Bonus Blog...

Jackpot! Score! Because you are such very good readers...I'm going to give you a bonus blog. Yep. Two in one day. Although it's after midnight so technically it's tomorrow, but I'm still up so in my world it's still today. You may thank me by commenting. Or following. Or sending money. Whichever. And I will make this one relatively short because looking back, I realized I've been writing books. Thank you for wading through them!

Disclaimer: Please please do not try this at home. This stunt is packed with potential danger depending on the temperament of your spouse or significant other. And I would hate to have someone copy my technique and have their spouse smack them around for it. That would be bad, because then I'd feel all responsible and have to put a mafia hit out on them. Which might get traced back to me and ruin my rep. Not to mention I would not look good in a prison jumpsuit. Or what if someone did this and then their spouse came looking for me all you ruined my life by teaching my wife this trick! and tried to shoot me, like that guy did to Nicole Kidman in The Stepford Wives. That would be baaaadddd Bob!

Today I went into my pantry to throw away a paper towel and the trashcan was full. Not just full like close to the top full but full like overflowing full. And I came out of the pantry and let out a little growl and said loudly Why can't your father ever take out the garbage like he's supposed to??!" I mean seriously, it's not rocket science, is it? And he throws away the coffee filter every morning so I know he knows it's full. And Sean said "oh man. not this again". And then it struck me and I'm pretty sure that a light bulb appeared over my head like it does in cartoons when the character has an idea. Because this was brilliant. I said. "You're right." And then I proceeded to march into my husband's home office (which of course he wasn't in at the time) and then I spent 20 minutes searching for his post-it notes because the man does not know the meaning of the word organization. But finally I found them and a sharpie and I left him a note.

The actual note:


In case you can't read it, it says Do up the f*cking garbage or die. Ur choice. It makes no nevermind to me. PS- hope you're having a good day =] And then I left it on his planner. Two hours later I was in the laundry room folding laundry when I heard him come in. As I walked past the pantry door, with an armful of clean laundry I heard the unmistakable sound of the garbage being done up. "Good choice, honey" I called out sweetly. I know, I'm an effing genius.

♥Spot

Manic Mondays & Friday Night Lights...

This has been quite the week. And depending on who you are (or what kind of calendar you have) weeks could start on Sunday or Monday. I know my calendar starts on Sunday, but I've never been down with that. Monday is definitely the start of the week. And I don't usually mind Mondays, because well, I work at home so there's no "going back to work" to complain about, I never freakin left. And Monday is pretty much like every other day except that it's the day that I look at my calendar and see what's on it for the rest of the week and think "crap, I don't want to do that stuff".

But this Monday, I had to drive to Springfield, which is two hours from my house. We'd had CJ home over the weekend and I had to take him back to school. I begged Sean to come with me because I hate taking him back alone, because I get sad and cry unless I have someone to distract me. So...Monday morning I'm running around trying to get all of the stuff he got for his birthday separated, marked with his name and inventoried. (We keep some stuff at home and some stuff goes to his school with him). This takes forever, because both my mom & I go totally overboard with the birthday gifts. I realize twenty minutes before I want to leave the house that Sean is nowhere to be seen.

me: Is Sean up yet?
My hubby: Haven't seen him. (this is very odd, he's usually up by now)
me: will you go wake him?
My hubby: okay.

So I proceed to trying to finish getting around. Ten minutes later, still no sign of my youngest son.

me: will you please go make sure he's up? I have ten minutes til I need to leave.
my hubby: sure.

He walks out of the room. I (erroneously, it turns out) assume he's gone downstairs. I walk into the hall to go hang up my towel in the bathroom and my hubby is standing in the living room watching TV.

me: so did you make sure he was up?
my hubby: I'm on my way.
me: for the love of Pete! why did making sure he was up require a detour into the living room to watch TV?! you're a freakin addict dude. we have to get you some help.

Now, I'm frankly a little irritated (okay okay, irate) because nothing is going as planned! I'm also a teensy bit emotional because while Sunday and having my whole clan here for bdays was awesome, everyone leaving has left me a little down. Finally we manage to get out of the door and on the road. Sean starts giving me a hard time. You know, in the way that only a very smart but majorly sarcastic 16 year old boy can. I threaten to leave him at the gas station and call his father to come pick him up. (Unfortunately he knows I won't really do this because um, well that's just crazy). I pump gas, grab sodas, and lottery tickets (of course). The gas station attendant (who's nearly always cheerful) is obviously having a bad day too. I offer to let her drive to Springfield while I stay there and work but it's a no go.

I get out to the car and discover that the travel cup I brought for CJ has a hole in it. Fabulous. So I have to give him the bottle of soda (with a very stern admonishment that if he decides to dump it on the floor in the back of the car I will probably lose it. Yes, this has happened before, hence the travel cup.) We actually make it to Springfield without too much else going wrong. But as we walk into CJ's school it suddenly dawns on me that I have completely forgotten to bring his medicine back. Ack!!! This is a major blunder. I mean of monstrous proportion. He has to have his meds. And it's like a full months worth. Sh*t! So I tell them that I will go home and get them and bring them back. I will have to take them to his group home as it will be four hours from now before I get back. This is beyond stupid on my part. I can even picture his meds, sitting in their brown paper bag beside the bookcase in the family room, right beside where his suitcase was. In my defense, I usually manage to cram them into his suitcase to take them back, but this time it was too full of bday loot.

As we walk out of the building, my son starts giving me crap again. I warn him that I'm very near tears and if he doesn't stop, I'm going to be sobbing soon and he does NOT want to deal with that. I'm trying to hold off til I'm home tonight. He says he gives me less then an hour before the tears set in. Jackass. We run into mcd's (keeping it young folks, keeping it young) potty, grab some food and hit the road. I call my hubby to tell him about my incredible blunder. He offers to do the return trip for me, but then we both realize that he can't because he & Sean have a scout meeting. So, not only do I have to drive all the way home, pick up the meds, and drive all the way back and then home again, I have to do it alone. I start crying. My son says, cheer up lets listen to some tunes. At which point he puts in an old CD that has britney spears, backstreet boys and n*sync on it. The first song- "Bye bye bye". He starts belting it out and dancing in his seat. Have I mentioned he's completely tone deaf? And looks like a complete goober while doing this. Now I'm laughing, choking on my coke, and wiping my eyes. Whew, meltdown averted. Btw, I was not supposed to reveal the fact that he knew almost all the words and danced to that song ever under penalty of death, so pretend you didn't read it. mmmk?

Well, I dropped him off to work with his dad. Got the meds, potty breaked, and headed back out. To keep myself awake and cheer myself up I sang at the top of my lungs to an old CD of 80's love songs. " Once upon a time I was falling in love...now I'm only falling apart". Picture it. If you're brave. I made it back okay. Although so tired I was literally shaking. Which explains Tuesdays laying on the couch, hacking up a lung.

The rest of the week? Pretty uneventful. Tuesday...laid on the couch sick. Watched my backlog of DVR'd items. Wednesday...caught up my blogs. Thursday...funeral. Yeah, OK that sucked. Then grocery shopped. Do I know how to liven up a day or what?! Which brings us to today...

So, tonight is our high school's homecoming parade and game. I've been to these periodically (when the kids were attending regular school) and I do like a parade and I actually like the football games. Even though the team never ever wins. Ever. They suck. Bad. But it's nice to see people and eat tacos-in-a-bag. But I haven't been to one this year. Sean could care less about going to the games. And Bobby (the one who actually goes to the school) usually works on Friday nights and Mo lives in Iowa now. So no reason to go. Until tonight. Tonight my attendance is mandatory. Why? You ask? Because tonight they present the candidates for homecoming court and of course Bobby had to go and get himself elected. Geez. Okay really, he could care less, but he's a cutie and nice to everyone so he got voted in. So he has to ride in the parade (which means I have to go and take pics, because that's what good moms do). And then they present the candidates at halftime. And they have to be escorted by a parent. Guys by moms, girls by dads. That means, I have to dress nicely and walk out on the football field with him and then pose for pics. And frankly, I'm petrified. I know...you're probably thinking what? Spot's not scared of anything! And usually this holds true. And yes, I was queen of the drama club in high school. Yes, I did rule my speech and drama classes in college. Yes, I did do a bunch of community theatre. Yes, I did sit on panels and give lectures on parenting at parenting kids with disability conferences (yeah, I know, that scares you huh?! Me, as a parenting expert. Try thinking about that before you go to bed tonight. Guarunteed nightmares. But it's true) So why is this freaking me out??? I'm not sure really. I guess because alot of these people don't like me. The principal hates me (this feeling is mutual) because I took my kids out of his school to homeschool them and told him his teachers sucked. So um, yeah, most of the teachers don't like me either. And some of the parents. Turns out they get pissed off when their kids would rather be at your house then home. So I begged my hubby, and Sean, and Sean's gf to go with as moral support. And whew! They are. Now I just have to figure out what I'm wearing because oh yeah, I have to dress up and wear a corsage and it's freaking freezing outside so I'm gonna freeze my hiney off. And I have to practice my "I don't care what you think of me" face and my "butter wouldn't melt in my mouth" smile. And biting my tongue. So I don't say what I really think of these folks. I may be exhausted tomorrow. The things we do for our kids....

my smile hides a sarcastic smirk,
♥Spot

Smooshie Boobie Xrays and The Elixir of Life

Yep. It was that time of year again. Time to get the girls xrayed. And by girls, of course I'm referring to my boobs. Yearly mammograms. What joy. I know, I know...you're thinking, why Spot, you are way too young to be getting yearly mammograms. No, I'm not...I just look too young. (Which btw, I credit to being chubby. Because if you've ever noticed, chubby people have way fewer wrinkles then their skinny counterparts. Age and wear show up way worse on thin people then on pudgy ones. I think the extra weight plumps out the wrinkles or something. Why pay for botox when you can eat ice cream? Thus being chubby is so to your advantage. The way I see it McDonald's double cheeseburger = The Fountain of Youth!!! Yay!) Anyway, I'm actually 39 and will be 40 before the end of the year. (But don't you dare expect me to act my age, because I absolutely refuse). And yes, I know that current medical recommendations only suggest a baseline mammogram done at age 35 and then once a year after 40. Unless you have a family history. Which I do. Bingo! (But not like the good kind where you win a prize or anything.) My dad's mom died from breast cancer the summer I was 13. And my mother's sister is a 15 year breast cancer survivor. So I started getting yearly one's 3 years ago.

Now, for those of you who've never had one...it's really not that big of a deal. I guess every woman's pain threshold is different and I've been told I have an abnormally high one, but to me they aren't painful. My mother says they're horribly painful. I guess it also depends on how big your boobs are and I have plenty of boob to smoosh so there you go. And now that I'm on my fourth, it doesn't even seem weird anymore to have some other lady lift my boob, place it on the tray, position it, and then bring the other tray down to smoosh it. At first, that kind of freaked me out. Now, it's whatever.

The first year, I was scared to death. I had no idea what to expect. Then, when they didn't call the next day, I assumed everything was fine and that I'd be getting the "you're boobs are fine" letter. Psych! They called the day after that.

"Can you come in for another mammogram? You have some spots we're not sure about and since it's your first we need to check it out."

What?! Spots on my boobs? Are you kidding me? So I'm all freaked out and worried and convinced I'm going to die because well, I've always figured breast cancer was inevitable but I was sure hoping for better timing like when I'm 90 or 100 or something. So I go in and they show me the "spots" and explain that they're probably just calcifications and nothing to worry about but since they have nothing to compare it to they just want a better look. So they redo the smooshie boobie xray and tell me that since it's a holiday weekend I won't have the results for four days. Really? I mean Really? Way to torture a girl. But in the end I sweated it for nothing because they really were just calcifications and nothing to worry about. But I got to come back in six months, just in case.

Six months later...smooshie boobie xray number 2. Called the next day.

"Well there's a shadow on the xray. Could you come in for another?"

Seriously, I don't know why they ask. What are you gonna do, say no? NO! I don't want you to be sure I don't have breast cancer! So I go in, get smooshed, get cleared again. Fast forward another year...last year to be exact. I go in for my smooshie boobie xray number 3. They call the very next morning. I mean like right away. Which in case you didn't know, is never ever good.

"Hi this is _______, from the Breast Health Center. We found an anomaly in your left breast and we wondered if you could come back in and have a repeat mammogram?"

"Um. No. I'm leaving tomorrow morning on vacation and won't be back for ten days."

"Oh. Well. Um. Can you come in the morning after you come back?"

"Hmm. Anomaly? Does that mean lump? Do you mean you found a lump? And it's serious enough that you want me to come in immediately upon my return from vacation?"

"Well, it's a lump, but we're not sure what it is, that's why we need the next mammogram. But you shouldn't worry, it's probably nothing. Have a nice trip."

Have.A.Nice.Trip. Are you for real?? Don't worry??? Riiiight. So I told my husband and we sat there silent for like 5 minutes. I told him not to tell anyone, that way they wouldn't worry. (But then I ended up telling my sister and of course she told my parents because she always has been and will always be a big fat tattletale.) Then he asked if I was worried. And I said "Maybe a bit. But I'm going to take the girls on vacation and show them off in case they don't get to go next year!" So maybe a few of last years vacay pics show a suspicious amount of cleavage...but it was just in case! I got back, went in for the follow up mammogram and they showed me the films from the first one. There was a very large lump in the left breast. "Wow girl. You're toast." I said sympathetically to my left breast. They explained that if the lump was still showing up, they'd take me to ultrasound and either way I'd know something that day. Good. Because waiting sucks. But whew! I dodged another bullet because the lump was completely gone! They said it must have been a cyst. Yay! I've never been so happy to have a cyst in my life.

So this year...I put off having my mammogram until after vacay. I know, you're thinking how smart I am. How I actually learned something. I know right?! So anyway, they've built a whole new "Breast Health Center" in the year's time and I get lost trying to find my way around. But at last I arrive and change into that beautiful garment they provide and the technician comes to get me. She explains everything and I'm all "Yeah. I got it. They'll call me tomorrow if I need a repeat. Which always happens." I tell her I will be out of town the next day so they need to call my cell. Five minutes tops and I'm changing back into my clothes and she makes my appt for next year and gives me my Elixir of Life.

The Elixir of Life? Oh, well that's just water. Duh. Everyone knows that. You can't live without water. And they give you one every time you have a mammogram. I still haven't figured that out. I mean...seriously, did you think I was so nervous I sweated myself into dehydration? Or you keep it so hot in this frickin building that I must be in need of a drink? Because I am but water ain't gonna cut it. What if they started handing out bottles of vodka afterward? I mean, I don't think many people under 21 ever get mammograms so it would be all good. And I would really really appreciate that. And I'm sure more women would get them done if they knew they were getting vodka at the end. And if you get bad news, well wouldn't vodka help then too?? It's definitely a better idea. Someone should clue them in.

Oh yeah, and this year? No phone call. No repeat. I got the "your boobies are fine" letter. Score!

Vodka & Cleavage shots,
♥Spot

Why does your drunken ex-boyfriend still call me mom?

So...family. What picture does that conjure up for you? A 50's era family sitting down to dinner? Crazy aunt June, the cat lady? Or the chaos that was last Thanksgiving when uncle Joe showed up drunk and knocked over the buffet table? I guess for everyone it's something different. There really aren't so many traditional families anymore. It's an ever changing concept. I find even within my own family, we have different ideas about what it means.

I was raised in a "traditional" two parent household where the dad went to work and the mom kept the house clean. It was a little different because my dad was in the Air Force so we moved around a lot. And sometimes he was gone tdy or once even for a whole year. My mom occasionally had a part time job, mostly after I was older but her career was our house. There was just my sister and me. And there's seven years difference in our ages (she's younger). And my parents were way strict and conventional. And kind of kept to themselves. My mom never really spent much time with girlfriends and they didn't have people over alot. They did bowl on a league on Friday nights for awhile so I wouldn't say they were anti-social. It was good I guess. I mean I know later on down the road when you have therapy you're supposed to blame everything on your parents. But I figure they did the best they could and what they thought was right. I was just determined to raise my kids a little differently.

So fast forward...I'm twenty, I get pregnant and married (Yes, in that order. Stupid doctor telling me it takes 6 months to get pregnant after you go off the pill! Try the next freakin week!) Then it's so much fun that we do it again 359 days later. Yeah, that's 6 days shy of a year between my son and daughter. (Stupid antibiotics that make the pill ineffective). Then, twenty two months later, another son. I thought we were on a roll and would have kept going...but my hubby decided three was his point of no return and had a little snipping done. Now, since our oldest had already been diagnosed with autism at this point, he was probably being genetically cautious as well.

So three kids. Under three. Whew! Somedays I think I'm lucky I survived those first few years. Some days I'd give anything to relive a week of it, knowing what I know now. I wouldn't function so much on autopilot and I'd truly enjoy those babies! But we made it anyway. Now, I'm not gonna go so much into the nature and personality of the kids (that's a whole other post), I'm just gonna skip ahead to where it gets chaotic. We ended up having more then three kids. We have biologicals, fosters, and extras. Lots of kids. Those were our three biologicals. CJ, Molly & Sean.

Every boy my daughter has ever dated has called me "mom". Oddly enough, she's always been attracted to bad boys and well, I'm a sucker for a motherless boy. Half of her girl friends called me mom too. I have been counselor, keeper of secrets, and hug giver to more kids over the years then I can count. Those are extras. They grow, they move, the friendship ends, but they stay in your heart. And when one of them calls or texts, I never fail to answer.

Then we have our "fosters". Bobby has lived with us (this time) since January of this year. It's not a legal foster situation because his dad wouldn't relinquish custody, but he's been here nonetheless. I do his laundry, keep track of dr/dentist visits, make sure he gets good grades, issue curfews and punishments. He calls us his family and me mom. Brian is 21. He was never a legal foster either and in fact, has a family that claims him. He got absorbed into our family about three years ago. His college was closer to our house then his "real" family's house so he started staying here on weekends. Then summers. And during holiday breaks. He's even got a cell phone on our plan. They are family.

My parents don't get this situation. They can't imagine taking in strangers and making them family. I can't imagine not doing it. I love my large boisterous clan. I love my biologicals fiercely. But I also love my fosters and extras. I love the nights when we have ten people at the dinner table because some showed up randomly for "dinner at the Turner house". (Which is generally an unforgettable occasion due to general outrageousness and the complete inability to limit table talk to "appropriate" topics.)

Which brings us to the title of this piece..."why does your drunken ex-boyfriend still call me mom?" Because he does. Molly's most recent ex (and they were all but engaged, ring bought and everything) still texts me and calls me. Even though they were the worst couple in the history of couples, I can't not answer. Because he's had a tough life. Yes, he drinks way too much (his inability to quit being the reason she finally (hallelujah) called things off), does really stupid things (drives drunk), and generally acts like an ass. But (as my husband and son finally agreed) he's not a bad person. He just needs help. And I would never ever want to see him date my daughter again, but I would like to see him have a happy life. So, much to her new boyfriend's chagrin, he still calls me mom and I still answer.

Wow. This wasn't a very funny post. Thanks for reading anyway.

♥Spot

Show me some blog love...

C'mon! I have statcounter people...I know you're out there! Reading and lurking. Please take the time to comment. The reason being...

I was raised to believe "If you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything." Which, now that I think about it, is kind of ironic considering my mom is the one who used to tell me this. Because now my mom has turned into kind of a bitch and says really mean things all the time. I mean really really mean things. Things that make you say "ouch" or "gee thanks mom, 50 points for you and 0 for my self esteem". Like this one time my daughter had been sick (with whooping cough of all things, who still gets that?!) for like 3 months and hardly ate anything and lost all kinds of weight and then at Easter we were at my gma's and she had some mashed potatoes and my mom is all "potatoes will make you pudgy". Are you kidding me?! For real mom! The child is practically anorexic at this point and that's what you come out with??! See what I mean? On the upside, my family did laugh about it later and we called Molly "pudge" for months afterward.

Or just recently, on family vacay, I walked into her bathroom when we were getting ready to go out and she says "You look really pretty tonight" (I know you're thinking that this is probably a compliment...but just wait...there's always a kicker) and I said "as opposed to my usual look?" and she says (here it comes...) "well I really hate your hair and don't think it looks good, but tonight it does". Gah...! I had just cut it short and loved it. Thanks mom.




So anyway...as a result of you all reading and not commenting I think it means that I suck. Because if I can't say something (anything) nice, I don't comment at all. And I guess I just figure that's how everyone works. So if you read it and you like it...tell me so. Otherwise you're just feeding my paranoia, and really, what kind of person does that make you?! Lol. And even if you can't say something nice...you can still comment. Really, I can take it. As you can see...I've had a lot of practice.

catty remarks & snarky comments,
♥Spot

Wedding of the Weekend?

So my sister-in-law got married this weekend. It's her second marriage and oddly enough...it's to my cousin. (NO! I do not live in Kentucky! Lol.) He's like a 2nd cousin, twice removed or something. I don't know, somewhere on my gma's side. All I know is we attend his family's funerals and they attend ours. Which should go under the heading "strange customs in small towns". And we've called ourselves "cousins" since they started dating like ten years ago and we realized we were semi-related. After attending the wedding...I'm definitely stressing the "semi".

So we arrive at the church, after picking up my son's girlfriend (brave lad that he is...introducing her to his dad's side of the family and all) and meet my daughter and her boyfriend in the parking lot. We file inside and do the meet and greet. They introduce their significant others to some family members and then my brother-in-law seats us. Well I'm way down the pew from my daughter, so I text her:

me: Did you notice how trailer park the groom's side is?
her: You're horrible! We're in a church.
me: Yeah, I'm gonna burn in hell. But did you notice?
her: Yes of course! Luke says stop discriminating.
me: I'm not discriminating! I'm poking fun. There's a big difference. I know I will totally be partying with these people later. But when did "greasy" become a hairstyle?
her:When Robert Pattison made it cool.
me: oh. damn. you're right. Btw, your father says he's pretty sure there must be a Motley Crue concert around here somewhere!

My daughter and I at the wedding:


At which point...we stopped because the wedding was beginning. So...the best man is called "four eyed joe". Why? Because he has eyeballs tattooed on the back of his head. And yeah, his hair was short enough that you could see them staring at the congregation. That and the ZZ Top beard are quite the combination! Another groomsman had a really long braid hanging down his back. One had a bandanna on his head. Now, lest you think I'm a prude or a snobby bitch, I'm not looking down on these folks. I've been known to spend an afternoon in the tattoo parlor myself, I'm just saying it was something to see. I guess the funniest part was the fact that four eyed joe kept leaning during the ceremony...farther and farther back. I mean at one point my hubby and I were convinced he was going to fall over backwards and take down the others like a stack of dominoes. I thought maybe he made the mistake of locking his knees and was feeling faint. That is, until he nearly ran into me after the ceremony while hollering "Super Joe is here to save the day!" I'm not even gonna speculate on what combo of liquor and street drugs he'd ingested but it was obviously something. Oh, and I probably forgot the tiny detail that "four eyed joe" just happens to be married to my husband's ex girlfriend. Hehehe. It just gets better and better, doesn't it?!

My son and his girlfriend. I swear he's not drunk! The flash gets him every time!


So after the requisite family photos, we head to a local restaurant, because my daughter insists that she's starving. Probably, because she hasn't eaten all day. Huge surprise. We chow down on some chicken nachos and I have a glass of wine. Dealing with my in-laws often drives me to drink. Then we checked out the house my hubby and son and one foster son are working on for a friend of mine. Nice little old house. Needs tons of work! Then it's time to hit the reception. Let the games begin. Find out we missed the cake cutting!! But we're just in time for the Bride & Groom's first dance. We get a table and I head to the bar for my first beer. (Let me intercede here and stress that while I like to drink, due to health issues, drinking excessively is a pretty rare occurrence for me. However, this night my husband offers to be the sober driver!!! I cannot pass up this rare opportunity!) Well everything goes well. The Mother/Son dance is a little sad because the groom's mom passed away suddenly last year. But his sisters come up to fill in. Well, two of the three (the other one's in jail). My daughter points out that the sister who just got out of rehab's dress is actually a shirt. They sell it at the store where she used to work. Now she can't understand why I insisted she didn't dress like a "hootchie" when obviously it was allowed.

My beautiful daughter and her boyfriend. Note: not a "hootchie" dress!


So let's just say I had a lot of beer. They actually asked me at the bar if my glass had a hole in it. Of course, this is the same guy who totally convinced me that the keg was running out and we were on beer rationing so he could only give me a 1/4 glass. (Did I mention my middle name is gullible?). My husband started pointing out I was flirting with the bar guy (nuh-uh, he was totally flirting with me). Which meant he could flirt with that guy's girlfriend, who happened to be one of the bridesmaids. A girl who'd grown up with his sisters and had totally had a huge crush on him. I ixnayed that idea pretty quickly. Anyway, we danced alot. We laughed a whole lot and generally had a great time. My husbands family does know how to party...I will give them that. At the end of the reception, my brother-in-law informed us that everyone was going "late-nighting" and we should come to. "Late-nighting"?? I'm too old for that! But we sent the kids home and headed to the club. Now, honestly I can't even remember the last time I went to a dance club. But there we were. Me, pretty drunk, my husband, pretty amused. He got me a beer and we went to the room where the dance floor was. His ex comes flying off the floor and grabs my hand. "Come dance with us! We can be friends, right?" I assured her that we could and preceded to um, well I guess you could call it dancing to some song I'd never even heard before. I'm with the bride, a bridesmaid, the ex, and one of the groomsmen's wives. So the groomsmen comes up behind his wife and just pulls her dress completely up. So us, and everyone in the bar is treated to a view of his wife's naked boobs and her thong. Me, I'm shocked. The others just laugh. Apparently this is standard party behavior for them. The HEll??! I go running to my hubby. "Did you see that??!" Him: "Why yes, I did!" So we go out to the beer garden, so everyone can smoke. Then my brother-in-law, who's managed to pick up two blondes who are making out with him, and each other, drags me in for a shot. Me & the bride do a shot. Of what? Yeah, no clue. I go back out to the beer garden to find my hubby and the groomsman's wife is on her hands and knees crawling around. Me "You ok?" Her "No! I lost an earring!" Her Husband "It's a diamond. I bought it for her." Well I spy it on the ground and pick it up. At which point...she throws her arms around me, tells me she loves me and kisses me. Ack!!! I don't mean a quick peck. She lays one on me all "I kissed a girl and I liked it". Her husband then repeats the process. Leaving me shell shocked and my husband (damn his hide) laughing. So soon we all decide to head to the bride and grooms house. I make sure they have a sober driver and the bride asks us to drive the ex and four eyed joe to their house. My husband comes out of the bar, carrying the ex. Literally. Because she can't stand up. I warn them both, theres no puking in my car! And frankly, I gotta admit, four eyed joe scares me. He's got crazy eyes. Like Charles Manson eyes.

We get to the house and I went inside with the bride to help get her outta that dress. And omigod there's like fifty knots in the string that undoes her laces!!! This takes my drunk ass quite awhile to undo!So we get her outta the dress and she throws on clothes. I walk into the kitchen and someone is rolling a joint. Well I'm really not into that (my daughter is the original "hugs not drugs" girl and she'd kill me) so I walk outside. Where my husband finds me and says they put the ex to bed and we need to go so that we can drop the bride and groom off at their hotel. Fine by me. I'm totally wearing down and ready to head home. I start saying goodbye to people when the groomsman and his wife come up to me, squish me between them and kiss me again. I'm pretty sure they were feeling me up too. What is with these people??? I politely disentangle myself and make it to the car. We drop them off at their hotel (and the funny thing here is neither the bride nor I realized she was barefoot. Nothing screams "class" like checking in drunk and barefoot.) At this point we headed home. On the half hour drive my husband confessed that as he was taking the ex out of our car and into the house she tried to hold his hand, hug him and otherwise shower him with affection. All the time asking why he picked me. Did he marry me just because I got pregnant? (Please note that we dated for a year, then were engaged for a year before I got pregnant. Obviously, this was not the only reason he married me). And why did I get the good guy. He says he assured her that he wasn't a good guy, mostly he was an asshole and she could check with me for confirmation. And that he married me because he loved me. He said he was worried the whole time that four eyed joe would overhear her and decide they needed to fight. Or that I would come around the corner, see her all over him, and get the wrong idea. I laughed. Like so hard I almost peed my pants. Normally, I'm a pretty jealous chick, but the look of absolute fear and revulsion on his face sent me in to hysterics instead. Poor guy. This is what you get for staying sober and taking care of people. I also couldn't possibly be jealous. I mean, I won, right? I'm not married to four eyed joe, who named their oldest child "Root". Yeah. For real!!

My hubby, who crazily enough, still only has eyes for me


All in all, it was an awesome night. It's the first time ever that we have gotten home after all of our teenagers, biological and foster. How outrageous. And thankfully we followed them by hours, because I seem to remember some drunken noisy sex too. The next day (after my hubby brought me Tylenol and juice) and after the room stopped spinning and my head stopped pounding, I crawled to the shower. When I emerged into the living room, my youngest commented that i was more plastered last night then the house their redoing for my friend. And that's a lot of plaster. Thanks kid. Love you too. He did add that at least I wasn't the kind of girl who got drunk and made an ass of herself. Thank goodness for small favors. My daughters boyfriend said I was hilarious. I was me, only more me. Definitely intense me. I think that was a compliment. All I know is...it takes longer and longer to recover from a night out then it used to. Which is why I only do this like once a year. But god help me...because we have another wedding (which promises more outrageousness) in November. I may not survive...

Hangovers & headaches,
♥Spot

Just to prove...

yesterday's point, here's what happened today: I got up, put chicken breasts in the crock pot for supper, had my cup of coffee while I checked in on my facebook. My youngest son came in and chatted and we checked out a youtube video a friend had recommended. He left to walk the dog. My daughter got up and jumped in the shower. She then asked what I was doing. "Reading Blogs" was my reply. "oh" says she. "I was hoping you were going to say- making my lovely daughter something to eat." Ack. The guilt. So I made us sandwiches and juice. Made my bed. Ate with her then decided to jump up and get the housework knocked out. Cleaned the kitchen, tidied the other rooms, ran the vaccuum through the whole 1st floor. Of course, then I was gross and sweaty so I took a shower. Finally, I sit back down at the computer. My son comes in to get clothes and tell me he's hopping in the shower. My daughter comes in to tell me she's running to town to do errands. Ah...peace at last. NOT!!! I then receive a text message from my hubby: Can you please come to my office? I growled. Seriously.

Then I got up and walked through the hall, the living room, the kitchen and into his office. As I was wearing my reading glasses and a scowl, he correctly assumed I'd been working and apologized. Do you know what he wanted? A sandwich!!! Gah!!!!

frustrated & growling,
♥Spot