Kermit, He Was A Good Frog (and Friend)

We recently had a death in the family of the four-legged variety.

An albino frog named Kermit. (We are SO original in the Sharpie household).

We was found doing the dead man's float in the fish tank somewhere near the bottom of the tank. And hubby saw him first. Loudly....GASP .... mad tapping on the glass. He now has the attention of the ENTIRE family. He announces, "I think Kermit is dead. "

OK. First, could ya NOT DO THAT?! 5-year-old (who was owner of said frog and lover of all that is furry, slimy or scaly) is de-vas-tated. Crying has commenced. And someone is yelling.... oh wait, that's ME. Could you quietly take note of the dead frog. Slowly return to the dinner table and smile through the rest of dinner. And while helping me clear the table, whisper that The FUCKING FROG IS DEAD!!!!!!!

I'm just saying.

5-year-old (from this point on I will call him Lil Man) gets it together long enough to decide he is going to give Kermit a proper send-off. And with the all the courage he can muster, wipes his eyes, straightens up, squares his shoulders and takes the frog to the bathroom...where after a moment of silent prayer he is sent to his final resting place. Flush. Amen.

This is not the first burial he has attended. We have also buried Scooby the Hermit Crab, Sara the Hamster (which included a mini coffin made of a soap box lined with tissue covers and a gravesite dig in the middle of a monsoon) and Flash the Hermit Crab, as well as MANY fish along the way. Each made them cry.

Sara the hamster was the worst. Miss Thing called everyone in the family crying to tell them of Sara's untimely passing. She caught poor Uncle Horkin off guard (Auntie Horkin was out that day). I can't remember exactly what he said to her, but I DO remember apologizing for the ambush. He had no kids at that point, after all and he did well under pressure. I knew that day, he would be a good Daddy.

We still have Wiper the cat, Tom the Hermit Crab, Sara II the Hamster, 3 fish and 1 lone Albino Frog.

I guess we'll keep the Horkin Family on speed dial.

Dear Principal at My Kids School,

First of all - thank you, thank you, thank you that Feb. vacation is OVER!!! Why in God's name they need an entire week off after having over a month off for Christmas... is well, fucking ridiculous!

But can we talk for a moment?....over here by the small water fountain...ya know the one they are not allowed to go to. Right next to the cafeteria/gymnasium/auditorium? Where if they are caught talking to their friends during lunch (the nerve of some kids!!) they are remanded to standing on a parking lot line facing AWAY from the other children. (So as not to even LOOK at fun?!?)

Boy, what a GREAT place to go. Where you can't talk to your friends - even in line after you get off the bus. For if you DO, you must stand up in front of the WHOLE school - so they KNEW you were BAAAAAADDDDDDD!! You can not wear the latest clothes - those shirts have smart-ass sayings on them. (Rude I think you said) And oh yeah, we parents are NEVER doing enough.... what with the fund-raisers and the Family Reading Days and the Bag a Book, Math Bag, Reports, Projects, etc, etc, etc.

And now - you have told the kids that are not allowed to bring ANYTHING to school in their 100 lb backpacks - no toys, no cards, no fuzzy pens. They will be confiscated. Hile Hitler!!

So, in order to keep my kids favorite toys from dying (yes I said dying)...I am officially on Tamagotchi Duty.
Every day, until they get home...I am to feed, clean up poop and dispense medicine to the sick.



This WAHM has nothing better to do. Thanks for the additional job.

Not Exactly Unpredictable, Is it?

I am 61% Asshole/Bitch.

I am abrasive, some people really hate me, but there may be a group of other tight knit assholes and bitches that I can hang out with and get me. Everybody else? Fuck ‘em.

Take the
Asshole/Bitch Test
@ FualiDotCom

ALRIGHT!!! AlRIGHT!!! I thought it would be higher too!

You Are Not Forgotten

2 Years.

Yesterday was 2 years.

Feb. 23, 2004 was a tragic day in so many peoples lives. You lost your battle to that CUNT of a disease. You fought a good fight. You tried so hard to stay here - to BE here.

I will never forget you telling me over the phone that you JUST wanted to take your daughter to her first day of Kindergarten. You knew you never would. I knew you never would. I couldn't even answer you. My response was silent tears streaming down my face, my hand clasped over my mouth to keep the sobs (or maybe screams) from erupting from my mouth. You didn't need to try to comfort ME.

As I remember it now - that conversation...I remember SO many others we had.

I remember you calling me...."Sharpie?"
Yeah Tra?
whispered tones....."This cancer diet is the BEST!"
Me - HYSTERICAL laughter.

"ONLY you understand me - only you would laugh!"
I laughed for her. It wasn't funny - but it was her. Trying to make light. Trying to keep positive. Trying to live.

My friend had cervical cancer that ripped her from this world. Leaving a 2-year old daughter and a grieving husband behind. She was 33. It took a beautiful, kind, energetic person away and left an avalanche of people crushed behind.

It made you look at yourself. HARD. REALLY HARD.
It could have been you. It COULD be you.
You hugged your kids tighter. REALLY TIGHT.

When she was first diagnosed in 2002 - I made a deal with God (I know stupid but I did). I promised God that if he would just save her - I would quit smoking. At that point in my life I was still secret smoking in the garage.

I quit that day.

He didn't save her.

I was angry but I thought of all the fucked up shit that this has stirred up - maybe there is something to learn.

There was.

Here's what I learned:

1. Don't smoke - its stupid and bad for you.

2. Life is for LIVING. You MAY not be here tomorrow. So LIVE.

3. Call your friends.

4. Accept people for who they are - love unconditionally.

5. NEVER take one moment you spend with your kids for granted.

6. Tell someone you love them - daily.

7. Never forget all of the above.

So thank you Tra. thank you for teaching me a lesson I might never have learned. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your courage. Thank you all the things you are and were. I'm sorry I don't visit your stone. I....have a hard time there. I think of you daily. I see your face everyday and I smile. RIP Tra. I love you...always.

Pardon Me While I Put A Hammer Through The Monitor

I am trying hard NOT to see how many pieces a LCD screen can fracture into - because I can't seem to customize this header! FUCK! So excuse the appearance while I call my nerd sister and her nerder husband to figure out code.... Who the fuck thought I'd ever be asking that question. FUCK! FUCK!

Being a designer - the standard crappy template just won't do. BUT I AM ON A MAC PEOPLE!!!!!! Nothing is easy!! They no longer MAKE Internet Explorer for the MAC! What?! Netscape works alright - but standard for us is Safari. A craptastic program mostly - EXCEPT on BLOGGER! Fuck! Triple Fuck!

So, while I figure out what to do - I leave you with this.

Do NOT buy Fat Free Sour Cream (for your tacos for dinner) because you work out for OVER an hour EVERY motherfucking day 'til your cooch is wearing a gym towel around its lips and you clothes walk themselves to the laundry and STILL do not see any movement the scale. And you WANT to be the Biggest Loser. It tastes like ass. I'm just sayin.

Sarcasm

5-year old son - "Mom?"
Me - ""Yeah! What? I'm in the shower."
5-yr. old - "Well, I walked into your bedroom to come talk to you in the shower..."
Me - "YEAH???"
5-yr old - "I noticed you didn't make your bed yet."
Me - (quiet)
5-yr old "Didja forget?"
Me - "Did you make YOUR bed?"
5-yr. old - "YEAH, like forever ago. BY MYSELF."


I guess I shouldn't have taught him sarcasm.

At Least in the Shower They Can't Drown

I mean, unless they are going to stand under the water, mouth agape and swallow it. But my kids are the type that if any water even drips into their eyes - they are bolting for the far end of the shower - where the water doesn't even reach...and oh yeah...they are screaming "MMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM...I have SSSSSSSSSOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAPPPPPP in my EEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEESSSSSS!!" But they don't - its just water. Silly little freaks.

Even as annoying as that is - I realize that it is a shitload better than the days of "THE TUB". I think about this as I bound down the stairs for my third cup of coffee while child number two is standing in the water singing about that "She's a Survivor, she's gonna make it". DOWN THE STAIRS. See, cuz they can't drown.

Unlike the days of the tub. Strapped to the hunk of porcelain, sometimes just out of sheer boredom, sometimes because shit had exploded out of their ass and somehow covered their hair down to their socks - eyes peeled...watching. Even though you were so sleep deprived that the warm air from the warm water had somehow lured you into thinking that curling up on the bath mat WAS the best idea in the world. MUST. RESIST. EYES. CLOSING.

God, those days seem like another time. Another person. I don't think I actually HAVE the patience for the TUB anymore. Isn't that amazing how that happens? I don't even miss it. I almost feel bad saying that. I still help them wash their hair - and my 5-year old - I still wash him - because let's face it - this is the kid with the shit on the toilet seat. Miss Thing is spreading her wings, doesn't NEED me to help her wash. She is MORE than capable of squirting her American Girl Body Wash on her scrunchie and washing herself...thank you very fucking much.

Pretty soon, shaving legs, pits and training bras. And menstrual cycles. OMG!!
Maybe if I try really hard - I CAN drown myself in the shower....
Or in my fourth cup of coffee.

Could Ya JUST

I spent part of my weekend perusing the local mall with my 8-year old daughter A (or Miss Thing as I lovingly refer to her). Miss Thing had just turned 8, and in fact, had a bunch of Gift Cards burning a hole in her Limited Too jeans. So, off we were in search of just the perfect items.

Limited Too, for anyone who has a little Drama Queen is the Vatican for Primadonnas. It has all the latest clothes, jewelry, shoes and padded bras a little Diva could want. And Miss Thing LOVES this store. Auntie Horkin bought a stunning outfit for her birthday which she has worn every other day since getting it - and well she had to have MORE!!

We were sweetly greeted by a girl wearing pigtails and a backpack with tags (advertising at its best people) and told us she was so happy we were here. Miss thing - smile so bright ya gotta wear shades. Me - I think the whole outfit borders on child porn - but maybe I'm over sensitive. After all, she's at least 16 right? Sick - any way you look at it.

We mill around for over an hour - slipping in and out of the dressing room - trying on jeans and tops and what-not. We have even found a few bargains...something Miss Thing LIKES. She does not want to spend all of HER gift card money. If Mom were paying well, put it all on the counter.

Up until this point nothing has really screamed to her "Take me home!" UNTIL.SHE.SEES.IT.

THIS.



This pink hat makes her squeal. She timidly asks, "Can I try it on?" I laugh. "Of course."

Goes to the mirror, turns with a smile. The hat is ours. She even asks the lady to take off the tags so she can wear it out of the mall. I laugh again. It DOES look cute on her.

She wore it through the mall, on the ride home, all through dinner and even after she got her pjs on. I sweetly kiss her goodnight. We had a nice time together - something that so rarely happens between us these days. Feeling very smug with myself for letting her buy such a hat. Such. A. Cool. Hat.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Since Saturday night after I told she HAD to take it off to go to bed, she has decided she no longer LIKES said hat and it sits with all the rest of the CRAP in her room. Fucking girls...fucking hormones at EIGHT!!!!! I'm just sayin.)

Shitty Morning...I Shit You Not...

Now let me start by saying I am about to talk about shit.....literally. So the weak of heart please leave the room.

Ok - everyone else - here's is just one of the reasons I am Not Winning Mother of the Year. Seriously.

I have four bathrooms in my house. 4. Yes I said it and before you go making any comments - I have to CLEAN all four of them. And 2 men live here. One large boy and one small boy. Neither of which has any future in sports as their aim sucks.

I am USED to cleaning pee. On the seat. Under the seat. Behind the seat. On the floor. On the base of the toilet. On the wall. EVERYWHERE. I bitch every week. I mean BITCH. Nothing helps. But today. TODAY. I lost my mind, flipped my fucking wig.....

I walked into the kids bathroom, to give the kids a shower. One at a time. Its not that kind of place. I glance over at the toilet - I was planning on cleaning anyway - WHAT THE?!?!

Is that SHIT on the toilet seat? Not in - I don't want to confuse you - that was there as well - smeared from one side of the bowl to the other - but on THE SEAT smeared with the accuracy of Stevie Wonder.

I gasp. IS THIS SHIT? ON THE SEAT? My voice is near piercing at this point. My son, who is standing in the shower already, replies quietly, ever so quietly. Sor-ry. Two syllables.....SOR-RY.

WHAT?? Did you KNOW it was there? When did this happen? This morning? Did you try to clean it? Did you wash your hands? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS WAS HERE? Questions are flying out faster than the $100,000 Pyramid. No answers from behind the curtain.

Now, this is the moment....right here....where I know I can either try for Mother of the Year or not........nope. Not today.

In my fury that has snowballed into its own beast - not only at the shit mocking me on the seat - but the fact this this smart little boy, who has been wiping his own ass WITHOUT incident for 2 years now - didn't think it IMPORTANT to tell me that the bathroom looked (and smelled) like a stall out of Grand Central.

I throw back the curtain....little boy WIDE eyed....I bend down to his level and with my nose very close to his, thru clenched teeth pick my words very carefully. "Do. You. Know. That. IF. You. Put. Your. HANDS. In. Your. MOUTH. after. you. touch. POOP. you can DIEEEEEEEEEE???????

I know. Very over dramatic - that whole dying thing. But he had to know to never do such a thing. I'm not saying he isn't going to have an accident. It could happen. He has to tell me.

Scarred for life.....probably.

Poop on the seat without telling me....I doubt it.

Thanks for all the warm wishes to my new friends (even if my sister made you come!)

If I Had A Themesong

I think it would be Back in Black by AC/DC. I LOVE that beat. Its raw and crisp and to the point.

I'm just sitting here listening to my IPOD (my favorite thing on earth) and drinking Diet Pepsi Vanilla (another fav) and I thought I would start by telling you a little bit about myself.

Hi. My Name is Sharpie. (ALL - Hi Sharpie!)

I am a 34 year old mother of two. Married for 10 years - most of those good - I mean there WERE times I wanted to put a pillow over him in his sleep. YA KNOW - SAME as everyone ELSE. Right? right? Whatever. My daughter A. is 8 with all the spunk and hell of an 18 year old. My son C. is 5 and though very emotional at times - we still get along pretty well.

I am very fortunate to work freelance (read at home in my dungeon of an office) as a graphic designer/creative director/whore of all that is designed. I also teach Advertising Design one night a week at my old Art College. I actually like the teaching more than my REAL work - but they pay peanuts. And on some nights - after we've had a critique and I feel like one of those SURVIVOR chics pulling the weighted chest under water running up to the beach - I am thankful to go back to my crappy job of making junk mail and packaging and all other things people throw out anyway. sigh. That's advertising and marketing for ya.

I wish I looked at hot as those SURVIVOR chics do in those bluffs. Where would mine go? Certainly NOT around my waist!! Oh GOD NO. NO. Around my neck - maybe. A wrist maybe? Maybe if I had a wrist - oh that's another post for another time.

So, ANYWAY - I live in a nice house, in a nice town with everything but the fucking picket fence.

WHAT could I POSSIBLY have to bitch about? Nothing really. I like my life. I like my kids (mostly). I like my job(s). I like my husband (mostly). I laugh A LOT. Mostly at others - truth be told. That doesn't make me a bad person does it? Fuck it...

Jimmie cracked corn....

I mean I have troubles like everyone else. I have stories to tell - that I couldn't make up if I tried. I am a Freak Magnet my friends. Things happen all the time. I would like to share with you all. Hope you enjoy.

Virgin Blog

Though my sister has been telling me I should do this for sometime now - I never quite thought it was something for me. NOT THAT THERE IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT. That meaning a blog. A place of my own to tell you my stories and well shit - you have to listen or um...actually read I guess. Or not. Either way. You choose.

Let me start by saying - It ain't always gonna be pretty. I have a mouth like a trucker. I don't mince words. And I don't lie/sugar coat/give off warm and fuzzies, etc - ehhhhhhhhhk. Nope. Nada. None of those.

Still here? Well, aren't you brave and what-not.

Buckle up - saddle in and away we goooooooooo.