trench coat and stop washing their hair now. So, I check the calendar, confirm that it is indeed the day. She is dressed in her super-cute and warm pj's. We pull up to school and are walking to the doors and I notice that not a single kid has their pajama's on. Luckily Madison hasn't noticed this, I of course am in a state of panic on the inside and am talking nonsense trying to distract myself away from the trainwreck that I feel is about to ensue. We get to her classroom, the longest walk of my life and see that all of the kids in her class do have their pajama's on. Phew. It was just a thing that her class is doing, not the whole school. I kiss her goodbye, wish her a good day and as soon as I'm in the car, I vomit into a bag.


Marie Callender, You Heartless Bitch

I don't cry much. I might whine and bitch a whole lot, but seldom do I cry over things. My best friend of 12 years can cry at the drop of a hat, she knows it so I'm not saying anything hurtful here. It would come in handy when her dad would say she couldn't do something. She could turn on those waterworks faster than I could shrug my shoulders (my general response to anything) and he would change his mind. I guess it was a survival instinct for her, she grew up knowing that this thing worked for her so she had to employ it. I mean, if we couldn't go hang out at the bowling alley our lives were o-v-e-r, over. For serious ya'll.

That being said, there is something that can make me cry every time.


Does it to me every time. For instance, a while back momma made beef tips and rice for dinner and I was over along with some other family members. Well, while I was helping to get the table set everyone was making their plates and I walked into the kitchen to find that the rice was gone. They had taken all of the rice. Now, how the hell do you eat beef tips and rice, with no rice? Momma, seeing the panic on my face and tear about to fall, yells "Don't cry! I'm making more rice!" Too late, already crying.

While on vacation we went to a Marie Callender's restaurant. You know her right, she makes the bomb ass chicken pot pies. So, we all sit down and of course I know that I want a chicken pot pie, so that's what I order. The waiter comes back a short time later to tell me that they are out of chicken pot pie's. Out. Gone. No more. What? This is a Marie Callender's RESTAURANT right? You're not microwaving frozen pot pies back there are you? No ma'am. See, at Ms. Callender's restaurants they only make a certain amount of pies per day and when they are gone, they are gone. Momma sees my panic, it's too late. Sobbing.

Last weekend I sat in the chair by the window crying. Joe asked "What's the matter?", to which I replied "I don't know what to have for breakfast!"

These are only three stories out of a lifetime of food ordeals, there have been plenty more. I can't explain why food is my crying trigger but it is and by God if I order something and you bring it to me wrong or tell me that your out, well, you better have your method of self defense already picked out....and kleenex.

Also, Madison cried yesterday when what she wanted for breakfast was french toast sticks but we were out. Let's face it, I gave birth to myself.


It's Getting Cereal Around Here

I am 36 weeks and 3 days pregnant. I know right? You had no idea I was pregnant because I haven't complained or contemplated murder at all. It's all good.

Oh, wait, no it's not because right now my hips are seperating from my body. The little tyke is at a 0 station, for those of you that don't know what that means it means that his head is way down there, way down like "Hey mom look what I can do!" down. My nurse midwife says she highly doubts that I'll make it to my due date, 3 weeks from now. In the same breath she also says, well you never know you could still go all the way.

I like those odds. You'll go early or you'll go late. Sounds good to me.

I told her the my hips have been killing me and she laughed and said well they should, there's a baby's head in there. So funny. Oh, she's a knee slapper I tell ya.

So, any day now OR in three weeks. I guess I better pack my hospital bag OR not.


Here It Is...

This is it, this is where you get to make fun of me and all that jazz. I don't care though. Well, I care a little so please be gentle. You may have noticed the new heading for the blog this month. Yes, that is an image from the movie New Moon. Yes, I am a fan.

I generally keep this secret, only a handful of people know how much I love this series. I've read the books and am now reading them AGAIN. My sister-in-law, we'll call her B, turned me on to the books. I wasn't going to read them but she insisted and I finished all 4 in about five days. I couldn't stop. Then I watched the Twilight movie (disappointed in the Director, but I won't show my true geekiness) and it is now a constant in my 5-disc player.

I then turned my brother onto the books and movie. Morgan resisted at first but now he is totally into it and we are partners in the insanity. I have also recently found another FAN here at work, we'll call her E, and she is awesome because we are equally geeky about it and agree on everything. It's terrible I know but I just can't help it. Okay, I'm going to stop now because this will just go on and on and be a ridiculous diatribe about how Catherine Hardwicke totally screwed up the first movie though it was still great but New Moon is going to be fan-fucking-tastic and it doesn't matter that I am having a baby this month and that Morgan is turning 21 because those two life milestones don't matter at all because New Moon is in theatres on the 20th and if this kid decides to come that weekend he is starting life out on the the wrong foot.

Okay, I'm done.

I Own the Rights to All of the Crazy..Well, What Lady GaGa Doesn't Own Already

I somehow managed to get past the firing squad that is my common sense and sanity and I ventured out into the world on Saturday afternoon. I needed to go to Target for a couple of things which included nursing bras and nursing tanks. Yes, those. I was also craving the Geneva type Pepperidge Farm cookies. Those things are fucking delicious.

Please join me on this trip. Have a seat in the passenger's seat and enjoy the ride.

Here I am, I need to turn left so I am in the middle lane which is a turning lane. I see that there are three cars in oncoming traffice that are going to be turning onto the street that I need to turn onto. I also notice that if they hurry up and turn that I can also turn before the next 500 cars come through. IF they hurry up and turn. Not, slow to a crawl and then turn. The first two cars turn, not too slow but they could have definitely picked it up a bit. Here comes the third car, going to slow that I could have walked to her car and opened the door and got in. So begins my crazy hands, flailing my arms I'm screaming "COME ON!". This genius thinks that I am waving at her because I know her and basically stops to wave at me.

I'm still cleaning my brains off of my windshield.