Get ready for some serious sexual confusion We doubt you woke up this morning expecting to be sexually attracted to a CGI character with a great ass, but guess what? It’s happening. There’s a new Mr. Clean commercial and it’s going to seriously confuse your lady parts. Because you’ve never seen Mr. Clean like this. Proctor and Gamble…
via Are You Ready To Be Attracted To ‘Sexy’ Mr. Clean? — Scary Mommy
I don’t care what anyone says, it’s hard work potty training boys. Sit, stand, aim. Boys just seem overwhelmed and uninterested. I tried everything… a sticker box and glossy chart to go with it, m&ms as a reward, and the old tried and true, Cheerios in the toilet.
By the time my first-born was off to preschool, I desperately tried to entice him with a shopping spree for “big boy pants” all his own. In the store, we both in stood amazement staring at the vast selection. Immediately, Kevin fell in love with the Spider-Man four pack. That was easy, I thought. Each of the underwear had a small picture of Spider-Man on the front, a large Spider -Man scene on the back, and all were trimmed in different primary colors. Kevin was so excited! I was excited too, but for the reason of putting the expense of pull-ups behind me. At the time, I was also paying for Pampers for his brother Eric.
After a trial run over the weekend, the novelty of the new “big boy pants” hadn’t worn off. When Monday morning arrived, Kevin took pride in dressing himself for school. I encouraged his new-found independence, giving his snap close jeans and Spider-Man T-shirt a once-over and a quick and prideful expression of approval.
“Kevin, I am so proud of you!” I said with delight.
Kevin beamed a smile back while we were on our way to his preschool. In the car, I explained about wearing “big boy pants”, using the potty (like we had at home), and of course, the importance of washing your hands.
“I’ve got this!” I thought, feeling like the best mom ever.
As soon as we entered the classroom, I discreetly let the preschool teacher know that Kevin had a great weekend potty training and that he was actually wearing underwear. I think I was as proud as Kevin was. Feeling hopeful that I had finally conquered the potty training battle, I left for home to catch up on the laundry and house cleaning.
Hmm. Not a call from the school. Kevin must be doing great. I knew it. One down, one to go and I’d be well on my way to financial freedom.
When I returned to pick up Kevin, the teacher was busy with another parent. I thought, well, no news is good news. We drove home, got out of the car and went inside for lunch and then a well deserved nap.
Kevin was playing in the family room with some toys when I called to him that lunch was ready. It was then that I noticed that his jeans were unsnapped. “Kevin, you didn’t snap your jeans. Come here and mommy will fix it for you,” I said.
Kevin came running over. I pulled his jeans together but was unable to snap them. I tried again. They were too tight or there was just too much material. It was then that I noticed that there was definitely too much material. I could see the bands of color from his big boy pants…red, yellow, blue and green.
“Kevin, how many pairs of big boy pants do you have on?” I asked.
Kevin matter-of-factly replied, “All of them.”
I asked Kevin, “Why did you wear all four of them?”
“I couldn’t decide.”
I pulled at the material bulging out of the fly of his tiny jeans. Sure enough, there were all four pairs of Spider-Man underwear. Looking more closely, I could see the large colorful scene from the back of his underwear. He had them all on backwards.
“Kevin, why did you put all of the underwear on backwards?”
“I wanted to see the big picture, Mom.”
I chuckled, but little did I know that Kevin would grow into a young man who always seeks the big picture in life and in turn never gets hung up on small details.
Maybe, that is a lesson for all of us.
This is the excerpt for your very first post.
Source: Boys, Boys, Boys
Sometimes life is about the moment… the moments that you remember because they shape who you are. The moments that are brought on by a feeling, a song or a memory…the moments, good or bad, that you never forget because they stay with you forever.
I had one of those moments tonight. My eldest son, Kevin moved to Long Island. I am so proud of him. It was his decision to go and he even said, “Mom, I know that you’re upset with me for moving, but I have to go follow my dream.” You see, Kevin is a bright star, a writer, a deep thinker, a performer, an editor and a film maker. A spirit that hones his craft in the wee hour of the morning, not unlike me. I love this kid and he never ceases to amaze me with his wit and his drive. “Kevin,” I said, “The majority of your generation lives at home until they are almost thirty. I never pushed you to leave, but I believe in you and I support your decision.”
Kevin is a graduate of the Connecticut School of Broadcasting. He has an amazing ability to express himself and to connect with people. His expression is honest and real and he definitely has a gift that has been under construction since he picked up his first camera at the age of three. I love to see what Kevin is going to do or say next. He hasn’t had an easy path and he definitely wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but that is what makes his perspective on life so raw and so real. I have always told my kids that it’s not what has happened to you but what you do with it and that all great art comes through struggle and pain, whether it be painting, writing, singing or film.
After arriving in New York, Kevin called. “Mom, did you happen to put that cough medicine in my suitcase? I don’t feel well…I think I’m getting sick.”
I replied, “Yes Kevin, I did. Look in your suitcase and call me back.”
I had packed Kevin’s suitcase with brand new cologne, a hairbrush, shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, bar soap, razors, shaving cream, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, a toothbrush, nail cutters, wash cloths, Advil, Tylenol Cold, cough drops, a digital thermometer, face pads, Q-tips, socks, underwear, gloves, a hat, a flash light, batteries, stamps, envelopes, scissors, tape and clothes. I can’t even remember everything that I bought. I just wanted Kevin to have everything that he needed and all the comforts of home. I struggled to make it all fit in the overstuffed suitcase while John said, “You are such a good mother and I hope that Kevin realizes all of the love that went into all that you have done.”
At the last-minute, I took a small envelope, slid a one hundred-dollar bill in it, licked and sealed it…then wrote on the outside, “In case of emergency. Love, Mom.”
The phone rang. It was Kevin calling back. “Hi, Kev.” I said “Did you find the cough medicine?”
“Yes. Yo, that was the most motherly shit ever! Thank you.” Kevin replied
“You’re welcome. I love You, Kevin.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Sometimes life is about the moment. This very moment.
Following the September 11th attacks earlier in the season, the NFL postponed a week of games, resulting in Super Bowl XXXVI being rescheduled from January 27th to February 3, 2002. The big game was set to take place under heightened security at the Louisiana Superdome, where the St. Louis Rams would face the New England Patriots for the Super Bowl championship. While everyone else was excitedly getting ready for their Super Bowl party that night, I was excitedly awaiting the birth of my third child, due the following day.
At one o’clock in the afternoon on the day of the Super Bowl, I waddled around my house finishing up some last-minute nesting. I felt a few pains but continued to fuss over making every last detail in my home perfect for my new arrival. When my water broke, I knew it was time to call the doctor. As my labor pains began to worsen, I reached the doctor’s answering service and was told that he would call me right back.
When the phone rang, I picked it up and jokingly said with what laughter I could muster, “Doctor, I hope you’re not a sports fan, because my water just broke and I’m in labor.”
The doctor replied quite professionally, “I don’t watch sports. I’m a doctor. Meet me at the hospital.”
We arrived at the hospital, checked in and were assigned a room. When the contractions really started to kick in, I began to very loudly say the same things that I’m pretty sure I said while in labor with baby #2:”I must be out of my mind! God…this hurts so much, I didn’t remember how much! I can not believe I’m doing this again!”
A nurse rushed in.”Is everything okay?” she asked me.
Before I could answer, my ex-husband curled down one side of the newspaper he’d been reading.
“I have a paper cut and it really smarts.” he stated, as he extended his index finger. “Can you get me a band-aid?”
The nurse shot me a look and raised her eyebrows. Luckily, I was in too much pain to say what I was really thinking.
(Let me just note here that I did say ex husband. Enough said.)
The nurse did her best to make me comfortable, as the time and the contractions dragged on.
Somehow, I had endured 5 hours of pain…but it wasn’t over yet. I pushed the buzzer to alert the nurse. When she arrived, I said, with a flushed face and a sweaty strand of hair stuck to my lower lip, “I’m going to have this baby now!”
The nurse left the room and quickly returned with my doctor.
My ex husband was standing up in front of the TV, arm outstretched, frantically pushing the buttons to find the game. I groaned as my doctor joined him at his side.
“It was on in the doctors lounge.” I heard my OBGYN say.
“We have six minutes until kick off!” My ex husband replied.
I lifted my head. Stared at their backs and yelled, “I HAVE TO PUSH!!”
Somehow this news whipped everyone back to the reality that there was a woman in labor that actually took precedence over Tom Brady’s shot at winning the Super Bowl and the MVP.
My beautiful, healthy son Marc was born at kickoff that day…and yes, everyone missed the kickoff.
The New England Patriots won their first Super Bowl, 20 – 17, and quarterback Tom Brady did win the MVP.
I won the best gift of all.
And every year on my son’s birthday, I buy him a giant chocolate chip Super Bowl cookie with a football drawn in frosting on top. Marc loves it and it makes him feel special.
But, I’m the one who remembers the real story…everything I endured for my Super Bowl baby.
.
When my boys were younger I always worked multiple jobs. Okay, I still am, and probably always will be a workaholic. Actually, most of my life working like a dog has been an absolute necessity, yet even when not, I always maintained the same work ethic.
I became the queen of quick meals, crock pot cooking and yes, the master of the microwave. I was always pretty proud of myself and my ability to hold two jobs, vacuum the living room while still wearing a suit and heels, wash, dry and fold laundry into the wee hours and of course, whip up a meal in minutes.
Kevin, then 6 years old, came home with a smile, a bounce in his step and a paper from school boasting an “A”.
“Mom, guess what? I got an “A” on a project!” Kevin beamed.
“That’s wonderful honey! What was the assignment?” I inquired.
“Well, everyone had to write down what their favorite food was, write one sentence about it and draw a picture.” Kevin continued, “Most of the kids picked pizza or hot dogs…but wait until you see mine!”
Kevin continued beaming as he turned his paper that sported a large “A” towards me so I could see.
At the top of the paper, Kevin had written perfectly, “My favorite food is broccoli.”
Underneath was his sentence about the topic.
“Boy, Can my mom microwave up a box of broccoli!”
The drawing below showed a box of broccoli and a to scale replica of the green giant.
Embarrassed and momentarily fear struck, I tried to form a smile. My first-born child had no idea that broccoli was grown in soil, in gardens and farms.
“I’m so proud of you Kevin!” I said with a hug.
I’m definitely going to have to decline that “Mother of the Year” nomination…it’s the right thing to do.
And…this year, maybe plant a garden.
When I tell my friends, family or co-workers a story about my life, they always say, “Oh my God, that’s so funny!” My standard reply is, “It’s funny cuz its true.”
When my kids were small, I saved enough money to transform the entryway of our home into a page straight out of a decorating magazine. I purchased a beautiful wooden sitting bench and an elegant mirror to hang above it. I painstakingly selected wallpaper with a small vertical gold stripe and the tiniest, most delicate floral pattern set against a background of white. I knew together, the wallpaper, the mirror and the bench would make a striking, yet warm and inviting entrance into our home.
I hired a person to put up the new wallpaper since I hadn’t a clue where to start and I wanted it to be perfect. To my surprise, the wallpaper was flawlessly installed in a day. I was elated! I enthusiastically positioned the bench, hung the decorative gold framed mirror, and lovingly added matching gold framed pictures of my children to the hallway.
It was finished. My vision, made into reality! I couldn’t have been happier. I spent many of the days that followed standing in the entryway admiring its beauty.
Upon returning home from work one night, I was stopped dead in my tracks…low on the wall, across my beautiful new wallpaper, were some swirling red lines. I thought,”Oh my God, is that red crayon…red pen, or worst of all, red marker?!” My heart was beating through my chest. Because the red scribble was low on the wall, I knew it had to be my 4-year-old son Marc. My shock was now turning to anger as Marc greeted me by the door.
I forced myself to take a deep breath and smile. “Hi honey. Do you happen to know how these red marks got on the new wallpaper?” I asked.
To my surprise Marc replied, “Yes, I do. It happened last night when you and daddy were sleeping.”
“It did?” I questioned, “Tell me all about it.”
“Well, a burglar broke in,” Marc began.
“A burglar broke in?” I repeated, fully intending on seeing how far my son would go with this story. “Why didn’t you wake us?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to worry you.” Marc said.
“That was very nice of you, Marc.” I replied. “So, what did you do?”
“I just stood there. Then he grabbed me,” Marc stated.
“He grabbed you? You must have been so scared. Why didn’t you wake us?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Marc replied.
“Then what happened?” I inquired.
“Well, he had a knife,” Marc said.
“A knife? Oh my God!” I shrieked.
Marc continued, “And… he had a red pen.”
I said, “So he had a knife and a red pen. Wow, that must have been scary. How did you get away?”
“I jumped out the window,” Marc explained.
“You jumped out the window…Where did you go?” I asked.
Marc replied, “Well, I ran all the way to Dr. Baron’s office (he was Marc’s pediatrician at the time).”
“Why didn’t you have Dr. Baron call me?” I asked.
“He didn’t want to wake you up,” Marc replied.
“Marc, let me go get the camcorder so you can tell me again what happened and I can record all of this for the police.” I left the room to grab the camcorder.
I returned to find Marc standing in the exact same place, looking white as a ghost.
“Mommy?” Marc said sheepishly. “I wrote on the wall with a red pen.”
“I know you did, Marc.” I replied.
“Wait, how did you know?” Marc asked, as I handed him some soap and a sponge.
“Mommies just know these things, Marc.” I said stifling a smile.
Fortunately, the red pen came off and Marc never wrote on a wall again.
We’ve all heard the expression, “You can’t make this sh*t up.” Trust me, I don’t have to make it up as there is never a lack of material in my life…It’s just funny cuz it’s true.
For all intents and purposes, I’m pretty simple when it comes to material things. I abhor the mall and I couldn’t care less about the most popular trend or “Keeping up with the Jones.” I sacrifice to do for my kids. I must admit, I love to decorate and I do take pleasure in incorporating my latest bargain or thrift store find, into our humble abode.
In the last month we have had to replace a toilet seat and the mechanism on the screen door that keeps it from both slamming and blowing off onto our front lawn. Seriously? Why are boys so rough and destructive? I know that it’s not intentional, but it has become obvious to me that they use the same amount of force to reach under a lamp shade and turn off a light as they do to make a slap shot to score the winning goal in a hockey game.
I’m pretty sure that the writing was on the wall even when my kids were small. I was pregnant with Marc and busy fussing over the nursery while I set Kevin (6) and Eric (3) up with brand new bunk beds, sheets and matching comforters.
One wintry, cold night after putting the boys to bed, I stepped out of the shower and reached for the most luxurious, plush bathrobe I have ever owned…a gift from my mother. As I wrapped the bathrobe around my shivering body and reached for the tie…wait, I can’t grab the tie…left side, right side…Where is the tie? Never mind. Are Kevin and Eric still up?
I wrap the bathrobe around myself the best that I can and head into the boy’s room. I turn the light on and begin to say, “Boys, it’s time for bed…go to sleep you have school…” I stop mid-sentence. Hanging from the top bunk is the tie to my new bathrobe. I frantically try to unfasten it, but the knot is so tight it is impossible to do so..
“Why is the tie to my new bathrobe attached to the top rail of your bunk bed?” I ask, exasperated, as I continue trying to free it.
“We were playing spider man.” Kevin replied.
“Just go to sleep.” I quip.
“Kevin is spitting at me!” Eric states before I exit the bedroom.
“You’re spitting at your brother from the top bunk, Kevin?” I ask.
“He tried to spit at me first!” Kevin says.
“There is no spitting in this house!” I state as I leave the room feeling defeated. “Please go to sleep.”
I stop in the hallway for a moment, realizing that I will have to cut my bathrobe tie off of the bunk bed rail and reluctantly, throw it out. Oh, well. The ending of something nice I once owned. Little did I know, the beginning of all of the endings, of the nice things I will ever own in years to come.
I pause an extra few minutes just to make sure that the spitting war has ceased.
Silence.
Then I hear my son Eric state, “Ya know Kevin, mom is right. Some kids don’t even have spit and you’re wasting all of yours.”
I stifle my laughter and think, God I love my boys.
Happy New Year 2017! New Year, New You, New Life, New Chance, New Dreams, New Goals! Then life happens…
I started off my new year with a carbon monoxide leak in my heating system and the duplex I’m renting in foreclosure. My mother is in her third round of chemo therapy and my youngest son, Marc has run his course in the public school system.
Damn.
Leave it to me to write the non-traditional New Years Motivational hype.
Just sayin…
that maybe it is okay to be exactly where you are in 2017 and even embrace it. In fact, bring it on! As I reflect on the resolutions that I made last year, I realize that I’m already 365 days behind. Maybe you are too.
Maybe New Year’s isn’t about sayin, “I will”and”I want”. Maybe, it’s about sayin “My kids need”, “My mother deserves”, “My next step is.”
Maybe it is about accepting where you are and figuring out what you have to do no matter how stressful or insurmountable it seems.
If you welcome the challenges, the knowledge and the personal growth that it takes to overcome them…you are evolving every minute.
This year, my New Years Resolution is to take the “I” out of the equation, be stronger than my fear and face every challenge that is presented to me, head on.
Just Sayin…
So, here it is, my blog. Maybe my daily life deserves more of a platform, like say, a reality show. Maybe the Kardashians have more junk in their trunk, or more stack in their rack…but they have NOTHING on me. “My life, I swear….” I find myself repeating that as my mantra in the face of yet another ridiculous situation, after another ridiculous situation.
I am a single mom of three boys, Kevin (20), Eric aka “Rocky” (17) and Marc (14). I live with my boys and my fiancé , John, a man I dated 27 years ago (that’s a story in itself). John also has a son, Matthew (20) who lives with John’s ex-wife but comes to visit us. Sounds like the normal 21st century blended family, right? Right. Unbeknownst to us, my ex-husband spent three days living in our basement this past winter. Did I mention that Kevin is an aspiring film maker and a graduate of the Connecticut School of Broadcasting? This kid has been carrying around a camcorder since he was three and nothing is off-limits, in fact EVERYTHING is material. Kevin is also a rapper, as is Marc. They have rapped on the stage of Toad’s Place, New Haven, as well as other venues. Eric, also known as “Rocky” is my sports star, a seasoned hockey player. John’s son , Matthew, is a talented, competitive ballroom dancer. John is currently unemployed, which leaves plenty of time for friction with my unruly teenage boys. I am a writer, public speaker and most importantly, a midlife waitress.
There’s the cast of characters.. Ready to see what could possibly happen to make my life put the Kardashians to shame? I promise not to disappoint.
mylifeiswear.com 