Random musings of a mother gone mad

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Mind Dump

Posted by on Jan 17, 2013 | 0 comments

How often do you take the time to do a mind dump?

Because you won’t believe what’s in there unless you stop to really take a good look ‘n listen! Yesterday I found a to-do list with exactly 59 items, dated March 25, 2008.

How the hell did that get in there?

AND WHY AREN’T ANY OF THOSE THINGS DONE YET????????????????????

What the fandango?

mind dump, the worst mother

 

How much shit do you have in there? How much do you think it weighs? Why is it in there? How did it get in there? Who put it there? Why did I let it in? Why do I keep it there? When is the next Nordstrom Half Yearly Sale? Why do I love penguins? What’s the square root of an apple pie? Do chickens know why they cross the road? Where am I?

Yeah. It kinda goes like that.

You? What’s in your head?

(Bee Tee Dubs: this blog is under renovation… don’t mind the mess (it resembles what’s in my head), but do leave a comment so I know you were here!)

 

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THIS is how you find ME time.

Posted by on Dec 28, 2012 | 0 comments

I need me some me time.

“But there is no me in time,” she exclaimed with complete and utter exasperation.

Wait… yes there is! Do you see it? (Yes, ‘it’ is also in there. Hint: it’s backwards)

Of course, if you don’t know how to find ‘me‘ then you’re going to miss an amazing opportunity for some serious me-time.

Okay, let’s back up a little. I can see that finding me is not going to be easy.

Let’s practice, shall we?

Can you find me in the mess?

How about in overwhelmed? Do you see me now?

Do you see me in this peanut butter cup?

C’mon, look harder!!!! Don’t let that disguise fool you. Me is in there!

That’s why it’s very important that you take some time to find me.

Otherwise, me gets very very cranky.

Me needs time.

Why is this so hard to explain?

Would it help if I put it in mathematical terms?

Fine!

Argh!

The things I do for you!

the worst mother

Am I finally making sense?

I knew you’d get it eventually.

So, go on… Get some me time.

It’s all about me.

Always.

Psssst: Lookin’ for some ‘me‘ time. Perhaps THIS will help?  

Tell me how you find ‘me’ time, in the comments below. (I love comments. Hit me with one!)

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HOLIDAY SHOPPING IS NOT FOR SISSIES!

Posted by on Dec 12, 2012 | 0 comments

ATTENTION HOLIDAY SHOPPERS: THERE IS ONLY ONE DAY LEFT UNTIL ALL THE OTHER SHOPPING DAYS LEFT UNTIL CHRISTMAS AND HANUKAH AND KWANZAA AND MY BIRTHDAY!   

This is a problem for me because, once again, I have suffered a shopping injury. It happens every year. 

I am very proud of my shopping injuries and love to talk about them to anyone who will listen. Look… 

I am what some might call an “elite” shopper… kinda like an Olympian. I train mightily (I admit I forget to stretch sometimes) and I continue to petition the International Olympic Committee to make shopping (something I consider to be a bona-fide  contact sport) an official summer AND winter sport. I defy Michael Phelps to try to keep up with my medal count. In fact, I’m confident I would blow him out of the water — pun totally intended — I would win all the medals! 

Don’t pay attention to the mean heckler at the back of the room. I have no idea who that is. Wait, is that Phelps? Poor sport! 

I approach Christmas shopping with a vengeance never before seen in the human world. I attribute this to my grandmothers, who lived by the motto SHOP OR DIE.  

Translated, this means: 

Or maybe…

My Bulgarian grandmother’s favorite designer was John Deere. 

For my Italian grandmother, it was Mr. Clean

On Saturdays they would often fight over which one got to take me with her.

One good thing is that now I have arms that are much longer than most, allowing me to swipe up bargains from a distance. 

Sometimes I don’t even have to get out of the car. 

 

But now I have an injury, and it’s hampering my final sprint to the holly jolly finish line, which I should’ve crossed days ago.  Actually, I think it might be a flare up from that old 1994 incident in which I hurt my knee while lunging for a weed whacker at an impressive Ace Hardware sale o’ the century. 

Boy, was I naive back then. Unlike today, I never wore protective gear. 

Yes, times have changed since I became an Olympic level shopping athlete.

But there’s one thing that never changes. 

The sound of blood coursing through my veins when I hear that magic word…

Have you ever heard the sound of blood coursing through your veins?

 Best. Thing. Ever.

(Hey! Did you hear the one about the Fat Ass who became a Smart Ass?)

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