The Story of Us

This weekend's Trifextra challenge: a 33-word free write.

Hubs and my upcoming vow renewal (in honor of our 15th anniversary) has me feeling all gooey and lovey-dovey lately. Groaning and eye rolling are perfectly understandable.

First blind date

Hello, fate

Married fast

"Will it last?"

Honeymoon

Baby soon

And another

Joined big brother

Fifteen years

Sometimes tears

Mostly smiles

Despite trials

Love abounds

And surrounds

You

Me

Us



Before stretch marks, worry lines, gray hair and all
the fun bonuses that come with children.

In the interest of full disclosure, that kid on the right is
really about 4 inches taller than me. (Thank you, heels!)

Rut

Last week I had a piece of caramel popcorn in my hair for three hours before I realized it—and only then because the pest control guy pointed it out.

“Lucky for me your keen eye isn’t limited to spiders.” The joke fell flat. Maybe I should’ve smiled.

I’m a stay-at-home mom. That’s not a misnomer. I don’t get out much. With three kids under age 4 in tow, I need a sedative just to pick up the refill of my prescription sedative.

Lately I’m like a live-in companion to a man who pays me in boob gropes and beer farts. Our Sunday night sex appointments are currently on hold until The Walking Dead goes on hiatus. Good. I practically get knocked up just folding his boxers.

The most thrilling part of my day—besides taking my bra off after dinner—is ogling my new neighbor. Every morning at precisely 10:25, I let Disney Junior babysit the twins and confine Manning to the ExerSaucer. (Hubby took advantage of my post-delivery euphoria when it came to naming the last kid.)

Then I position myself by the window. Like clockwork, Hot Dad strolls past a few minutes later enroute to the park with his pristine little princess. She never has grass stains on her clothes or bruises from a Mega Bloks brawl.

Monday it took longer than usual to free Maisy from Mason’s headlock, so I missed the sexiest ass ever covered in khaki.

Yesterday I woke up early to decipher the triple stroller. For an extra Pop-Tart, Maisy let me brush her hair. I pulled on my nicest yoga pants and a fitted top rather than one of Hubby’s huge, holey concert tees.

Hot Dad was pushing his daughter on the swing when my brood arrived.

“Hello,” I chirped.

“Hey there.” His smile heated my insides. That, or my shirt was cutting off my circulation.

“My mommy watches you in the window,” Mason announced.

Sigh.

I’m expecting a restraining order notice any day now.

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This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "companion" as defined below:

COMPANION
a :  one that is closely connected with something similar

b :  one employed to live with and serve another

Word count: 333



Can I Just Be Chased By a Chainsaw-Wielding Otherworld Monster Instead?

This weekend's Trifextra challenge: write a 33-word explanation of what scares you (or your character). I can handle psychotic clowns, serial killers and possessed dolls. But this truly scares the crap out of me:

“That’s it. You’re done with that kid.”

“No!”

“Are you crazy? You just said he hit you!”

“I love him.”

“No, you don’t. You’re 15.

“But … I’m pregnant.”

(pause)

"Quick! Hide Daddy's gun!"


DISCLAIMER: The gun thing is tongue in cheek. I would probably say something similar in this scenario because smartassery is a coping mechanism for me. Hubs doesn't even own a gun ... yet. :)

For You, I Will

You wake me with a hand squeeze. It's late. Or really early.

Dutifully, I press PLAY. "Brandenburg Concerto No. 5” by Bach comes to life—softly to not disturb our babies down the hall. I snuggle against you, my behind hanging off the tiny, rented bed.

The opening chords remind us how to smile. You played this borrowed CD on our first date. The hair band devotee wooing the cellist. Your ploy worked. “Maybe better than you expected,” I later teased.

“I’m ready.” Your voice is weak but resolute.

Am I strong enough to end your pain?

I am.

Photo borrowed from telegraph.com.uk

 

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In celebration of their 99th week, Trifecta is mixing it up today. This week's challenge is to choose ANY word from page 99 of the Oxford English Dictionary.  We can use any definition of our chosen word, but the piece must be 99 words exactly.


Skywalker Family Therapy Notes

This weekend's Trifextra challenge: write 33 words about a famous trio. 

These ARE the words you're looking for. (I believe my "cool mom" points just went through the roof.)

Treatment impetus:  twins' rebellion against father

Initial assessment:

• male/female twins with history of incest
• father presents with possible borderline personality disorder
• son displays abandonment issues
• daughter exhibits bad-boy fetish

Recommendation: aggressive therapy

Simon Says

“Sara wants to be Madonna circa 1985 for Halloween.”

“Cute,” Gary said over the razor hum. “Wait. Not that cone bra thingy?”

“That was the ‘90s.” I laughed. “No cone bra. Promise.”

I rinsed off my apricot mask and steeled myself for a debate.

“Simon says he wants to be a witch.”

Gary eyed my reflection. “Witches aren’t boys. He can be a wizard.”

“But he wants the pointy hat, the broomstick,” I countered. "The green face."

“If Simon wants to be green, let him be the Hulk.”

*

“Simon says boys on the bus have been teasing him.”

Principal Bennett furrowed her brow at us. “What sorts of things are they saying?”

Simon shrunk in his chair, his eyes imploring me.

“They’ve been saying he's gay,” I said.

“You know how middle schoolers are.” She waved her plump hand dismissively. “Everything’s ‘gay.’ It means ‘stupid’ to them.”

“Well, they call him ‘faggot.’” I thought my throat would close up. “One kid stuck his crotch in Simon’s face and asked if he wanted to suck his …”

I couldn’t look at my son. He’d begged me not to come.

Ms. Bennett stood up. “Simon, please wait outside.”

Once the door closed, the principal sat beside me.

“May I be frank, Mrs. Flask?”

I nodded.

“I think Simon’s wardrobe choices make him a target,” she said. “Perhaps more suitable attire would put an end to the teasing.”

* 

I stood on the porch trembling. I’d just returned from shopping with Sara, who was home from college. We had walked in on Simon with another boy.

“Simon says he loves him, Mom,” Sara explained quietly, touching my arm.

“You knew about this?!” I pushed her away.

*

Gary came home from work and found me in tears.

“Simon says Misty wants a divorce.”

“Why?!” He asked. “What happened?”

We’d been so thrilled when they started dating. And when Simon proposed to Misty, we knew his previous troubles were behind him.

“I don’t know,” I sobbed. “Simon wouldn’t say.”

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This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "mask" as defined below:

MASK

a: a protective covering for the face
b: gas mask
c: a device covering the mouth and nose to facilitate inhalation
d: a comparable device to prevent exhalation of infective material
e: a cosmetic preparation for the skin of the face that produces a tightening effect as it dries

Blindsided

Last night after dinner, we sat on the back porch eating ice cream. Chemically sweet-smelling flames rose from the citronella candles on the patio table, keeping the bloodsuckers at bay. It had been raining nonstop for days. Our dogs celebrated the clear weather by tussling over soggy chew toys in the too-tall grass.

“Honey,” Hubs began. “We want to talk to you about something.”

I looked at him quizzically, and then studied my children’s faces. The three of them stared back at me with silent resolve. What had prompted them to band together against me? My mind scanned for possible issues.

Maybe I haven’t done so great keeping up with the laundry, but I bought everyone extra undies so they won’t run out. Besides, don’t YOUR arms work?

True, a thin layer of dust blankets every surface in every room, but I’ve been writing a novel. So, now you don’t want me to pursue my dream?

I’ll admit that meals lately have skewed toward quick and easy rather than wholesome and healthy, but it’s still food, isn’t it? It’s not like you’re going hungry.

“Mom, you have a problem.” Son’s voice was soft yet firm.

“What is this?” I huffed incredulously. “An intervention?”

“Yes,” they replied practically in unison.

Last weekend when I was out of town, Hubs found my stash tucked away in the guestroom closet. Then the kids told him about the guy who brings my stuff. People come to our door so often I honestly didn’t think they noticed.

“You’re always telling us to make good choices,” Daughter scolded. “You need to take your own advice, Mom.”

It has gotten worse since I quit working, but I was shocked that my family knew how out of control I’ve become. I guess I can’t wave it off as a casual habit any longer.

“This has to stop. So I’ve changed your password.” Hubs, usually so laidback, was standing his ground. “You won’t be ordering anything else from Amazon.com for a while.”

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This week's Trifecta writing challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "band," as defined below:

BAND
to gather together: unite <banded themselves together for protection>

Word count: 333

Who's Your Daddy?

I had intended to write this post prior to Father's Day (two days ago) so Hubs could read it on his special day and bask in his own awesomeness. But I procrastinated. Luckily, I found other ways to make him feel loved. (wink, wink) Now that I've burned that mental picture onto your brain ...

Dear Son and Daughter,

You know your dad; he's that freakishly tall, dark-haired man that blames his farts on the dogs. But there's so much more under that handsome (and sometimes smelly) exterior.

Did you know your dad leaves for work before 6 a.m. every day so he can get home by 6 p.m. to maximize his time with you? Yes, after putting in a 12-hour workday, your dad still manages to coach your soccer team, Daughter, and help you, Son, with your math homework that gives Mommy hives.

Your dad is an international man of mystery, in that he travels around the world frequently for work, yet he still gets excited about going to Disney World with us. And, get this: Daddy's been known to fly home from Italy and then drive us on a road trip the very next day--jet lag and all--while Mommy catches up on her People Magazines in the passenger seat.The most mystifying thing is that he never complains. Never.


Son and Hubs enjoying a rainy day at Dollywood

You probably don't remember when Daddy went back to school to get his MBA ... while he was working full time and traveling like crazy. Somehow he still found the energy to attend school events and play countless rounds of Go Fish.



Daughter and Hubs before their annual daddy/daughter dance

Did you see your dad kicking back this Father's Day with a well-deserved beer and his favorite business bestseller? Of course not, because he was helping Grandma prepare for her garage sale and upcoming move. Then he took you two swimming and spent the afternoon setting up a sports paradise in the backyard. So, he spent his special day doing things for the people he loves.

Daughter and Hubs setting up backyard games

In case you don't think this stuff makes your dad exceptional, just look around. Plenty of dads can barely hold down jobs. And those dads who do work hard? Lots of them would rather spend their free time doing man stuff, not hanging with their kids. Don't even get me started on "dads" who never see their kids. Yeah, when it comes to dads, yours is the gold standard.

Now, go clean your rooms.

Love, Mommy

Happy Mother's Day. Here's Your Spray Cheese!

Dear family,

When it comes to gifts, I know I always say it's the thought that counts. But, if you're thinking about giving me any of the following for Mother's Day, please think again.

Redneck Snack Basket

Look, I can appreciate the merits of spray cheese, and SPAM holds a special place in my childhood memories. But, if you give me a basket of redneck snacks for Mother's Day, you may end up missing teeth like a redneck.

 

Free Wings at Hooters

Obviously, nothing says "Mother's Day" like boobs and chicken wings, but don't take me to Hooters ... ever.

Sex Toys

This seems like a real hot deal, but no. Sex is what got me in this predicament in the first place. Besides, I could just see Daughter mistaking my new flavored lube for hand sanitizer.

By the way, if a company can't even spell fantasies correctly, their products aren't getting anywhere near my hoo-ha.

Beer of the Month Club

Better yet, just stop giving me so many reasons to drink.

NASCAR Ride

I don't have a need for speed. Plus, how am I supposed to put on my eyeliner in a car going that fast?

White Water Rafting Adventure

I have no desire to hurl myself at sharp rocks with an inflatable dinghy thingy as my only buffer. Do black people even go rafting? I mean, it's called white water rafting for a reason, right?

I don't mean to sound picky. I'm sure I'll love whatever I ordered for myself last month and told you to count as my Mother's Day gift.

I'm Doing It, Damn It!

It's taken me 4 years to write this post. Not this post, specifically, but my first blog post. I've attempted to blog I-don't-know-how-many times since 2008 and just couldn't get past coming up with a catchy name. Well, I'm doing it now, damn it! So, welcome to my first post.

Let me introduce myself: My name is Ivy. I'm a wannabe author and stay-at-home-mom. I love writing, reading, watching movies, all things Disney and true crime stories. I hate the usual stuff--diarrhea, cold speculums, and weak handshakes that remind me of grabbing a flacid penis. Oh, and massages. Ewww! Some stranger rubbing on me for an hour does NOT relax me. You wanna relax me? Use those "magic hands" of yours to fold my laundry.

My Family

Since I don't have a job to bitch about or something to sell, my family will probably be the main topic of this blog. To protect the innocent--and the easily embarrassed--I'll give them nicknames.

• Hubs: The man to which I'm emotionally and legally bound. He's tall, dark, handsome and unfailingly supportive of all my crazy whims and ventures.
• Son: Our 12-year-old, who considers "no" the beginning of the conversation. He's also the most kindhearted kid I know. Luckily, middle school hasn't sucked the sweetness out of him ... yet.
• Daughter: Our 9-year-old, who wouldn't know low self esteem if it smacked her in the face. She's gorgeous, smart, and talented--what's not to love?
• Grandma: My mother, who holds a large part of my heart and will soon have one of my kidneys, too.
• Sassy, our 13-year-old yorkie who has an unnatural attachment to me (If she had opposable thumbs, she'd probably call my cell phone every ten minutes when I'm not home)
• Phineas and Ferb, our yorkie pups. Hubs and I like to pretend they cuss like drunken sailors.

Why Mommy Dourest?
Well, aside from the fact that it's a really clever title (if I do say so myself, and I do), I sometimes feel like the grumpiest mom alive. I love my kids, I really do. But, if I see one more GoGurt wrapper on the counter five inches from the garbage, I may kill them.

I have some pretty awesome kids. That said, there are those rare occasions when I want to sneak out under the cover of darkness and change my name. Ok, that's an exaggeration, but moms who say they love every day with their children are full of crap ... or heavily medicated.

*        *        *

So, now that you know a little about me, I'm hoping this will be the start of a long, albeit mostly one-sided, relationship.