Don’t Buy Me Flowers

Keeping up. It’s nearly impossible and lately I feel like I am stuck on a 24-hour treadmill that is going way too fast.

Thanks to my great husband and kids I had a special Mother’s Day. I was treated to a new spin on “breakfast-in-bed”.


My son gets up unacceptably early (5:45 a.m.) and being that it was my turn, I got to go downstairs to turn on cartoons. I fell back asleep on the couch and woke up to a half-naked little boy serving me a cheese omelet.

“Breakfast-on-the-couch” and my son peeing in the potty for the first time was all I needed for the perfect Mother’s Day, but more surprises were in store.

On the kitchen counter I found a sweet card (signed with help from Daddy) and two mid-size outdoor flower plants.

My first thought, “MORE RESPONSIBILITY! Ugh.”

Isn’t that horrible?

Instead of a nice gesture like flowers, my husband should have gotten me a diamond studded t-shirt labeled, “Major Bitch.”

If our life were a sitcom the canned laughter would have been cued and I would have worn it later that day when my in-laws came over for dinner and brought me another potted plant.

It’s not that I am ungrateful or have anything against potted flowers. It’s just that I am already in charge of five heartbeats.

1. Mine
2. Tyler’s
3. Addison’s
4. Scarlett’s
5. Archie’s

I simply can’t be in charge of things that require water for survival.
I am aware of my faults and I try to compensate for them. For example, I am a little unorganized.

I make lists, but I lose them. So I write on my hand because I can’t lose that!
These types of coping mechanisms can work but things like washing your hands can abort a grocery store mission real fast. Circumstances like this lead to me digging through my messy purse looking for my lost list with my ink-smeared hand wondering what I came to get in the first place.

In regards to the flowers, they are still sitting on my front porch in pots waiting to be planted. I had a genius idea to use all of this recent rain to my advantage. I moved my pots to my neglected flower beds where Mother Nature could take care of them.


A bit Ghetto and half-assed I will admit. But hey, a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

The weeds keep on growing just like the unsightly roots on top of my head. On the 24-hour treadmill of life there’s not enough time to take care of everything.

So please, if you want to get me something, opt for a diamond studded t-shirt. Just DON’T get me flowers.

The Other Woman

I should be ashamed of myself. I have not blogged in over two months. I am not worthy of readers and it is highly likely that many Janie fans have given up and will never bother to look at my lame, tardy blog ever again. I understand. I do.

Maybe I deserve to have "The Other Woman" wreaking havoc on my life ...... Hmmmmmmm. I don't know, she is pretty awful. I am not sure anyone, not even my worst enemy, should have to share their man with Dora. That's right, D D D Dora, Dora the Explorer.



My hate for Dora is disturbing. Since my son fell in love with her I find myself consumed with nasty thoughts about this creepy little chick. I am embarassed to say that I sat through an entire stop light the other day daydreaming about how funny it would be if D D D Dora got D D D DEPORTED.

In case I still have any followers and- in case they happen to be followers who don't have kids- Dora is a cartoon character that teaches kids Spanish. She is also, you guessed it- an explorer. Thrilling. If this doesn't ring a bell, go to any Walmart and you will find lots of white trash kids apparel with her fat little face on it.

I dragged a sceaming and kicking Tyler out of the store the other day because I would not buy him a Dora bedding set. Had I known, I wouldn't have spent a bajillion dollars at Pottery Barn Kids.

"I want Doorwa- uh, uh, uh," he cried. "Boots and Doorwa."

Boots is a monkey. He is Dora's sidekick and he wears boots. Holy creative.

I've had hardass parents tell me, "You are the parent. You control what they watch."
Um yeah. Good luck. I do draw the line. No Nip Tuck. But really, controlling cartoons? Dora may be freaking driving me clinically insane, but Tyler is silent for an entire episode. A wise soul once said, "Silience is golden." I pick my battles, and I complain about them here.

On the way to work this week I hit a traffic jam and came up with this (I thought it was pretty good):

D= Dumb f*&^ing haircut.
O= On her way to being obese. Seriously D, no more belly shirts.
R= Rather eat my toenails with ketchup than watch her show.
A= An idea for prison reform! Dora 24/7 = Corporal punishment.

Thank you Jami B., Rachel S., Stephen E., and Sarah O. for pushing me to continue writting.

A Pictures Is Worth A Thousand Words

I started 2010 with three New Years Resolutions.
#1- Get in shape. Not anything crazy- like Jessica Biel shape- just not flabby, I want to vomit when I see myself naked in the mirror shape.
#2- Have newleywed relations. The goal here is frequency. A job and two kids getting up every other night can be killer on the love life.
#3- Keep up with my blog and post weekly.
I recently read a article that said only 40-45% of Americans make New Years Resolutions. That statistic made me feel smug. Atleast I am more motivated than 60% of people to set goals for myself.
Five weeks into the New Year I revisited that article. Not feeling so smug now. Only 75% of resolutions are followed past the first week, 65% after one month, and 46% after six months.
Wow......I guess my resolutions must fall into the 1% that never really get off the ground.
On the contrary, I have found a hobby that I have continued to exercise- with vigorous intensity I might add. Photography. I have always been interested in photography. For Christmas I got a new camera and while I haven't picked up a weight, turned into a nimpho, or blogged weekly- I have spent time exploring my inner photographer.

I love this picture of Addie. It's like she's looking at me and saying, "What are we going to do today?"
Trying to give her incentive to crawl. She wasn't buying it.


Moving on to pulling herself up. She was more into this. She was exploring Tyler's train table while he was napping. I think she is thinking, "Thank god he went to bed. Now I can play with those f"in cars and trains without him throwing a fit."


Both of my kids are precious. Addie is at my favorite age- 10 months. She is full of wonder and excitement. She is very sweet and loving. She is my Sunshine and she makes me happy when skies are grey.

The Pregnancy Diet

I gained 55 disgusting pounds during my first pregnancy. Only 44 pounds the second one. I decided it wasn't reasonable to eat a Snickers bar everyday.

I was so nauseated that I couldn't stand the smell of my husband, my dogs, or the first floor of my house. I had the kind of nausea that makes you want to die. I did my fair share of worshiping the porcelain God every morning.

I learned very early on that "morning sickness" is a myth. It should be called morning, afternoon, and night sickness. Or maybe 24 hour sickness. I am so sick I want to die and kill my husband sickness. I am a miserable excuse for a human being sickness. I hate the world sickness. You get my drift. Pregnancy is not a becoming condition for me. I am not one of those women who glow. I glower.

I did however, have a twinge of jealousy the other day when I encountered a giant pregnant woman in line at Panera. I was trying to decide what I could eat and stay on my diet. She ordered an entire container of blueberry scones and began eating them. I decided to stick around to eat my bland, low-calorie soup just to see if she was going to eat all of them.

She came pretty close. It was quite impressive.

This got me thinking... Maybe I do miss certain aspects of pregnancy. An official name for my aforementioned weight gain, The Pregnancy Diet is a 9-month pass to eat whatever, whenever.

Not trying to maintain a girlish figure is awesome. If you have never allowed yourself months and months to eat with reckless abandon, I genuinely suggest it.

My husband, the money Nazi of the house, likes to keep track of our expenses. Whenever I use my debit card he gets an email almost instantaneously. He jokes that when I am pregnant; he stops getting emails from my favorite stores and instead can track me by random restaurants.

What I miss most is my love affair with The Great Steak and Potato Co. I would open the place and order a huge chicken cheese steak with extra cheese, tons of mayo, banana peppers, onions, and green peppers. To make sure the post-meal heartburn was worth it, I would also ask for double, deep-fried French fries.

Another oldie buy goodie is McDonalds. The yellow arches symbolize my ballooning boobs, butt, and thighs after I hit the drive through window and order a bacon, egg, and cheese bagels. It's the best washed down with a coke and a strawberry milk shake. I probably had this nutritious meal 5 out of 7 days for the first 16 long, miserable weeks of my pregnancies.

Of course not all my pregnant food memories are positive. I had a particularly weird craving for a chili hot dog they sell at gas stations. I was topping it with mustard and onions when this fat kid, around 10-years-old, peeked around the corner of the gum aisle and called me, "fatty, fat, fat."

I thought I was just hearing things so I said, "What did you say?"

Clear as day, he said, "You don't need that. You are fatty, fat, fat, fat."

I didn't cry. I snapped, "I'm pregnant, what's your excuse fat Albert?"

His white-trash mom started yelling and threatening to call the cops and tell them I was "hollerin" at her son.

It wasn't my proudest moment. I left Speedway with my dog and my pride. First I ate it. Then I called my husband for a good cry and support. What I got was a lecture about calling a little fat kid- well, fat.

No longer under the influence of hormones, I do feel a little ashamed for what I said. I secretly hope that little shit makes it out of his trailer park and on The Biggest Loser. See ... no hard feelings.

I Just Want To Make It To Cocktail Hour

I love being a part-time stay at home mom. I do. It's just that sometimes I feel a little overwhelmed and that is when I need to escape.

For a couple of weeks now I have been looking forward to getting together with my girlfriends for a "Ladies" Christmas party. I use the term "Ladies" loosely because we act more like drunken frat boys when we are all together.
My evening is all lined up. Blake is staying home with Addie. Mee-Maw and Paw-Paw are taking Tyler for a special evening- this means even more spoiling from them than usual.

The anticipation of my joyful girls night out was so exciting that I didn't even blink this morning when I came downstairs and found that Archie had pooped on the rug- recently washed from the last time he decided to take a dump on the floor. When I went to flush his little present down the toilet, I stepped in a huge puddle of pee. I decided to blame this on Scarlett because she just looked guilty.

Trying not to cuss in front of Tyler, I banished both dogs outside to take care of business. For some reason they think that since it's cold outside, they can poop and pee in the house. While I am making breakfast Tyler asks me if he can let "Carley and Arcie" back inside "pease". I tell him no. There's a couple of minutes of silence and then he says, "Mom, Arcie cold. Pease."
Oh fine. Let them in.

Scarlett has been shivering and the only thing I can find for her to wear is a t-shirt that says "Vote for Pedro". She likes to linger by the fireplace for warmth. If the dogs quit pissing and pooping on my floor, Santa is going to bring them Snuggies for Christmas.

Addie had a little flu bug yesterday. She puked three times. I am so happy that she is sleeping it off.She looks like a sweet angel in her sleep. I am glad she is feeling better. One because she is just such a sweet baby and two because I really want to go to cocktail hour and a sick baby would put the kibosh on that.
We are finally dressed and heading to my sister-in-law and brothers house to see my new nephew. I have only seen him twice since he was born. I've been working and when I haven't been, my kids have snotty noses or the runs. Not good to take Germ I and II around a new baby.

I hear a horrifying sound from the back seat and smell bile and bacon. Tyler's turn to projectile. I feel so bad for him. I think puking scared him more than anything. I call my sister-in-law. "We can't make it," I tell her. "Kids still sick."
I am afraid Jenny may begin to think I make this stuff up. Tyler cries the whole way home because he wants to go see the baby. I am in tears because I don't think I'll be making "Ladies" night.

He refuses a bath and I don't want to fight him. I will just turn this into a teaching moment about good hygiene. We practice washing hands. Apparently this is fun for a two-year-old. He spends the next hour in the bathroom "watching mine hands".

No one eats lunch. The scent of bacon and bile is inescapable. I put them down for naps early. My mom calls and I now have the task of delivering bad news ... "Tyler is sick. I don't think he can spend the night tonight."
God Bless her. She doesn't take no for an answer. She says that unless he pukes again, she still wants him to spend the night. Score! There is a glimmer of hope left for my night out.

The husband calls. He doesn't think it is a good idea for Tyler to spend the night at my parents if he is sick. I tell him it is not a good idea for me to miss cocktail night. I am beginning to feel like a caged animal and I'm not sure that is good for our kids' well-being.

Yesterday I had a dance party with the kids. I was feeling a little wild and I let the I-Pod just play randomly. Tyler told me he liked my favorite song- Hypnotize by Notorious BIG. I didn't really think it would be a big deal to let him listen to my workout playlist. He's only two and doesn't really listen to the words in a song. Wrong. He has taken to calling Addie a "Silly Hoe". Thanks Biggie.

Today he told me that I had a "Big Tinky(stinky) butt." Kids say the darnedest things- which means that even if he has a little bug, he must be feeling good enough to say something cruel to his mom. Sounds to me like he is just fine to go to Mee-Maw and Paw-Paws. Sounds to me like Blake has Addie tonight and I'm going out to play with the girls.

Gold Chains N Thangs

My husband is many things. He is a great husband and dad. He is tall, blonde, attractive, obsessed with sports, freakishly smart, and shy. Shy that is- until you really get to know him. Once he’s warmed up to you, he is very sarcastic and he will tease you without mercy. That is why I don’t feel bad writing this blog entry and poking a little fun at one of Blake’s less admirable qualities- a fondness for 1980’s gold chains.

I came across his beloved gold chains when we moved in together many moons ago. I had this great little house and it was decorated exactly the way I wanted- a vision from the Pottery Barn catalogue.

I told Blake that though I was excited to merge our lives; my vision of our future didn’t encompass some- if not most- of his things.

“Think of it as like a rental- where all of the furniture is already included,” I told him, trying to cushion the blow. “All you need is to bring your clothes and toiletries.”

I thought my biggest battle would be the ESPN banner that he wanted to hang in the family room. I was wrong. The gold chains took the cake.

He found them in a box of shit that his mom had sent along with her blessing for us to move in together. A non-hoarder like myself, I’m sure she was thrilled to get rid of “Blake’s Stuff” as the box was clearly labeled in black marker.

In a fit of nostalgia, Blake emptied the contents which included old Nintendo games, yearbooks, sports rosters, baseball cards, mixed tapes, pictures, and even some old love letters. His face really lit up when he found two hideous 1980’s gold chains.

It was a nice little story. He told me that his mom had bought the chains for him- one with his number on it- when he made the varsity baseball team. Half-listening I smiled and nodded while the voice in my head screamed, “Confiscate those and hide them immediately.”

I tried to make light of it. I joked that the chains would have to stay in the lovely box of memories. “NO ONE besides Mr. T, Ice T., and W.T. wear gold chains,” I said.

Defiant, and maybe a little hurt, Blake put them on and promised to wear them everywhere we went.

I am not a total b, so I let him wear them to a party or two where I knew everyone would be too toasted to notice. He was so proud of embarrassing me that I think those chains became a symbol of all the things that I made him leave behind.

After a while the matter of the gold chains died down. One day he took them off to shower and didn’t put them back on. After a couple of days, I did what I felt was necessary. I threw them away.

I felt no guilt over this at the time and for the first couple of years of our relationship, I denied that I had any idea where the gold chains were.

On our one year wedding anniversary, I finally admitted to the atrocity that I had committed. It wasn’t guilt that drove me to confess. It was the wine and the man sitting next to us wearing a pimp suit and gold chains.

Over the years our relationship has deepened and so has my guilt. My husband accepts me for who I am. One of the things that I love most about him is that he could care less what I wear. My attire these days mostly consists of beat up jeans and an Ohio State sweatshirt. He thinks that’s sexy.

The 50th wedding anniversary is the “Golden Anniversary”. I pledge now that on Oct. 8, 2,055 I will make it up to Blake. His gift will be a box full of memories of our life together and you guessed it- two gold chains. I am going to have our jeweler make the most ostentatious number 50 for him to wear proudly all around the nursing home.

About an hour after I posted my blog entry yesterday, I received a phone call from Tricia Anglin, Nursing Director for the Butler County Health Department.

She said the department has approved all local doctors offices that ordered the Swine Flu Vaccine to distribute it.

According to Ms. Anglin, the department has decided not to distribute vaccines from the county's supply to the offices because the process the county would have to go through to do this would be too rigorous and require man power the county doesn' t have.

She said that she was very frustrated with the way the CDC has decided to distribute the vaccine. She said the Butler County Health Department had planned on having local partners (doctor's offices).

I could tell she was pretty annoyed talking to me so I didn't push further. From what I gather, the county had assumed the local doctors offices would receive vaccines from the CDC or the manufacturer. I don't think they planned on being in responsible for distributing hundreds of vaccines to hundreds of offices.

Working in the pharmaceutical industry, I can appreciate her perspective. There is all sorts of red tape, regulations, and documentation that is required when working with medication and the government.

So basically, it is what it is. I highly doubt that any Swine Flu vaccines will make it into the private practices.

Looking super forward to standing in a ridiculous line for the kids boosters.