It’s Mother’s Day… Dammit

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As Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, I hereby proclaim that Mother’s Day be celebrated the entire weekend this year… and forever.

It’s been a rough one, that’s why.

No way is one lousy day of cleaning up your own shit and being on excellent behavior gonna cut it, girls and boys.

Not this year, my precious offspring.

Extreme mom is going completely proactive this Mother’s Day to guarantee that it doesn’t SUCK.

You have been hereby enlisted… as a GIVER.

Therefore, specific TO DO lists will be distributed to each of my brood.

We’re gonna get it right this time.

Here we go.

Mother’s Day… Take 21!!

(The number is accurate. No. Shit.)

ACTION!!!

Here’s a preview of my short list of demands:

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*You will bathe the dogs with excellent smelling shampoo, then scrub the entire bathroom including the tub.

YES, this does need to be spelled out.

The powder room and pets shall smell like a fresh meadow.

*Clean my car- that was incidentally trashed by YOU.

You shall vacuum the resident floor rubble and debris that you dragged in, clean all dog slobber off the windows, dispose of dead insect carcasses from the dashboard and remove sticky goo from the cup holders.

Again, sparkly clean.

•Vacuum both sets of stairs in the house and do not attempt to make a new family member out of the pet hair.

NO, I wouldn’t mention this if history hadn’t dictated already that it’s was absolutely necessary.

Plus, we already have our limit of dependents.

Use care not to clog the vacuum. I’m tired of performing a colonoscopy on the Dyson every single time I attempt to turn it on.

This is a proactive exercise, because unfortunately some things do have to be spelled out.

Remember, this is only my short list.

*grin*

Had my children had the foresight to say… toast me a lousy poptart, scribble HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY on a sheet of paper or pluck me a few daffodils from my own garden, I wouldn’t have been forced to make these heinous demands.

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I shall also, hereby be completely EXEMPT from partaking in any of the following on Mother’s Day weekend, which absolutely includes Friday and Saturday… from this year until the end of time.

I shall not cook or touch unprepared food.

I shall not go to the grocery store.

I shall not do laundry.

I shall be exempt from driving you anywhere.

I shall not do dishes… or even look at them.

I shall not answer questions or engage in conversations beginning with:

Will you?

Can I?

I need…

I’m hungry…

I’m borrrrrrred…

It’s not fair…

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Things that YOU can do for me:

Pretend to be unmiserable.

Make me coffee

Do not complain… about anything.

Most importantly, do this shit WITHOUT being told or reminded.

Anyone breaking the rules of Mother’s Day Weekend will be exiled to the back yard and forced to live in a tent.

I know my expectations are ridiculously high this year.



A girl can dream…



NOTE- This post was from 2013 and my children failed miserably that year.

That’s entirely different post.

You’re not alone fellow moms.

I, and almost everyone who’s not your kids, appreciate the Hell out of you.

Rock on, mamacita’s!! The world as we know it would come to a screeching halt without you.

Word.

My Ghost Life…

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If I die young, do not mourn me, for I have very important work to do in the afterlife.

By work, I mean Hauntings.

You betcha, I’m going to be like Casper’s evil brothers except with residual estrogen… so waaaay scarier.

I’m not a firm believer in Karma, so I’m compiling a list of people I’m going to visit regularly as an apparition.

Mostly, they’re the same people I have voodoo dolls of at the present time. The list is mostly made up of coaches, teachers, bosses- people who used their authority for evil rather than good and unfortunately for them… I was involved in the crossfire. More specifically speaking- people who wronged my kids, even if it was unknowingly.

Worse offense ever.

I’m an avid watcher of A Haunting and I’ve seen every episode at least once, so I know which techniques will produce the best results.

I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty excited about this. And, it’s not gonna be only three nights like Ebenezer Scrooge and <<poof!>> they’re exonerated. Nope. I plan on moving in with a couple of them.

I also planning on enlisting all of my deceased dogs and cats as my accomplices. We can cover more territory.

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Everyone knows pets are the most devout creatures on earth, so it could get ugly for a chosen few. Also, cats are assholes when they’re alive, so dead they ought to be like a scene out of the Exorcist except with teeth and claws.

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I’m hoping anyway.

If you and I happened to be friends during my time on Earth, know that It’s me performing random ghostly acts to cheer you up or make you giggle.

Like if your boss falls down the stairs carrying an extra large coffee… It was me who pushed her.

You’re very welcome.

The point of this story?

I happen to believe the “other side” has a lot of potential.

Who knows, it may even be better over there.

When my time comes to cross over, please celebrate my new adventure. Even though I’m physically gone from Earth, I have absolutely no intentions of going away.

Ps- I’m dead serious about this whole thing.

I totally believe in spirits.

Pss- you probably want to stay on my good side.

 

 

YOUR Easy Guide to YOUR and YOU’RE

Easy grammar – How to use YOU’RE and YOUR.

I’m absolutely not poking or pointing a fun finger at anyone, because I happen to know a lot of people could benefit from this very fun catchy lesson.

Plus, let’s face it, there are a lot of suckish teachers out there. When I was in elementary school I think the median age for a teacher was something like 102, so here’s your second chance to learn this shit for good.

If you happen to be fluent in Your-You’re already, this would be an opportune time to share this educational gem with your Facebook friends.

Ready?

YOU’RE means YOU ARE. The apostrophe replaces the A.

Example- YOU’RE (you are) a dumbass.

*I’m totally not talking to you because that would be rude,

YOU’RE (you are) never going to pass that test.

* Ditto. Rude. It’s merely an example.

YOUR – means possession. As in it belongs to you.

*Again. Rude. Not referring to your dumbassery.

Example- YOUR grades will be reflected on YOUR awesome report card.

Is that YOUR degree in English on YOUR wall?

Now get out there and use your newfound knowledge.

YOU’RE (you are) gonna knock ’em dead.

YOU’RE (you are) oh so very welcome.

PS- this is totally going on my LinkedIn profile under publications.

Hells yeah.

This is your diploma.

YOUR very own certificate of achievement because YOU’RE (you are) amazing!

Note- This post was a learning adventure intended in good fun.

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Thank you for continuing to follow this blog.  Life’s been 50 shades of bat shit crazy these days, so my posts have been kind of erratic.  I plan to be re-boarding the regular crazy train again very soon.

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Merry Hanukkah, Happy Christmas or WhatTheHellEver.

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Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays… Who really cares about the verbiage??

I for one DO NOT.

I’m sick to death of political correctness. Our society is quickly transforming into a bunch of whiny-baby self serving assholes.

A greeting in good faith is simply a greeting in good faith.

Who really cares if you’re a Jehovah’s Witness, disciple of Tom Cruise, Christian, Buddhist or some other modern made-up cult.

It just doesn’t matter.

There is NO EXCUSE for rudeness.

When someone wishes you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyful Kwanza or WhatTheFuckEver, you graciously say “Thank you, same to you.”

Is it THAT difficult?

The person is offering WELL wishes for Gods <or insert your favorite SUPREME POWERS NAME here> sake.

Don’t get your elf thong in a bunch.

The REAL issue here should be- Howinthehell do you spell Hanukkah/Chanukah anyway??!!

The Jewish faith gets a FAIL for inconsistency and indecision. We’ll wait patiently while you people vote on the correct spelling. I say lose the C. Who needs extra letters that you don’t even pronounce?

<< Jeopardy theme song inserted HERE >> It’s already playing in my brain, you may as well enjoy it too.

This particular Jewish holiday also kicks auto-corrects sorry ass every. single. time.

May I suggest a revision, like perhaps… The Jewish Candle Holiday?

It has a nice ring to it. Plus, I can actually spell every one of those words.

Getting back to etiquette and most importantly, things that piss me off-

When you sneeze and someone responds with “God bless you” you DON’T turn and say “Kiss off, you Jesus-freak-son-of-a-bitch, I’m an atheist!”

You just don’t.

Relax man.

You’re being blessed and shit. Just chill.

How about everyone just chooses whateverinthehell greeting they like best? Because, quite frankly, I don’t know when Kwanza or the Jewish Candle Holiday even are, so this would be much less confusing for me.

Most of the time I go with the generic “Happy Holidays.” It happens to be my personal catch-all default phrase, and NOT because I’m afraid of offending someone with Merry Christmas wishes either. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t lose much sleep worrying about other peoples opinions.

Anyway, the reason I prefer the particular Happy Holidays phrase is because it covers the WHOLE enchilada- Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Years, The Jewish Candle Holiday, Kwanza, as well as my personal spawning season otherwise known as my kids birthdays. (No kidding- Dec 20, 29 Jan 9 & Feb 6)

For me, it’s the only way to go.

Another bone of contention that gets on my last frayed nerve is when some Christians get worked up and indignant that EVERYONE doesn’t use the phrase Merry Christmas.

As a fellow Christian let me just reiterate that we don’t own the month of December.

The Earth is a ginormous place that just so happens to look like a very cool psychedelic marble… that’s made up of a bazillion shades of blue.

If you celebrate Christmas by all means shout MERRY CHRISTMAS from the tallest bar stool. Anyone who doesn’t like it can kiss Santa’s fat Buddhist ass.

I can’t verify that Santa is in fact Buddhist, but I blurted that out because the Buddha statue could totally be his Great Grandfather.

Just saying.

Anyway, feel free to SHOUT OUT your greeting of choice.

In the unlikely event that someone has the audacity to rudely voice their objection, simply remove your Grinch taser gun from it’s mistletoe holster and zap them in the eyeball or sensitive groin area. Your choice.

Let’s face it, there’s a lot of stress and tension during this hectic time of year. Shooting up and tasering people would therefore qualify as a kick ass therapeutic activity.

Win win.

Make my day.

I’ll surely be crucified for this post.

C’est la vie.

Also, wrong holiday.

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Important note- Do not scroll down any further without first reading this disclosure.

Disclosure- the following meme content is rude, crude, distasteful, potentially offensive, wrong-on-many-levels and downright hilarious.

All hate mail will be marked… Return to sender.

It is my belief that the almighty higher power has a most excellent sense of humor.

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Turkey Day ClusterfLuck

 

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The Birdzilla holiday is the King pin of all holiday clusterflucks.

It all starts with the grocery store clusterfluck. I’m referring to the mass of non-regular customers leisurely strolling the aisles with the entire maternal side of their family in tow.

On the other end of the spectrum is the daddy-deer-in-headlights; the lost looking male sent to the front lines to retrieve forgotten items. These guys are like a stubborn hair clog in the bathroom sink. We’ll call them solitary clusterflucks. During non-holiday shopping trips I’d have compassion for them, but unfortunately, it’s the holiday season and the only rule of shopping during the holidays is get in and get out, like your life depends on it.

The clusterfluck commences in the check-out line which is bustling with extra bodies. How many people does it take to pay? The answer is ONE, meaning all inactive shopping companions should skedaddle.

With all your might, you finally push the katrillion calorie shopping cart with-the-bad-wheel to the outermost border of the parking lot where you were forced to retreat, which is called the parking-in-BFE clusterfluck.

Also, the more traffic in a parking lot, the more likely an inattentive holiday clown will step out in front of your car and end up as a hood ornament. Live hood ornaments are right up there with Rudolph’s antlers tacked to your mirror and/or Santa’s testicles dangling from your muffler.

This is also called the tacky hood ornament clusterfluck.

When you finally slide into home base and attempt to unload your groceries, there’s nowhere to put anything because of the kitchen-counter clusterfluck and the refrigerator clusterfluck.

As soon as you begin food prep, the overflowing dirty-dishes clusterfluck is immediately created and will regenerate for another 48-72 hours, making it the biggest clusterfluck of all. I despise washing dishes. I’m a huge fan of serving left-overs on paper plates, which incidentally causes a trash can clusterfluck, but what are you gonna do?

We’re picking our battles here.

Other painful holiday clusterflucks include the obvious dinner table fiasco, where you attempt to squeeze 15 people around an 8 seater table. “No fair… I want to sit near Suzy Lou Hoo!” This is called the intimate-encounter clusterfluck and also the reason I bought the big bottle of vodka.

Then there’s the dreaded people-who-don’t-belong-in-the-kitchen clusterfluck, which is why I leave a bag of unpeeled potatoes on the table. Everyone knows as soon as guests arrive, they immediately invade your sanctuary and try to be helpful.

“Grab a potato peeler. We’ve got a clusterfluck and a half of potatoes to peel,” says me.

To clear up any confusion, the tryptophan found in turkey not only makes you sleepy, it can give you the urge to dive off the roof of Macy’s during the Thanksgiving Day parade right into inflatable Underdog’s ass, which would be affectionately termed the contipated balloon character clusterfluck.

And no, you will not catch me out and about on Black Friday. That’s an entirely separate clusterfluck in itself.

Stick a spork in me.

This pilgrim is done.

How NOT to be an Internet Troll for Dummies… and Trolls

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How NOT to be an Internet Troll for Dummies… and Trolls

1. Brush your hair and use a deep conditioner.

2. Put on clothes.

Ok, seriously.

Here goes…

3. Don’t be trigger happy. Before you comment, READ the entire post.

4. Comprehend the post. That means let it really sink in until you understand what is being said. (I had to say that, as this post is intended for DUMMIES)

Does it ask a question? If the answer is YES, feel free to comment.

If the answer is NO, then nobody asked your opinion. Simon says, “Do not comment unless you have something positive or constructive to say.”

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WHEN it’s acceptable to give your opinion on the Internet-

1. When someone specifically asks for it. A written passage might read something like this- “What do you think?” “What would you do?” “Please tell us your opinion on this matter.”

Should you happen to stumble upon a recipe for chocolate chip cookies, know that it’s merely a recipe for readers to try if you choose to, and not an invitation to start a discussion on the potential ill effects of polyunsaturated fats found in semi-sweet chocolate morsels. This would RUIN a perfectly good cookie recipe post. (Keep your sour grapes to yourself)

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Do you see where this is going?

On a related note, Extreme Mom shares batshit crazy nontraditional child rearing tales as a means of creating parental comradery through HUMOR. It is absolutely NOT a serious open forum on parenting.

I REPEAT, this is NOT an open forum on parenting.

Did I mention this is NOT an open forum on parenting?

June Cleaver and Carol Brady do not moderate this blog.

There will be no discussion on the best potty training method, debate on how much TV you allow your child to watch or what the appropriate age is for a kid to have a cell phone. Quite frankly, I could care less if you duct tape a smart phone to your kids ear as he passes through the birth canal.

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For shits and giggles, let’s play a fun game of Simon Says as an exercise in reading comprehension and responding appropriately.

Ready?

1. Simon says, “What’s your name?”

Correct answer- “My name is… ”

Incorrect answer- “Everyone named Simon is an asshole.”

2. What’s your favorite color?

Correct answer- < nothing > Simon did NOT ask.

Incorrect answer- “My favorite color is RED but you typed this in black ink, so you suck. Black ink makes me unhappy and irritable. You have no regard for people who are color RED enthusiasts. You’re obviously a prejudice bigot.

3. Simon says, “Look up into the blue sky.”

Correct response- < tilt head back and LOOK UP >

Incorrect response- “I’m wearing yellow sunglasses, so my sky is green. Green is BETTER and you’re an ignorant slut.”

As a page moderator, I’m getting incredibly tired of troll invasions.

I can’t tell you not to be an Internet troll, but I can tell you that your rude off-subject troll comments are NOT welcome here.

I have a troll taser in my hip holster and I’m not afraid to use it.

“Say hello to my little friend.”

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*Note to other Facebook pages and blogs- you’re more than welcome to share this. Together we can defeat the trolls.

Don’t get me wrong, bloggers LOVE comments… as long as they are in sync with the theme of the post. We also love to hear your opinion. Although, starting a heated debate or attempting to put the author on trial is seriously frowned upon and you will be tasered.

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The World is a Bazillion Shades of Grey- Don’t be Judgy

Shall we sort through the aftermath caused by yesterday’s spoofy post I wrote called Bite Me Maria Kang?

Excellent. Let’s do it!

The following post was inspired by comments I received defending Maria Kang- the mom who had the audacity to flaunt a photograph of her buff physically fit body in skimpy workout attire kneeling over her three young sons bearing the caption, “What’s your excuse?”

For the most part, the defending statements conveyed a similar message that the comment writer had been motivated by the said photo and anyone who was offended was simply overreacting, overly sensitive (we’re talking about women… no?) jealous and should get off their lazy ass and just exercise.

The comments were absolutely judgmental and I therefore feel compelled to enlighten.

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First off, I’m not personally offended by the photo in question. It takes a helluva lot more than THAT to rattle my cage.

I’m completely content with me, and if I had the desire to go hard body I would. This is not a goal of mine at the moment, so leave me out of it.

This post is not about me.

I tend to advocate for the underdog…. It’s a kind of calling that I cannot explain.

I perceived Mrs. Kang’s brassy message as rather bossy, demeaning and narrow minded.

It’s no surprise that her bold tactic offended a lot of women.

My stance is based on my own personal knowledge and wisdom that some women do in fact have sound legitimate excuses.

Scratch the word excuses, as it implies blame and weakness. It’s an unfair word. I prefer the word circumstance: a condition or event that affects a situation.

I speak not for myself, but for the silent masses who do have honest-to-goodness legitimate EXCUSES.

I suppose the veteran nurse in me is speaking.

Different people. Different circumstances. Different economic classes. Different educational backgrounds. Different health statuses. Different mental and coping skill levels. Different family situations. Different genetic coding. Different body types.

Not everybody can push themselves out of a state of mere laziness and look like the Incredible Hulk’s mom.

If you can, I applaud you.

Clap clap clap.

However, please respect the fact that not everyone in the world is just like YOU.

The world is not a fixed environment inhabited by a predictable perfectly cloned population.

Sure, the no EXCUSES mantra may be fitting in a competitive atmosphere like the locker room or gym where there’s a level playing field. However, society as a whole is anything but a level playing field.

From my perspective, I see a planet that’s something like fifty bazillion shades of grey.

In the writing of my post “Bite Me Maria Kang”, I speak for the masses of women whose dreams are unachievable due to circumstances beyond their control.

I speak for single moms working two jobs to make ends meet, who barely have time to cook, clean, do laundry and read their kids a bedtime story.

I speak for those trapped in abusive or controlling relationships who don’t have choices.

I speak for those with mental health issues like depression, post traumatic stress disorder and disabling anxiety who expend every last bit of energy simply trying to muster through the day.

I speak for those with medical conditions for which they must take daily medication that causes adverse effects like nausea or extreme fatigue.

I speak for those who’ve been involved in motor vehicle accidents who have difficulty climbing stairs or getting out a chair.

I speak for those with arthritis, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome and other invisible medical conditions.

I speak for those taking care of children with special needs or elderly parents 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I speak for those with heart, lung and skeletal problems who are forced to limit their activities.

I speak for those with metabolic and endocrine conditions that cause weight gain.

I speak for those whose addictions have stolen their lives and who continue to wrestle invisible demons.

I speak for the masses of women afflicted by a never ending list of challenging circumstances which causes them to chose meeting their basic needs over any sort of leisure activity including fitness related activities and working out.

I’d also like to toss the don’t-judge-a-book-by-it’s-cover analogy in here, to point out that things aren’t always as they seem.

Meaning, it is possible for the athlete missing a limb to be in a better overall position to engage in an exercise regime than let’s say a 30-something seemingly healthy woman suffering from depression and fibromyalgia.

Different people, different bodies, different states of health.

Like Maria Kang, the handicapped athlete has no right to point a judgmental finger at anyone else.

NOBODY has the right to point a judgmental finger in the faces of a society made up of people whose unique situations are a bazillion shades of grey.

Their story is not your story.

You haven’t lived their lives.

You have no right to point or challenge masses of people you know nothing about.

That is all.

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Twas the First Day of School…

‘Twas the first day of school and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring…

Not even a mouse?

But, not because ThatGoddamnedCat was diligently guarding his post.

Nope.

ThatGoddamnedCat is never around when you actually need him, which is partially how he earned his fitting name ThatGoddamnedCat.

Not a creature was stirring, becauuuuse…

Stewart-the-stupid was camped out in the bottom of the family toaster gorging himself on bread crumbs and chocolate Pop tart sprinkles.

Why didn’t he just eat off the floor where there’s almost always a generous buffet containing three square meals?

My extreme theory is this- he must be a teenaged mouse, because everyone knows teenagers are know-it-alls who don’t listen to their elders, which in this case happens to be Mr. & Mrs. Little. (who, incidentally, are most likely still ALIVE, simply because they know enough to stay the-hell outta the toaster)

Unfortunately for their son Stewart-the-stupid, Diva #13 happened to be in the mood for TOAST on this particular dismal morning.

On a similar note, yet completely off on a tangent- one Easter morning, Diva #13 was in the mood for cinnamon buns and turned on the oven where the dumbass Easter Bunny had recently hidden her brothers Easter basket.

The dumbass bunny even saw her do it, but wasn’t caffeinated or conscious enough at the time to process, let alone react to the situation.

By conscious, I mean the dumbass bunny’s body was standing in the kitchen but her brain was still in REM sleep most likely having a Channing Tatum-dipped-in-chocolate-wearing-bunny-ears dream.

And, yes the bunny still hides my kids Easter baskets even though the eldest is 20, because it’s FUN for her, THAT’S why.

Anyway, back to this episode called… Of mice and hungry-girls-in-the-mood-for-toast-on-the-first-day-of-school.

Enter Diva #13.

“Mommmmmmmm!!!!! I think there’s a mouse behind the toaster… I heard a SQUEAK SQUEAK!!”

BEHIND the toaster would’ve been a semi-acceptable location for a mouse, says my half-asleep brain.

I grab my mom cape and fly into the kitchen where I immediately smell burn.

The electrical kinda burn.

I’ve put out at least one of every imaginable type of appliance fire, so my nose knows.

The example below was called the French fry incident of  2012.

“Pheeeew!!” says my brain assuming the dumb furry golf ball sized intruder gnawed through the cord that’s on the OUTSIDE of the toaster.

My mom vision diverts to the toaster.

It’s in the DOWN position and it’s still toasting away.

Sonofabitch.

I quick unplug it with my Inspector Gadget mom arm and NOTHING scurries out.

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit!!!!

Double-triple-quadruple SHITTTTT!!

I just KNOW.

Diva #13- Ohhhhh my God… Did I toast the mouse???!!!

Me- No No No!! (fibbing to spare her from certain emotional turmoil)

Enter #16- Oh my God… she toasted a mouse!!!! Noooo waaaay!!!!

Me- No, he just got… stuck (giving him the evil mom eye that says STFU and walk away. He knows that look)

Breeeeeeeeathe….

Think.

The crisis has been averted temporarily.

Toaster unplugged… check.

My brain flashes back to- it’s the first day of school and we’re already going to miss the damned bus.

Bus missing happens to be the story of our life, minus today’s very acceptable excuse of having a fuzzy morning intruder stuck in our toasting appliance.

Quick run outside and take a few token first-day-of-school pics where hopefully nobody’s facial expression will look anything like the SCREAM guy.

Him.

I generously allow (Big Kahunna’s) #16 to drive my van to school for the first time, so my expression probably does resemble the SCREAM guy.

My nerves say so, anyway.

Diva #13 takes the bus.

Status- Two off to school ON TIME.

Life is good, right?

Wrong.

Now it’s time to deal with how-bad-is-the-carnage-in-the-toaster? situation.

Did I already say SHITTTTTTT!!!!!???

I know I have to, so I insert new batteries into my CSI wannabe flashlight (that’s actually just a regular flashlight owned by people who are me and usually love solving a good mystery, except for when it happens to involve crispy rodents) and examine the scene.

My conclusion- Stewart-the-stupid rodent…. in the far right toaster slot…. smooshed by up&down mechanism…. by Diva #13.

It would appear that the roasting occurred after Stewarts demise, therefore enhancing the dismal scene with aromatic extra crispy dumbass mouse, which by the way, ABSOLUTELY multiplies the ICK factor by like a gazillion.

The moral of the story- always check the toaster before you pull the trigger.

There.

I’ve made you paranoid for life.

I’m sorry and you’re most welcome.

Ps- Just so you know my level of dedication, I spent 99 cents on an app to turn Channing into a chocolate dream bunny.

 

For driving stories involving Big Kahunna’s #16- click here…

 

https://extrememom.net/2013/04/11/big-kahunas-goes-driving/
https://extrememom.net/2013/07/02/cruisin-in-the-jesus-mobile/
https://extrememom.net/2013/06/08/dumb-shit-my-son-says-when-im-teaching-him-to-drive/
https://extrememom.net/2013/07/10/testosterone-powered-vehicles-and-jackasss/

 

For mouse stories involving ThatGoddamnedCat- click here…
https://extrememom.net/2013/07/20/that-goddamned-cat/

https://extrememom.net/2014/05/28/chronicles-of-thatgoddamnedcat-here-birdie-birdie/

https://extrememom.net/2013/09/08/twas-the-first-day-of-school/

https://extrememom.net/2014/06/06/chronicles-of-thatgoddamnedcat-meet-luckybastard-my-chipmunk-friend/

https://extrememom.net/2014/07/16/adventures-of-thatgoddamnedcat-bobbing-for-bunnies-in-the-river-styx/

 

 

Password Hell

I’ve had it with passwords.

Hell NO, I don’t want a reminder to change my password every 30 days.

Just let me keep the same predictable password for life.

I’ll take my chances.

My brain can’t possibly hold any more useless data.

The NO VACANCY sign is flashing upstairs or perhaps it’s a neuron short-circuit extravaganza.

Whatever.

There comes a time when a person has used up all variations of their own name, kids, pets and initials combined with date of birth, age, graduation and miscellaneous anniversaries.

What else is there?

Just this week I was rudely locked out of two of my accounts and prompted to reset my password.

I decided to go with my REAL feelings on this matter, so I chose FuckyouOldNavy2013 and GmailBlows666 …or something to that effect.

I may remember these, but probably not.

This has been an Extreme Mom snippet.

Short but not necessarily sweet.

It’s Mother’s Day… Dammit!

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As Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, I hereby proclaim that Mother’s Day be celebrated the entire weekend this year… and forever.

It’s been a rough one, that’s why.

No way is one lousy day of cleaning up your own shit and being on excellent behavior gonna cut it, girls and boys.

Not this year, my precious offspring.

Extreme mom is going completely proactive this Mother’s Day to guarantee that it doesn’t SUCK.

You have been hereby enlisted… as a GIVER.

Therefore, specific TO DO lists will be distributed to each of my brood.

We’re gonna get it right this time.

Here we go.

Mother’s Day… Take 21!!

(The number is accurate. No. Shit.)

ACTION!!!

Here’s a preview of my short list of demands:

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*You will bathe the dogs with excellent smelling shampoo, then scrub the entire bathroom including the tub.

YES, this does need to be spelled out.

The powder room and pets shall smell like a fresh meadow.

*Clean my car- that was incidentally trashed by YOU.

You shall vacuum the resident floor rubble and debris that you dragged in, clean all dog slobber off the windows, dispose of dead insect carcasses from the dashboard and remove sticky goo from the cup holders.

Again, sparkly clean.

•Vacuum both sets of stairs in the house and do not attempt to make a new family member out of the pet hair.

NO, I wouldn’t mention this if history hadn’t dictated already that it’s was absolutely necessary.

Plus, we already have our limit of dependents.

Use care not to clog the vacuum. I’m tired of performing an endoscopy on the Dyson every single time I attempt to turn it on.

This is a proactive exercise, because unfortunately some things do have to be spelled out.

Remember, this is only my short list. *grin*

Had my children had the foresight to say… toast me a lousy poptart, scribble HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY on a sheet of paper or pluck me a few daffodils from my own garden, I wouldn’t have been forced to make these heinous demands.

 

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I shall also, thereby be completely EXEMPT from partaking in any of the following on Mother’s Day weekend, which absolutely includes Friday and Saturday… from this year until the end of time.

I shall not cook or touch unprepared food.

I shall not go to the grocery store.

I shall not do laundry.

I shall be exempt from driving you anywhere.

I shall not do dishes… or even look at them.

I shall not answer questions or engage in conversations beginning with:

Will you?

Can I?

I need…

I’m hungry…

I’m borrrrrrred…

It’s not fair…

 

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Things that YOU can do for me:

Pretend to be unmiserable.

Make me coffee

Do not complain… about anything.

Most importantly, do this shit WITHOUT being told or reminded.

Anyone breaking the rules of Mother’s Day Weekend will be exiled to the back yard and forced to live in a tent.

I know my expectations are ridiculously high this year.



A girl can dream…



NOTE- This post was from 2013 and my children failed miserably that year.

That’s entirely different post.

You’re not alone moms.

I and almost everyone who’s not your kids, do in fact appreciate the Hell out of you.

Two thumbs up, mamacita’s!!

Dammit Wonderwoman, You’re Late Again

This mornings chaos kind of cancelled itself out.

I love when that happens.

Bittersweet beginnings.

Bad news – Diva #13 missed the bus because I lost her track uniform, which was actually in the bottom of HER closet and took me under 60 seconds to find.

Note to self- stop hiding her shit.

Good news – It was the first time EVER, we were early enough to join the drop-off parade where you get to be part of the curvy  long line of parents delivering their chicks to school.

Awesome.

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My favorite part is where you get to wave and shout out the window to the other ugly parents.

The expression on Diva’s face was priceless and worth every  ounce of overpriced gas.

Also, and just in case God is listening, I’d like extra credit for not running down the Vice Principal who was in charge of the parade.

At least I think he was, except he didn’t have a baton or fancy hat.

I had a perfect shot too.

He and I have a complicated love ♥ affair on account of him suspending my son (Big Kahuna’s #16) for breathing wrong… or possibly something more serious like… showing up for finals wearing Shannon’s pink bra.

Don’t get me wrong, I can totally understand how this sort of tomfoolery can be very distracting to the other students, but it doesn’t mean the perp should be marked with a SUSPEND ME bullseye for the rest of junior high.

Or maybe it does.

It did, and it became another thorn in my side.

More Fun Facts-

The school has the right to invite you back to detention during summer vacation if you pull any shenanigans the last week of classes.

You should probably LEARN from this and not do it two three years in a row.

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Now that it’s time to wrap up this post, I’m at a loss because it escaped in so many directions.

That happens to me a lot.

Look a squirrel!

Closing FUN fact- the track uniform (that I lost) is a teeny little number- blue shorts and a red tank.

When the girls are all clumped together on the field they look like a herd of mini- Wonder Women.

It’s pretty awesome.

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See??

 

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Have a WONDERFUL day.