I angered the karma gods

So remember my rant yesterday?

Someone decided I hadn’t learned to meaning of tired or busy.

Because Tornado E came down with a fever last night.  At midnight, I could fry an egg on his head, but at least I caught all the vomit in the bowl.

Let’s get the count straight: One sick preschooler.  One potty-training toddler.  One nursing infant.

Mama’s sleep: 1 hr + 2.5hr + 2hr = one tired mama.

And Daddy, while he might be putting in 12 hour days, dealing with jerk clients, inadequate sales staff and partner, sleeping without sheets, taking cold showers, just might be the lucky one.  At least he gets to go out for sushi.

That sucks . . . . sort of

You know what sucks?  Working on a post for several days because you can only steal a handful of minutes at a time to work on it and then have your husband take the laptop with the post on it to a business meeting on the day you’re going to post it.

The bright side: Long nap instead.

You know what sucks?  You’re eldest boys acting out, pushing the boundaries, trying to be the biggest pains in the butt.

The bright side: It’s only a phase.  (It damn well better be only a phase.)

You know what sucks?  Blog and nap time are being taken away so that I can learn to work  my mom’s jewelry site for when she’s out of town.

The bright side: I look like the good daughter.

You know what sucks?  Not being able to comment on your favorite blogs.

The bright side: At least I have my Blackberry Storm to read my favorite blogs.

You know what sucks?  Typing one-handed because your infant son believes if he’s awake he should be held and possibly fed at all times.

The bright side: I have a cute, cuddly infant to hold.

When did I get old enough

Maybe it’s me, but . . . .

When did I get old enough to have a mortgage?  The most expensive thing I’ve ever bought was a pair of Doc Martins.  Right?  Wait, there’s the car, the health insurance, the car seats, the furniture.  It seems like a dream.

When did I get old enough to be married?  Even on good days, I wonder why on earth would someone say he wanted to be with me for life and me with him.  Sure, I was in love before, but this is so adult and complete.  Obviously we were crazy.

When did I get old enough to have kids?  Granted, I could have had them in my teens, biologically speaking, but still.  I’m trusted with the care of two young children.  Two sweet, innocent, fragile children that drive me up the wall half the time.

In fact, when did they both start turning into little boys?  It feels like yesterday they were just babies.  Tornado E will be in kindergarten next year, and Tornado S is asking to go to school, talking in clear sentences, and picking out his clothes.

At this rate, they’ll be in college before I know it.  When did I get that old?  Someone had me a paper bag, please.

Blog World Domination

Hello everyone, I am Dumb Mom (yes, THE Dumb Mom), and I’m here representing the bestes blog eva parenting BY dummies.

I have been an active member of the blogging community since December, 2008, which means I am coming up on my 18 month blog-a-versary.

I have experienced some success with my blog (you know stuff that matters like followers, traffic, comments, Google page rank), but nothing to really write home about (not that I have to since my mother stalks my blog shamelessly).

But, I haven’t gotten to the point where I feel accomplished or truly successful as a blogger (aka the point at which the money begins to roll in).

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t live in Crazy Blogger Delisuionalville so I know that I’m not likely to be the next Dooce (no PPD ravings here) or the next Pioneer Woman (no sexy cowboy hubby either), but you know, I kinda would like to be a respected member of the blogging community.

And, I’m sorta sick of waiting for my content to make it happen for me.

Plus, I don’t know anybody (‘cause you know, blogging, like real life, is a lot about who you know), at least not anybody who likes me wants to let me ride their coattails to the top support my “brand”.

So I came up with a new plan.

A plan to ensure blog-world domination in as little as 6 weeks.

A genius plan really.

To eliminate to competition and make people like me catapult me to the top.

Buying blogs!

That’s right people, B-U-Y-I-N-G them.

I figured that one of the main obstacles standing in the way of my become-a-popular-blogger-so-people-will-pay-me plan is that the market is becoming a bit saturated.

It’s getting too hard to have a blog.

Now you have to worry about annoyingly time consuming junk like personal branding, SEO, building a blog community, and other stuff I’ll let you know about when I figure out what it is.

And.  You need a niche.

A niche that is supported by good content.

I don’t have a niche (unless you call being a suckit mom who is strangely funny a niche), or time to think about my brand, or brains to master SEO.

So, I’m taking the easy way out…MONEY.

It may not be able to buy you love (which I’m not sure I agree with) but it can buy you blogs, because everyone needs it and most of us like it (which is more than I can say for my blog).

So the other night when I sat down to do my figuring, I figured that what I need to do is get some cash, find some in-the-market-for-some-cash bloggers, and give it to them to to go away let me be the creative director on their sites.

Basically they post about me and me related material and all is well.

And, guess what?!

It worked!

I’ve turned 12 of them so far!

So instead of reading about Mama B’s peanut butter life, or Angie’s Seven Clowns, or Jen’s Hipness, or KMama’s Daily Dribbles, or Marf Mom’s Marfan, or When SHE became her mom, or Being a former Fatty, or how HER Life Gone Awry, or Amy’s B Hole, or Supah’s Adventures, or Faemom’s Faeness?, or Chicken Nugget’s Wisdom, or even Sunday’s Extreme Parenthood, you get to read about moi.

Before they sign off for good for the duration of their written-in-blood contracts they have each written one last post for you here: parenting BY dummies.

I urge you to give them a chance to explain why they’ve sold you out to The Man (The Man being ME) succumbed to the Dumb.

Come on over and say adios to your beloved bloggers.  MWAHAHAHA!!!

P.S. I am currently not on the hunt for other blogs to dominate as I have run into a bit of an issue with my blog-world-domination budget plan.  #therecessionisruiningeverything

Sweating the Small Stuff

I may look like I roll with the punches and am cool as a cucumber, but I’m not.  Throw a few speed bumps in my way as I rush head down the path I’ve decided to take, and I will start to cuss a blue streak and murmur curses.  Or I least I did before kids.  Now it’s silent.  Like when I road rage.  Oh, I have horrible road rage.  I just have a hard time dealing with changes in MY plans.  It’s amazing I decided to have children, instead of something more cooperative like fish.

This adorable character trait is nothing new.  It has amused many people especially when crunch time comes and I’m as serene as a statuesque saint.  Halo and all.  Amazingly The Husband forgets this little quality of mine until it rears its ugly head, especially at him.

Which leads me to my Thank Me Later Thursday. 

Sure I could talk about The Husband, who decided to go back to bed as I tried to motivate and round up the troops for a day outing that I promised we would meet my parents and in-laws early.  I could thank him for parking behind me, for forgetting to get the plates on my car done in a timely matter, for not helping with any dressing, for forgetting to give someone a Christmas present and leaving it in the trunk of his car all this time.

But no, again, I direct this Thank Me Later to me.

Dear Fae,

Sure, you’re a planner, and you have to have things go a certain way or you freak out.  I need you to chill a bit on that.  Not that it isn’t cute the way you make up new curses and all, but you’re going to have an early heart attack.  When you sweat the small stuff, you end up doing something incredibly stupid.  Like texting your BFF, “I’m going to kill my husband today.  I bloody know it.”  That in and of itself isn’t stupid.  Not checking who you sent it to is.  Because the BFF didn’t get it.  The first person with a C name got it, and she’s the second person.  The first person was hardly amused by it.  In fact, I would say he really believed it, but he should have known as a cop’s daughter you would never have put plans like that in writing so that there was a premeditated plan.  No, The Husband was not amused, and you, my dear, looked like an @ss.  My advice is to shake off more little things, even when they’re piling on like bugs on a windshield, and to double check who you send sensitive text messages too.

You may Thank Me Later.

Love, Fae

Thank Me Later Thursdays are brought to you by parenting By dummies.

Learning of the week

  1. When pregnant and hungry, you never have the “right” food.
  2. When pregnant, Catholic, and hungry, on a Lenten Friday, you want fried chicken.
  3. Freely given Tornado S kisses are the best.
  4. Tornado E takes great pride in making his brother scream, “STOP IT BROTHER!” or just scream.
  5. Tornado S knows the letter b.  Booty, Bottom, Butt all start with B.
  6. My parents rock because they came over and cleaned my carpets and then they came over to replace the furniture.
  7. To f with A personality retired people, just get your trash cans out before anyone else does and switch the order (trash on left instead of right), the whole street will switch the order to match.  Reverse the next week.
  8. Sugar crystals take a f-ing looooong time to grow.
  9. I am unable to eyeball an equal division of six types of batter into sixteen cupcake cups.  Stupid Family Fun.  Stupid rainbow cupcakes.
  10. No store has wheat grass seeds in my town.  They so would in California.

Sometimes I worry myself

Dear Brain to Mouth Connection. 

We need to talk.

We need to add a few things to those censors of yours, other than religion (because with your very liberal Catholic ways, you’ll offend someone) and politics (because with your very liberal and every once in a long while conservative thinking, you’re bound to offend someone).

I know.  I know.  You’re better than Mom’s, but that’s not saying much.  It’s like the guy who teaches his kids racial jokes but tells himself he’s better than his dad because his dad was a card caring KKK member.  So yeah, comparing yourself to Mom’s lack of censoring isn’t saying much. At. All.

Please don’t tell any one that you don’t need to clean for your in-laws because you have a “Program.”  Sure, you’re house is cleaner, but you often forget to follow all the way through with the Program.  Like when was the last time you dusted?  Or even swept the bathroom floors?  “Don’t ever speak ill of the Program!  The Program is rock solid!  The Program is sound!”  But only when followed precisely.  That goes for the Bill Program.  So when you laugh and say you have a “Program,” you sound f-ing smug and forget to mention your house could fit into someone else’s house with room to add a basketball court.  And no one likes a smug mama.  Including me.

While we’re at it, what the hell were you thinking when you told another mom your family doesn’t qualify for the scholarship AFTER she was talking about her financial woes?  Now you look like an @ss.  The sick thing is that when you add in the bills you probably have less money to kick around than she does.  AND she already thinks your rich.  I don’t know what gave you away; the lack of haircuts on the boys, the Target maternity pants that you’re praying don’t get holes in them in the next two to three months, the fact you haven’t gotten a hair cut when you needed one three months ago.  At least you tried to mend the burning bridge you just torched with adding, “but we have a lot of bills, a LOT of bills.”  Yeah, I should have made you slap your forehead for that stupidity.

Remember how you were complaining to your BFF, who understands the stupid things you say, about not being able to close the deal on friendships?  This is the stuff that’s probably f-ing you up.  I’d make you read Dale Carnegie again, but that dude f-s you up too.  What with the complete change of every technique you learned to start a conversation and make friends. 

So let’s review:

No talking about religion. 

No talking about politics. 

No talking about having a clean house (Since you’ll eat those words when the baby comes any ways.) 

No talking about money (Just listen and nod). 

And maybe we can have a friend we can actually meet for coffee or something.  You can Thank Me Later.

Thank Me Later Thursdays are brought you by parenting By dummies.

And is any one else getting worried that I have complete conversations in my head?

Some advice for Spammers

Spammers seem to be getting more intelligent, or at least writing like they’re more intelligent.  Instead of writing Viagra a thousand times or talking about nude pics of some celebrity or other, they’re writing sentences, even paragraphs.  But there are a few things that are bothering me.

Take “Conceive a Baby Boy” and what s/he said, “Good Website! I wondered if I might be able to pages and use a few things for a school assignment,” referring to my post Project Womb: The Hope for Pink Booties.  I’ll give you props for actually targeting a relative post for your site because I did check it out, since you tried to post three times with different emails and IP addresses.  Of course, you wrote the same comment using the same name and website. 

But let’s just take a moment and believe you, instead of assuming you’re trying to sell books or pills or magic potions.  Let’s assume that what you meant to say was “I wonder if I might be able to copy and use a few things for a school assignment.”  First off, I’ll have to assume you’re in high school or college, but by college, students usually say a class assignment.  Either way, I doubt your teacher would be impressed that you sited some random blog that didn’t even site the actually scientific studies or papers on this statement.  You’re better off finding your helpful information for your school assignment in a scientific journal or any website that has an .edu instead of a .com.  Don’t believe me?  Go ask Ink, Evenshine, Beth or Naptime.  They’re actually professors.  I’m just a girl who graduated with Honors.

Then there’s “Blogs” who wrote “Wow! Thank you! I always wanted to write in my site something like that. Can I take part of your post to my blog?” on Wanna Laugh?  While I’m completely flattered, I know it’s not my best writing.  It was actually endorsing one of my favorite bloggers (not saying too much because I’ve got like a dozen of them) Not Drowning, Mothering on her chance to get a Bloggie.

But at least, Blogs, you asked nicely.  And the answer is NO.  I know I don’t have a fancy little sign or a clever saying about stealing my writing, but that doesn’t mean it’s out for grabs.  See one of the things they taught me at my fancy, little college (see the “with Honors” sentence) is copywrite law because, you know, it’s important for all writers to know.  Just so that you’re clear on this before I hunt you down and have some big, ugly dude serve you papers, I’ll explain a little of copywrite law, just for you.  See, I don’t need to write a disclaimer because under US law, where I’m writing, it says that the moment I write something, whether it’s in a word processor, on a blog, or on a cheap cocktail napkin in a cheap motel by the airport, that writing is MINE.  Anyone who takes it is a thief.  (The Husband would like to add that this is called “Implied copywrite” because he paid lawyers a lot of money to teach him that; while, I paid a school a lot of money to learn that.)  Most countries will support the copywrite laws of the originating country.  Except China.

But if you’re in China, let me just write something to get me thrown off their internet servers, so we don’t have this little chat again.  China, I hope you’re listening.  First off, I don’t really care for your reasoning that “you’re developing” so you can go off and pull some horrible little tricks.  Like stealing copywrited material.  Or what the hell you’re doing to your environment.  Sure, we developed nations pulled a lot of the same crap, but we learned our lessons.  We regretted doing that stupid sh*t, so we’re warning you.  And you sound like a sniveling little brother when you say you did, why can’t we.  Besides we didn’t try to torch ourselves in the grand fashion you’re doing.  It’s like you simply don’t give a f*ck when it comes to your people or your future.  Honestly the way you’re going, the way you’re acting, you’ll never be a “First World Nation,” you’ll be a laughing stock.  The crazy part is that someone once told me that you believe that you are just underneath Heaven, that everyone must reincarnate to become Chinese before making it through the pearly gates and off the wheel of suffering.  So you’re destroying the best part of earth?  Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.  Second, if you truly believe you’re right under heaven, you obviously never been to Maui because that’s truly paradise.

So Conceive and Blogs, that’s just some helpful advice to send you on your way.  You can THANK ME LATER.

THANK ME LATER Thursdays are brought to you by Parenting by Dummies and the Letters F and U.

Grammar Rant

Has something ever bothered you so much that you had to interrupt the post you composed in your head at 4:15am when you were trying to get back to sleep?  By the way, composing posts don’t help you get back to sleep; they just make you want to get up and write.  But back to being bothered. . . .

I just put the boys to bed for naptime.  (With any luck, Tornado E will nap a bit too.) Tornado S picked out The Boy and the Tigers by Helen Bannerman.  It’s a cute story about a boy tricking some tigers into first not eating him and second giving him back his clothes.  For those with better memories than I or those from across the pond, you’ll know this story as Little Black Sambo.

Now I don’t know if this is Bannerman’s original text or not, but the grammar is horrible.  So much so that apparently the last time I read it to the boys, I actually edited it.  First off there are too many “ands.”  I know this is more of style thing, but serioursly do we really need to start off every sentence with an “and” or list with “and?”  (“flour and eggs and milk and sugar and butter”)  My head hurts.  Then it’s like the author just grabbed a bunch of commas and just threw them onto the page like colored sprinkles.  While I’m all for colored sprinkles on everything, commas are not colored sprinkles and should be used correctly.  No wonder so few people know how to use commas if books they began reading never used them correctly.  Then nearly every sentence is started with “but,” “so”, “and.”  It’s just more poor grammar usage.

I know that on my blog I stretch the rules of grammar, even break them, from time to time, but I know what I’m doing.  I’m also writing in conversational speech.  This is a book being read to children, a book that children will read by themselves when they learn.  Isn’t it important for them to have good examples on writing?  Wouldn’t that make it easier for them in class as they’ve seen good examples over and over?  And who the hell didn’t edit this book?  Why couldn’t have snagged a job as an editor straight out of college?  Because I know I could do a whole lot better.

Thank you for sticking in with this grammar nerd rant.  A funnier and more embarrassing post to come tomorrow.

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Things that bug me

The fact that I couldn’t write because I was spending the day at my parents’ house where my mom is addicted to computer games.  Does she seek help?  Nope.  No matter how many emails I send her about programs.  She just stays on the computer all afternoon, and I can’t write.  I prefer it if she would go back to her nice safe reading addiction.

The fact that I pulled four maternity shirts out of the laundry to find them stained.  This is probably my last pregnancy.  I didn’t want to buy anymore clothes.  It was bad enough most of my maternity clothes are summer based without sleeves, so now I have to buy some more shirts.  Dang.

The fact that when I’m pregnant I have no self-control.  It’s not one cookie; it’s a half a dozen.  It’s not one helping of mashed potatoes; it’s two large portions.  It’s not a scoop of ice cream; it’s nearly the whole carton.  I really need to find some exercise routine.

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