This My Son

The picture in the last blog isn't my son. He just looks like my son. If my son was dressed to go out to a club to pick up chicks.

Here is my guy.

Momma's Little $uper $tar

My friend and I both have unique kids. Her daughter is gorgeous and my son is cool. Her 4-year-old-daughter is so stunning that strangers regularly take one look at her and transform into paparazzi. My friend can't go to Walmart with out people accosting her in the aisles and falling all over her daughter. Yes. Her daughter is that flipping cute.

Then their is my son Dylan. AKA little heart breaker. At six-years-old this boy has that "It" factor. This kid has always had "It". He came out of the womb flirting and chatting up the nurses. He has some kind of genetic disposition to be charming and suave. Dave and I have always viewed this skill as a sort of genetic anomaly. The shy nerd boy and the nerdy fat girl some how produced a stud mini-muffin.

My friend and I wondering if these unique kids have what it takes to become models. We are trying to figure out a way to cash in on them. What? They have been living in our houses rent free for years. They need to start pulling their weight. We did our research and modeling agency seems to be where all of the other twisted moms take their kids. We wish that we were so shady and controversial. Seriously, we wish that we were half as crazed as Dina Lohan, but we are both horribly boring soccer moms. We are both unemployed and have lots of free time on our hands, and we want an adventure. We don't care if the kids ever make a dime. They are both out going happy kids who love to be the center of attention. My friend and I are easily amuses and what could be more amusing than model casting calls? Crazy stage mothers. Cruella D'Diva kids with little pink cell phones. Sounds like heaven!

We are just in the beginning stages. We found a local Boston kid modeling agency that has open calls. We are planning to go in a few weeks. I'll keep you posted.

Diet Up Date

Last week I proclaimed that I was going to lose forty pounds before I turn forty. Let's just say my weight loss journey has been more of a day trip. I was great for a few days and now I am at this very moment digesting a Whopper, a jar of honey roasted peanuts, and a 24 ounce diet lemonade. What can I say? I have been stressed. Food is my friend. Food completes me. You know what isn't my friend? Exercise. Can you guess that I haven't been working out either? huh? I could whip up many excellent excuses that you might even believe but the truth is that I simply don't want to. I am a big fat woman. I can barely tie my shoes with out wheezing. Just walking into the YMCA building from the parking lot is too much of a work out for me.

I am discouraged my friends. I am frustrated and a bit sick to my stomach. Over the last couple of days the weather here in New England has been cold and gray. Which has been great! I can cover up and hide under bulky sweat pants and sweat shirts. I burping up peanuts and am discouraged because I know that this wonderful weather can't last too much longer. Then I am going to be forced into squeeze into shorts and tee-shirts again. My nemesis- summer attire. Shorts, t-shirts, tank tops, and dare I say-bathing suits. I hate even thinking about them. The idea of showing off my true figure in public is just too much to bare. I need a cup cake!

Isn't this where Richard Simmons dances into my house and starts motivating me to try again, to try harder, to never give up? Then with a tear streaked face he takes me in his arms and we dance out of my house over to the gym....Then in 15 minutes I am thin? We'll that's how it works in infomercials.

Drag HimTo The Alter.

Today Dave and I are celebrating our 9th wedding anniversary. Pretty incredible for a nerd girl who could never get a quality boyfriend not to mention have one successful date. Looking back to those horrid days of woe. AKA The dating years. I was the insecure psycho girl. If a guy asked for my number I would be planning out our life together. We'd marry by next Fall buy a house in the Winter, and have babies in the Spring. I learned the hard way that men can smell desperation. Desperation isn't sexy, it repels men like Raid. Kills dates dead.

I was that desperate psycho girl for many years. The kind that left multiple messages on answering machines and drove by houses late at night. I might has well have had Marry Me tattooed on my forehead. I was only 26-years-old at the time but in my life plan I was supposed to be married. I was also supposed to be blond and have long legs. But I would have settled for married. I mistook every guy I met for the man of my dreams. Sometimes when you are shopping in a hurry you just grab whatever is on the rack and try to make it work. That was my attitude with me. Find a decent guy and drag him to the alter.

One poor victim of my husband shopping was Ken. Ken was older, wiser, and an elementary school teacher. He also had the voice of Bruce Willis and dark good looks of George Clooney. I fell for this man and I fell hard. We were going to have such cute babies. One night I was tipsy and became emotionally sloppy revealing my true feelings for him. Perhaps something about an outdoor wedding and a dog? All I know for sure is that I never saw him again. I did talk to his answering machine about 9 times and I even made him a mix tape. I even went and dropped the tape in his mail box. I was such a pathetic dork! He is probably in the witness protection program now. Poor Ken. You can come home now!

On this day May the 27th I would like to thank my beloved husband Dave. Sweety, Thank you for thinking that my many quirks and eccentricities are adorable.

Call Off the Priest

Today's blog about Alice's exhibitionist ways is being interrupted by a special report. This just in...A local therapist has confirmed that Lydia's 3-year-old daughter Alice is not possessed by the devil. The therapist believes that the out of control toddler has Sensory Motor integration. These sensitivities are influencing the child's extreme explosive behaviors, not the forces of evil as we had once thought.

This discovery has cleared Lydia from under the mountain of guilt and blame that she has placed upon herself concerning this child. Lydia told this reported that she has blamed herself and her horrible mothering skills for Alice's horrible tantrums and eccentric behaviors. She is over joyed and relived to finally understand that their is a reason why Alice acts the way she does. That further more the child is not purposefully trying to drive her insane since this disorder isn't any ones fault.

This reporter knows that this diagnosis will not stop other mothers from sneering at Lydia while Alice screams in the aisle at Walmart. However this is a great start to getting Alice the services that she needs. We wish them both luck.

On a side note local priests are feeling the economical crunch as the need for exorcisms are down this month.

Naked

My three-year-old is a nature girl. She like to eat fresh fruits and vegetables. She loves gardening and flowers. She loves animal of all kinds. Most of all she loves running around in her natural state. Buck naked! She hates to wear clothing and I am seriously wondering if their is anyone left in my town who hasn't seen my daughter naked? I know that by now all of the 30,000 towns people must have seen her stripped down to her diapers.

This is all my fault. I love the site of my beautiful little cherub. She has a cute little soft belly and chubby legs. She is so cute that I let her run around the house in diapers. She is so cute! Slap on some wings and she is cupid.

I try my best to keep the child decent in public, but the kid spontaneously strips all over town. The shirt goes off at the park, the skirt gets kicked off at the YMCA, the sundress is dropped at the dentist. She doesn't understand the difference between home rules and town rules. Or she just likes to watch we freak out and turn bright red.

The other day she and her brother went for a walk through my safe neighborhood. When the girl left she was wearing shorts. When she returned she was in her diaper. My child walked through my quiet conservative neighborhood half naked! One of my neighbors even works for the Department of Child Protective Services. For goodness sakes! I was half expecting the state police to come arrest me for child indecency. I can picture me in the back of a cruiser.

"But officer! She was dressed when she left!"

"Ma'am. We see freaks like you everyday. Neglecting your child. Letting her walk the streets in nothing but a diaper. You make me sick!"

Thank goodness that the state police did not come, the shorts were retrieved, and the kid was brought inside, and dressed. At least for the moment. There is always tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'll tell you how my cherub horrified my friends by skinny dipping at a co-ed BBQ.

I Heart BBQ Bobby

Memorial Day weekend means the beginning of BBQ season. What I love most about BBQ season is watching my man in front of a hot grill. Nothing is sexier than watching my man cook. You know that I am not talking about my husband Dave. I am talking about my secret love, the grill master himself, Bobby Flay. Don't tell Dave. Dave can cook nice burgers and dogs and all, but Bobby is dreamy.

Bobby Flay. The Food Network's sweet super star with the smiling eyes. Their is something hot and sexy about a man who can roll up his sleeves and cook masculine food over an open flame. Delicious taste-bud-orgy in your mouth food. My Bobby, a gorgeous, famous man, whose passion is food. Oh Bobby hand me the ketchup baby, I am ready to sink my teeth into a burger!

Bobby is married to a skinny supermodel wife. I wonder if she ever eats his creations? I wonder if she ever eats at all? I can imagine them arguing.

"Bobby! I can't eat red meat! What's that? Is that cheese? You know that I can't eat dairy fats!"
"Honey. Come on honey, this is my work. I need you to support me. Just try a bite of one chicken wing."

Poor Bobby. He needs a wife like me. She is a razor thin slice of prosciutto and I am a thick slab of fillet Mignon. He needs a big fat woman who can eat her some good ole' BBQ. I'll support him in his work. I'll let him cook for me all day. I'll eat loaded cheese burgers for breakfast, a whole bucket of sweet spicy wings for lunch, and complete steak dinner. I'll be happy to eat his cooking all day long and still have room for dessert. I'd do that for him because that is the kind of thoughtful wife I am. I would sacrifice all of my cooking duties for my man. I'd never even walk into the kitchen again to show my support. That's the kind of selfless wife that I would be.

Bobby. I would make a great wife. Ask anyone. We'll except Dave, my husband.