2 in 1.

And no, this isn’t a gross post about that nasty video gone viral. (Mom, do not click that hyperlink) (Link is SFW as it’s just the wiki article)

Here’s my post this week on B-Metro. I wrote it in a parking lot. Such is my life these days.

I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of a Starbucks using their free internet that cost me exactly 4 dollars and 90 cents. This is the mommy version of how cool you thought you were in college when you’d wear sweat pants and a homecoming tee to the coffee house of your choice and pretend to study while slouched in a knock-off leather chair drinking iced mochas.

We all know you were on Facebook.

And it’s ok, because I am too right now.

But in grown-up land, this is called “responsibility” and “multi-tasking”. Also of relation - “stressed”, as this is my only option since Conner is currently dropped off at his weekly speech lesson leaving Chase and I to stay in the general area. It’s just enough time to not be able to do anything, but slightly past the time one would find acceptable for sitting in the car and picking at split ends.

Read the rest, in which I tell you how my life DOES go (for now) after the jump.

Funny thing about the photo - it’s mine.

That’s right, I take my OWN stock photos.

I have a folder on my computer full of pictures of random items - marbles (because if I have to keep them somewhere, why not on my computer?), food, stairs (clearly), shells, you know… nouns. Photo stock websites get pricey, google searches either blow or you have to deal with credits. Why not make your own? I started with a few random shots, you know, the ones you’d normally delete or the ones your kids took. Actually, one of my favorite/best stock photos is one Conner took of my printer printing a post out of mine!

So there you go. Two posts in one. What has this world come to.

Expect The What?

My post this week on B-Metro goes a little like this:

I concede to two pieces of knowledge concerning parenting that no one ever warned me about. The stuff no amount of sex education, or “the talk”, other parents, or babysitting prepared me for.

The first is that within a few months of your angelic newborns life, they begin to become mobile which only means that soon - you will become injured. As in, something of medium mass and weight will be chucked towards your unexpected brow/lip/nose/eye from a short distance at high velocity.

And you will likely cry.

And then you will experience this a million times until I don’t know when because my children still manage to injure me within an inch of “needed hospitalization” on a regular basis.

The second part of parenting I was never warned of is that nothing is plan-able. I assumed this, in a vague sense, that the unexpected is the expected. 

Read the rest after the jump. (No really. Click it.) (Yes, you. Especially if you are my mom. Or I know you in real life. Or if I wish I knew you in real life. Especially those people. Like you, Bam Margera, click my B-Metro link. Oh! And John Mayer. Even though people say you are weird, I like weird. [clearly]) (Who knows? Maybe I’m offering free cupcakes on the B-metro page today! And you won’t get any because you didn’t click! That’s tragic.)

Now I want cupcakes.

I'm An Idiot - On B-Metro!

(I’m laughing) (Do the same)“Can we PLEASE go inside?”

This week at B-Metro.com:

I’m an idiot, or if I were attempting actual reason I could go with the ideology that at the beginning of this summer I was more optimistic and then add on the whole “life happens” crap, but I’m sticking with “idiot”.

My idealistic Van Gogh of a summer, as depicted in this post, has turned into an abstract of a Picasso - chopped off ear and all. And not even the popular works, but rather the ones that people look at with their heads cocked sideways in bewilderment and move on.

My summer is just like that. In pieces and bloody. Boys can do that.

KEEP READING OR YOU WILL TURN INTO YOUR MOTHER-IN-LAW. Fair warning, if you ask me.

5 going on 15 - over on B-Metro

This week: 5.. and counting. Make a wish.

I swear, whoever did this - whatever did this, they are in for quite the earful and maybe a bottle of shampoo emptied out and replaced with Nair. I did not order this, nor want it anytime soon and I’d like some sort of exchange, return, or at least a pause button.

While making Conner’s cupcakes on Saturday, he kept coming into the kitchen, and in a rather demanding tone request that he help. Thing is, no one wants to hear the dreaded words “my child helped make these!”, because that only translates directly into “these are filled with boogers and dog hair”. Because I was on a tight timeline, I asked him to do things like lick the spoon and “get mommy the big green mixing bowl” to appease a few of his requests. You could tell with his huffs and ALMOST eye-rolls that he wasn’t happy with these inadequate duties. He wanted to mix, break eggs, stir, pour things.

Figure out whether or not I make someone surprise bald by reading the rest after the jump.