SORRY!

Oh ... there are a lot of DREADED words that a mother hates to hear.

I'm not talking about horrific things - don't want to think about horrific things.

I'm talking about those moments when a little one comes to you and says something that sends a bit of a chill up your spine.

Things like ...

"Mommy, there's something wrong with the toilet."

You know - DREADED words.

I've heard my share of DREADED words over the years and have compiled a mental list of the ones that rub me the most chilly.

I have tried to teach my children - over the years - those words that I am not fond of - those that make me a bit CRAZY. They still use all these words, but have gotten smart enough to know that they should say them really fast - like they are throwing them at me like a dart - and then run as quickly as they can out of the room.

Go HERE to read the rest of this post.

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Sing Me A Song Or Get Out Of My Kitchen

I am walking through the kitchen towards the trash can.

I notice - sitting perfectly still - on the edge of the counter - near the pantry - a BUG!

I yell across the kitchen, "Little Billy - come get this bug."

He walks across the tile floor to where I am standing. He looks around and says, "Where - what bug?"

I point to the counter, "There - see it? Get it!"

He keeps his hands at his side, bends at the waist, cocks his head sideways, puts his face really close to the tiny creature and says, "What makes you think I want to get it?"

I step back a few steps - fearing the bug is going to lunge or flitter off the counter in my direction and say, "Because that's what boys do - they get the bugs."

Go HERE to read the rest of this post.

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Is This A Trick Question?

"MOM - come watch me swim!" Alexis screams across the yard.

"Okay," I say and stroll over and sit at the poolside table.

"MOM ... watch me do a dive!" she screams and then dives into the pool.

"Sure - I'm watching," I say, looking right at her.

"MOM ... count how fast I can swim across the pool!" she hollers and then takes off across the pool.

"One Mississippi

Two Mississippi

Three Mississippi ..."

"MOM ... count how long I can stay under the water!" she yells and then holds her breath and under the water she goes.

"One Mississippi

Two Mississippi

Three Mississippi ..."

"MOM ... count how many underwater somersaults I can do," and she tucks herself into a ball and begins to twirl beneath the water.

"One ....

Two .....

Three ....

Four ....."

"MOM ... I'm going to walk on my hands. Count how many steps I can take," she squeals and then dives to the bottom of the pool and begins to walk on her hands.

"One ....

Two ....

Three ....

Four .....

Five ....."


"MOM - throw me some rocks and I'll go dive for 'em," she bellows and then stands on the side of the pool with her eyes closed waiting for the rocks to be thrown.

*Plunk*

*Plunk*

*Plunk*

*Plunk*

"MOM ... Now it's your turn! What tricks do you know?" she asks, pulling herself up on the side of the pool waiting for my tricks.

I lift my iced tea glass to my lips and take a sip ...

I adjust my sunglasses on my nose ...

I cross my legs ...

I throw another rock into the pool ...

*plunk*

I stare across the pool into the eyes of my darling seven year old daughter and say ...

"You're looking at 'em."

On the upside ... "What tricks do I know?" ACK!! *Lazy mom throws her head back and laughs hysterically until iced tea spews out of her nose.*

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Let's Talk About My Sex Life - Shall We

I know - I'm a mom (blah, blah, blah) and ... this is a Mommy Blog (blah, blah, blah) and ... some of you are probably screaming, "She's not seriously going to talk about SEX is she?"

I AM.

This is my blog and I'm not getting any younger and ... I WANT TO TALK ABOUT SEX!

(Mom and Dad - get on outta here - I'm fixin' to talk about SEX. Seriously - GO!).

I never write about such things as sex on my blog. I talk about my kids. I occasionally talk about my shoes. I talk about the cats and the dogs and the plants in my yard. I don't talk much about cooking or post recipes - cuz I iz not a good cook.

Today - I'm talking about SEX!

I'm all for SEX and have never had a problem talking openly about SEX.

Today - I'm talking about SEX!

When I married The Cowboy - we were twenty-two years old.

He was very cute!

We had SEX all the time.

We did!

This was back when I was also cute and tiny and sexy and ...

Drove a pretty, white, Firebird with T-tops, leather interior and a rockin' CD player (this was when CD players just came out in cars).

I'd drive around town in my beautiful sports car, wearing short shorts, tank-tops with no bra and have the radio blasting my favorite Michael Bolton, Soul Provider CD (shut-up Jen - he WAS cool back then).

When I'd get home ...

I'd search out The Cowboy ...

Whisper sexy nothings into his ear ...

Rub up against him ...

And, we'd ...

Fall down anywhere we wanted in our empty house ...

Or search out some exotic or risky location ...

And we'd ...

Have ...

SEX!

It's really all we ever thought about back then.

It's really all we ever needed to do to have FUN!

Now ...

I'm a mom (blah, blah, blah).



I have four children and the poochy tummy and stretch-marks to show for birthing those four children. I've been driving a van for seventeen - SEVENTEEN - years! I am lucky to find a bra that still has the under wire intact and ... I don't even want to talk about the underwear.



And ... what do we do for fun now?


Well, let me just put it this way ...


If I ever fall down on the floor in my empty house - I'm usually looking to retrieve lost Legos or Barbie shoes from underneath the TV cabinet or scraping gum off the tile floor with a butter knife.


And ... the only thing the word exotic applies to anymore is the animal print rugs we have on our family room floor and risky only applies when The Cowboy and I attempt to actually try to have sex when the kids are awake.


There is nothing - NOTHING - I have needed lately, more than ... TO FEEL YOUNG AGAIN.


You know?


So ...


The other night ...


I brushed my hair.

I brushed my teeth.

I slathered on some Obsession body lotion all over my not-so-firm-and-stretch-marked body and ...

I crawled into bed next to my snoring cowboy and I woke him up at 1:30 in the morning.

And ...


The Cowboy and I ...


HAD SEX!!!


*Okay - hold that thought. I have to go to the dentist. I'll be right back*




*Tick-tock*





*Tick-tock*




*Ticktock*




*Ticktock*




*Ticktock*




*Ticktock*




*Ticktock*



Okay, I'm back - sorry about that.




YES!



WE HAD SEX!



What was so amazing was ....



Well ...



Aside from the fact that we actually had SEX ...




Was that ....




IT WAS FREAKIN' FANTASTIC!


It was that kind of sex we had when we were younger.

It was that kind of sex we had when we were in the earliest years of our marriage (BC -before children).

It was that kind of sex where you talk dirty (if that's your thing - it's our thing - there was dirty talking).

It was that kind of sex where there were lots of good, long, lust-filled, lustful, lustalicious ... kisses. YUM!

It was the kind of sex that young girls that drive cool TransAms have with really cute cowboys!


It has been a while since we have had this kind of SEX.


Too long.



Way too long.



LONGER THAN SHOULD BE LEGAL!



I don't know about you but ... kids sure put a cramp - a seventeen year cramp - in my SEX life.


I've tried to keep the spark alive (well except for that one five year stretch in there where I couldn't give a crap about anything other than sleep).


I've tried to shake things up from time to time to keep things interesting.


I've tried to put barricades against the door to our bedroom to keep those little monsters from storming in ...


It's not been easy *sigh*.

The Cowboy won't mind that I told you.

He's all about people thinking he's having sex.

He's all about actually ... having sex.

When we were through the other night, The Cowboy rolled over, sighed deeply and said, "That was just like when we were younger."

I passionately agreed and then said ...


"Yes ... it was," *breath breath* "just don't turn the lights on. I look like chit."



And ... I did.


But, that was only after.


During ...


I was beautiful and firm and sexy and ... 22 again!



On the upside ... The only thing that worries me is ... there's a really good possibility that this was all ... a dream.

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Junk Yard Mama

Late one evening I was lying in my bed, covered up to my neck with my cozy comforter - just watching TV.


I had not been feeling well for several days.


Little Billy, also having been sick for a few days, wandered into my room and crawled into my bed with me.


We cuddled.


He persuaded his ol' Mom to rub his back - something he loves.


After becoming completely relaxed, the boy says to his mom, "Ya know, how when you have a new car ... and it has a brand new engine?"


The mom says, "Yes," imagining in her mind the shiny new engine - sparkly chrome and pistons and clean new fluids.


The relaxed little boy then says, "And then, ya know ... how you might have a really old car - with a worn out engine?'



Go HERE to read the rest of this post.


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Cool

When I was young, I don't necessarily think I was all that cool.

I was definitely cooler than I am now.

I try to be a cool mom.

I'm not really all that cool, but I try.

I don't know how important it is to be cool, but I often hope that my kids think I'm cool.

I want my kids' friends to think I'm cool.

I'm also fine believing that my kids are also cool.

Little Billy asked me recently, "Mom, do you think I'm cool?"

Sitting in the front seat of the van, looking at my cute, dark-headed son in the rear view mirror, I said, "Define cool."

"Huh?" he says, a confused look on his face.

"Tell me what cool means. Define cool."

"You know - cool. Do you think I'm cool? Do I act cool. Do I look cool. Am I - cool?"

"Absolutely! You are cool," I said, smiling at my boy with the most confident smile.

"Define cool," he then says.

"Is this a trick?" I ask.

"No - I'm just curious what you think is so cool about me."

Hum. "I think everything is cool about you. Your hair is cool. Your personality is cool. Your clothes are cool. You are definitely cool," I say, trying to maintain my confident smile.

"You're not really the best person to ask - about cool - are you?" he says, totally innocent, but giggling a little too much.

"No."

On the upside ... :(

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Teenagers - They Will Wear You Out!

When you're five years old ... you one day decide that you can put on your own shoes and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're eight years old ... you one day decide that you can ride your bike on your own and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're ten years old ... you one day decide that you can choose your own clothes and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're twelve years old ... you one day decide that you can make your own breakfast and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're thirteen years old ... you one day decide that you can decorate your own room and you plaster posters on the walls and you won't let you mother help you.

When you're fifteen years old ... you one day decide that you can shop at the mall for your own clothes and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're seventeen years old you can ...

Put on your shoes by yourself.

Drive yourself to school, to parties, to the mall and and to your friends' houses.

Pick out your own clothes and cool outfits.

Make yourself breakfast and lunch and dinner and pick up chili-cheese-fries and a Route 44 cherry lime-aide from Sonic all by yourself and anytime you want.

Put posters and pictures of your friends and art you created and any crap you want on your walls and ceilings and behind the door of your room.

You can hang out at the mall and spend countless hours wasting time and spending far too much of you parents' money.

But ...

When your dad one day asks ...

"Courtney - can you pick me up some charcoal on your way home from Starbucks?"

You will likely say ...

"I don't know where to buy charcoal," and shoot your father the most innocent of childish grins.

"At the 7-11. You can pick me up some charcoal at the 7-11," your father will say nicely.

Then, you will likely say ...

"I don't know how to buy charcoal," and shoot your father the most innocent of childish grins.

"You just pick up the bag, walk up to the check-out counter and pay the guy," your father will advise.

Then, you will likely say ...

"Don't you have to be like 18 or something to buy charcoal?" and flash your father the most ridiculously confused smile.

"Uh - no," your father will respond.

Then, you will likely say ...

"But ... there are those things that kids aren't allowed to buy. Isn't charcoal like one of those things kids can't buy unless they're like 18 years old or something?" and flash your father the fakest confused smile you can conjure up.

"Uh - no," your father will respond. "It's charcoal, Courtney," he will say, a confused look riddling his fatherly face. "Charcoal. You do know what charcoal is?"

Then, you will likely say ...

"Uh - no."

On the upside ... *sigh*

*Note: The second picture of an innocent Courtney is a charcoal self-portrait done by Courtney.

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