why i blocked my hubby from my twitter

First of all, no that is not a euphemism for something more interesting. Today I blocked the hubbs from reading my twitter posts. Now, before you get your panties all twisted just hear me out.

I’m not trolling for men or posting pics of my boobs. I’m not selling his sperm or my body to strangers. I mean, if there was a market for it I might; times are tough.

I blocked him because he’s a freaking girl!

Things have been a little stressful around here. The hubbs has been interviewing for jobs, we’ve been facing the possibility of him having to live out of town in an apartment for half the month with his current job, and you know, things wear on a person.

Sometimes a girl just needs to vent. Nobody has done anything wrong, but if I want to bitch about it then you know, maybe I can do it to people who really don’t give a shit and spare the ones already stressed {and sick of hearing me bitch.} Right? Right.

So yesterday he got stuck out of town for an extra day and I was bummed. It wasn’t his fault so it made no sense for me to tell him I was pissed. So I told the twitter- saving him the headache.

Well hell, as soon as I talked to him today he was bitchy and whiny and all “I had to read you wanted me to come home on TWITTER? You couldn’t just tell me?”

“Well DUH fuckwad. Of course I wanted you to come home. Moron.”

So- I’m blocking him. So that I can bitch about him and his dumbass schedule whenever I want. And if he bitches about this I’ll find a way to block him from my blog too. Yep- I’m goin all mob wives up in here.

Why am I airing my dirty laundry to you? Because I want you to make sure and tell my hubbs if you see me selling pics of my boobs over on twitter. Natch.

{please don’t be all “ohmygod you’re totally ruining your marriage” to me. I’m sure I’ll change my mind anyway. Mmkay?}

you know you’re a mama when…

My favorite site, Toddle Toots, is once again hosting a topic I love;
this time in honor of Mother’s Day. The topic du jour is “you know
you’re a mama when _______.”

So many possibilities popped into my head I couldn’t choose just one.
I’ve been a mom for 8 years now. EIGHT YEARS!!! I’ve had that “Holy
Shit this is real. I’m a MOM!!!” feeling so many times and for so many
reasons I can’t even tell you. Here’s my abbreviated checklist of
motherhood.

You know you’re a mama when:

You’re walking through a store and a baby crying six aisles away
suddenly has your shirt soaked in milk and you’re in a cold sweat. No
one else on earth can perform such a trick.

You’ve walked around for half the day wondering what the hell that
godawful smell is only to go home and find your back covered in
crusty, spit up formula. But by then you’re too exhausted and
accustomed to the smell you don’t even bother changing because, let’s
face it, it’s just going to happen again in 15 minutes anyway.

You’d rather let a teething baby wipe their snotty face all over the
shoulders of your t-shirt than torture them with Kleenex on their
already raw nose. (we all have our own version of self sacrifice,
people. Don’t judge.) 😉

A fun game of “what’s in your purse” while waiting for a table at your
favorite restaurant (which you now get to visit about once a year)
results in a lap full of binkies, matchbox cars, gum wrappers, a
hospital grade snot sucker, three wet wipes and a diaper that is
*probably* clean but that petrified raisin/poop has you doubting it.
(that never happened to me. EVER.)

Upon returning home from a good run/ grueling gym workout, you realize
your wet pants are no longer the result of sweat but pee. (the truth is ugly folks.)

You can distinguish cries by level of importance/emergency. After a
few year’s practice you can also pick your kid’s cry out of a million
others within a three block radius when they crash their bike and skin
their knee. Again.

Being hit in the back of the head with vomit while in a deep sleep and
completely sober is not really out of the ordinary.

You’re ready to go all Chuck Norris on an eight year old when they
make your baby cry. You don’t care how small they are. They will
suffer.

After a day of being whined to, yelled at, and brought to near tears
by the offender, as soon as their baby blue eyes close for sleep all
is forgiven, and they bring you back to being the luckiest girl in the
world.

And finally, you know you’re a mama when 99% of your decisions revolve
around how it will affect the children. (choice over which wine you
will wash your day away with need not be weighed by this factor. a
girl needs something of her own for pete’s sake!)

Happy Mother’s Day fellow rock stars. I’m hoping this year’s breakfast
in bed isn’t toast made with moldy bread. (nope. not even kidding.)

Head to Toddle Toots for a good laugh and probably some far more mushy responses than mine!