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Monday, April 4, 2016

Bruce Wayne has had his first taste of blood…

So I guess the best way to start this story is to set the stage. Bruce Wayne is more dog than cat.
He likes to read books with the boy.

And bath time.

And...well...he doesn't seem to like this very much...

Example: when my husband came home yesterday after being out of town for the weekend, Bruce greeted him at the door, rolled over onto his back so my husband could rub his belly and then started licking my husband's hand for half an hour… Pretty much the only cat thing he does is watch animals out the window and squeak at them like a huge pussy. 

Well, this morning he finally filled the, "soon…" meme.


As we opened the door to head out for school/work this morning, a bird screeched like a fucking banshee and swooped over us all and into our fucking house!!! Bruce immediately came out of nowhere and pounced on it Matrix style. The bird managed to get away and fly through the living room and kitchen into the dining room. Bruce again sprung into action and pinned it down. I was amazed. My kids were a mixture of amazed and terrified...

Best comment so far: In his defense, it is the dining room.

As for the bird, I managed to wrangle him away from Bruce. I checked him out and though he was missing a lot of feathers, he seemed OK. Just stunned. Hoping the best for him but but let's face it, that feathered little fucker dive bombed my entire family and flew into my damned house. He is kind of an asshole bird and deserved to have a few feathers ruffled. I hope he lives though. mostly.

Bye Bye, Birdie.
Needless to say, there are fucking feathers everywhere in my house. And Bruce has a crazed look in his eyes as he has finally gotten his first taste of blood. I am somewhat fearful for my own life now. Though I feel like for Bruce this is the culmination of months of methodical stalking. It is sort of the cat version of a mic drop.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

MAKING A MURDERER – THE CLIFFS NOTES



Today I am sharing a post with you by my completely funny ass friend, Hannah from sKidMarking. She is rediculous and has no sense of shame at all. I puffy heart love her. Enjoy!

If you’re like me, the NETFLIX series Making A Murderer has trapped you, chewed you up and spit you back out into a colder, crueler world where nothing will ever be as it once was. It is an infuriating, haunting and fascinating look into the justice system that will make you want to crawl into your TV and punch people.
Obviously there are two sides to every story, but I don’t have time for that. I prefer to consume my news in one sided documentary form and quickly jump to my own conclusions. Preferably conclusions which are spoon fed to me by people looking to make a profit.
If you don’t have NETFLIX or have not yet had a chance yet to watch, I’ve taken the liberty of nutshelling it all below for your reference. It is a story everyone must hear in order to be properly paranoid. The most routine traffic stop can turn into life in prison in the blink of an eye and you’re gonna need to know what to do when the cops plant a dead cat in your trunk.

Episode 1:

A vacationing woman is raped and beaten on the beach while jogging. The wrong man, Steven Avery, is convicted and spends 18 years in prison. Then in 2003 DNA is invented and they realize they made a mistake and let him out.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  Avoid all physical activity while on vacation

Episode 2:

Steven Avery attests the police knew he was innocent from the get go and unleashes Kill Bill-style vengeance in the form of a sensible, warranted lawsuit. But just when he starts to get some traction, dead girl bones are found in his back yard. Shit gets real.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  If you’re in prison because you’ve been framed by an ENTIRE POLICE DEPARTMENT, when you are let out you run far far away and never look back

Episode 3:

Brendan is Steven’s learning disabled nephew and is coerced into giving a confession that makes no sense, or backed up by, you know, any evidence. Everyone goes to jail.
Jodi, Steven’s girlfriend promises us she “Ain’t going nowhere”. Thank God for Jodi. She’s the only one in this whole show whose hair doesn’t hurt our eyes.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  Brendan can’t hear you, no matter how loud you scream at your TV to try to help him

Episode 4:

Brendan’s lawyer, a foreskin with glasses, tricks Brendan into giving a written statement.  He is later fired but the damage has been done. Jodi leaves us. She was our everything and now she’s gone. Brendan misses Wrestle Mania. His Dad tapes it.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  Jodi is a damn liar

Episode 5:

The trial starts and Teresa’s (the deceased girl) beady eyed, stocking hat wearing ex-boyfriend takes the stand and is obviously guilty because, you know – beady eyes and stocking cap.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  Never book a second date with someone you believe could be capable of shooting you in the head then throwing your body into a fire

Episode 6:

A bloody bullet, which was found in Steven’s garage, is presented as evidence. A bloody bullet found FOUR MONTHS after the previous searches. A bloody bullet found by the police department which was ordered to stay away from crime scene because, you know, THEY FRAMED HIM BEFORE.
On a side note, this evidence was presented by a woman who is a compilation of everyone who was mean to me in high school. Well guess what, Sherry! I’m a grown woman now; you can’t hurt me anymore. And I don’t give two craps about your “evidence”.
sherry culhane
KEY TAKEAWAY:  Just kidding please invite me to your birthday

Episode 7:

A car key found in Steven’s bedroom is presented as evidence. A car key found in plain sight MONTHS after the previous searches. A car key found by the exact policeman who was not supposed to be there because he was directly LINKED TO FRAMING HIM BEFORE.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  Previous assumptions that anyone with a northern accent is inherently trustworthy are false

Episode 8:

Everyone is in cahoots. Steven is found guilty and sentenced to life in prison despite any believable evidence or speck of blood found ANYWHERE ON HIS PROPERTY.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  There’s always someone out there having a worse Tuesday than you

Episode 9:

Brendan is guilty as well, despite any physical evidence and severe inconsistencies in the story police instructed him to say. But no one is surprised. We all knew that was coming after this shit show.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  No one ever should watch this documentary

Episode 10:

We’re all learning how to move forward with the lives we’ve been dealt. We have a new girlfriend – she’s no Jodi but she’ll do okay. Oh and P.S. the lead prosecutor in the case was fired due to sexually harassing his domestic abuse clients but we’re not surprised. He was creepy as all get out. No one seems to care or willing to re-open our case.
KEY TAKEAWAY:  The system is broken, and poor people accused of crimes are royally fucked

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

The Value of Experience

Growing up, we never had liquid hand soap in our house (or a second bathroom for our family of six or even a shower, for that matter). My mom kept a bar of green soap next to our sinks that we used to get clean--and a bar of that heavy duty Lava soap with sand in it next to the kitchen sink to get the tough stains off of my father's and brothers' hard-working hands.

As a child, I remember going to friends' houses and seeing that they had liquid soap and thinking that they were basically living in a castle. How fancy and extravagant it must be to have such a novelty.

Now that I have my own house, hand soap is one of the little indulgences that I allow myself. I use Seventh Generation because it's purdy, smells good and isn't full of chemical crap. But really, it's just a cheap and easy way to get clean and wax nostalgic. It is also a reminder of the little things that can excite and amaze a child.

The kids get the unscented kind so they don't use the whole damn bottle in one wash because it "smells pretty".

Mama gets the good stuff. Queen of the castle! Queen of the castle!

My nostalgia-induced hand soap addiction makes me wonder what those little memories will be for my kids. Will they think that having canned bread sticks with spaghetti at a friend's house is the most amazing meal ever like I did? Will they take after me and swoon over their best friend's vast collection of toys, not realizing that those toys are parting gifts in place of their parents' affection?

When will my children start to notice things like how some houses are warm and inviting and others are cold and lifeless? That some families value possessions over people and feel that having more is never enough.

Will my children see buying a cheap bottle of hand soap as a frivolity in life or as a necessity? Because it isn't the value of the soap that matters to me. It is that the idea of the soap has value to me. Emotionally. As silly as it sounds, that small indulgence ties me to my past while celebrating my present. When I soap up my children's hands, I remember what it felt like to think that such a thing was an extravagance. But now it is part of our everyday.

What about you? What is your "hand soap"?


This post is sponsored by Seventh Generation, but all opinions, sappy stories and hand soap addictions are my own.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

A Farewell to Fatty


Diabetes took its toll.
Our family is no longer whole.

I will always miss your penetrating stares.
You glared away without a care.

You liked to puke with reckless abandon.
You and the boy had much in common.

You did not like to go outside.
Though when you did, the critters would hide.

I will miss you forever you fat, furry bitch.


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

How to make laundry less of a dirty job


Let’s talk dirty today. Real dirty. We’re talking grass stains, ketchup remnants and pit smell. Yep, let’s talk dirty laundry. I fucking hate it. Like, HATE doing laundry. It makes me feel like this:



But I have found a few corners to cut that help me hate it a tiny bit less. Like:

Organization
I have developed a sorting system that I think is pretty genius. I bought three big laundry bins. A green one for colors, a black one for darks and a white one for, well you get the point. This makes it easy for my three and five year olds to put their own dirty clothes away. Sometimes my husband even puts his dirty socks in there instead of leaving them on the bedroom floor. I know! Crazy, right?!?! Having the three colors just works better visually and the bins are bigger than those crappy laundry organizers you can buy.

Please note the Bruce on the loose...

Stain Removal
I found that having my stain remover in the basement where the laundry was pretty much guaranteed I never used it. Now, I have it upstairs with the dirty laundry so I actually spray the stains before I put the item in the laundry basket. My kids look less and less like filthy hobos every day! Winning!

Detergent
As for detergent, even when the kids were babies, we never used Dreft. I think it is a total ripoff that preys on new moms’ emotions. I have, however, always used a dye- and fragrance-free soap because my husband is a freak that breaks out in full-body hives if I use anythings else. We are talking ER visit hives. Right now I am using Seventh Generation Free & Clear and liking it. It is tough on the stains my kids create but gentle enough to not make my hubby require an epi pen after wearing clothing washed in it. Their detergent is made of 97% renewable plant-based material, so not only does my family benefit from using it, but the environment does, as well.


But when do you do it? (TWSS)
I tend to tackle all of our laundry on Sunday. I spend the day getting all of it clean, load by load, then I dump it all in the middle of the living room for the kids to sort while watching America’s Funniest Home Videos. Seriously. They even put theirs away when they are done. They don’t fold it, but their clothes are wash-and-wear so they don’t really need folded anyway. They just throw each pile into the drawer it goes in and call it a day. It is a beautiful thing.

FREE STUFF!
And now I have some GREAT news for you! Seventh Generation has agreed to give away FIVE $50 prize packs that include detergent, fabric softener, stain remover and more! Shipping and all. It makes me want to do this:



So, what are you waiting for? Enter already!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

This post is sponsored by Seventh Generation, but I proud to be partnering with a company that cares as much about what goes into their products as I do about the ones that I choose to use on my children.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Why I'm Awake


  • 2 am: girl goes to bathroom. Leaves hallway and bathroom lights on.
  • 2:30 am: boy is lonely and climbs into bed with me.
  • 2:30 - 3:30 am: boy proceeds to touch me with his feet for an hour.
  • 3:30 am: cat jumps on chest and proceeds to make nest.
  • 4 am: cat bores of sleep and decides to attack boy's head.
  • 4:30 am: girl comes in inconsolable because she can't find her unicorn (I can't make this shit up).
  • 5 am: girl returns to bathroom and leaves all lights on again.
  • 5:30 am: husband begins snoring so loud he even wakes himself up.
  • 6 am: oh, fuck it. I give up.
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Being Nice vs Being Kind


As I approach my 36th year on this earth, I have come to the conclusion that I have spent the last 35 years of my life trying to be nice. But I am not nice. And when I try to act as such it comes off as disingenuous. I am not good, or attractive or of good quality. I am loud, brash and often off-putting.


What I actually am is kind. Empathetic. Caring. But not “nice”. Though I may be loud, brash and overly outspoken, at the heart of things, I care deeply about people. About helping them when they are hurting. About putting their needs in front of my own. Sometimes to a fault. That is why I am honest about how broken I am at times. Because if bearing my soul a little too often helps even just one person, it is worth it.

I see niceness as trying to placate others with personality. That is bullshit. Being nice won’t help a person in need. Being kind will. Being nice just projects a rose-colored view on the world. Being kind changes the world.

So stop being nice. Start being kind. Start being the change you wish to see in the world. With kindness. With empathy. With love.

(Drops mic. Steps off soapbox. Opens beer.)

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Living life in color, once again

Lately, I have been struggling with changes that are going on in my life. A new job, my oldest beginning kindergarten and other changes have been hard on me. Not just because there is a different routine, but because it is slowly showing me that I am becoming myself again in many ways. I have come out of the shell of grief that my brother's death created and started to become the person I was before it all.

Unfortunately, I am realizing that the person that I was/am again might be a lot for certain people to handle. I am loud, and brash and honest. A lot of people have become used to the broken me and aren't as accepting of the new/old me. When I was grieving, I was subdued, quiet and did more listening than talking. Because I didn't have words. But the words are back, along with my annoying asshole personality.

So I am at a crossroads of whether I need to tone down who I am or whether I need to get rid of people who I like in my life but aren't excepting of the new me. Which is actually the old me. Dizzy yet? Yeah, me too.

I am just trying to get my bearings so I can start moving forward and decide who I want to be by my side along the way. It has been a painful struggle, but one that I know will help me grow in the long run. I have been blessed with a semi large group of friends. But I can't tell if they are friends that should be in my life or friends who I just keep there because we have history together.

But as I get older, and possibly wiser, I am sometimes finding it painful to go forward staying friends with people who are no longer supportive. So do I keep doing the work to stay friends with people out of loyalty or do I just slowly fade away from them? I'm not sure what the right answer is and it is a very big question to pose.

I struggle daily because I want to be liked. But my personality isn't very likable. I rub a lot of people the wrong way. Some people choose to embrace that as a positive quality. Others are just frustrated by my lack of social couth.

I guess this is all a somewhat apology for being absent here on the blog. I'm not exactly sure who I am or where I am heading so it is hard to give perspective on myself, let alone anything else.
Living life in color, once again.
I will end this post by letting you know that I am happier now than I have been in a long time. Maybe my whole life. I am just trying to make sure that I keep heading in the direction that leads to my own needs and happiness and not others'. That is a very hard path for me to take. But I am working on it.


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
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