Peeved Out: Yu Can Writ 2

Can you understand this? 

skool sukked i waz soo tired all day i mean y do ppl wanna go ta skool so bad i get to see mii frayndz outta skool lol!!!

 No?  How about this one?

makinggg many different dilicious cookies wt miii grama nd mii fraynd also doinqq sme last minute gift wrapping still gots lots 2 do nd x-mas Eve is 2marroe yilkkerz i thnk i can make it cross urr fingaz…!!!!

Still having a hard time?  Here’s one more:

Hellow mommy Buyyyy sum cerealllll peez cinimon tost crunch fruuut luupps butter nd choc frosteed flaks peez

 These are actual FB posts and text messages I’ve received from my daughter.  My almost 12-year-old daughter.  Straight-A student daughter.  Yeah, her.

You want to talk pet peeves?  There’s mine.  Right there.

Don’t get me wrong…she knows how to spell.  She certainly didn’t receive straight-A’s with that kind of grammar!  But she says that’s how kids communicate now.  Unbelieveable!  Well, I’ve finally learned of a way to combat her “wrtng sklllzz” by simply not replying to anything written improperly.  Just call me the Grammar Police!  Hmpf!

So, maybe my peeve has more to do with this generation of kids growing up than my daughter’s disdain for proper English.  Ummm, nah…it’s both.  Makes me so angry.  This can’t be the future of our language.

So, Miss-Y – it’s time you cracked open the dictionary, start loving those vowels, and show your “friends” the real way we use the English language.

Or you, my dear, will be getting a can of alphabet soup for your birthday.

 I wrote this post for Mama Kat’s Writers Workshop in response to Prompt #1: One pet peeve that shouldn’t drive you crazy, but does.  It drives me NUTS!

MeMeMe Mondays

I’ve seen a few variations of this ME concept on other sites and thought I’d take a stab at it.  (Imitation is the best form of flattery, right?)  Every Monday I’ll let you know three random things that are all about me.  I’m new to the wonderful world of blogging so thought I’d give the folks who check out my site a few tidbits about yours truly.  (‘Cuz you know you’re dying to know. LOL!)

1. I love Olive Garden!  Well, I love the seafood fettuccine alfredo anyway.  Never, ever ordered anything else.  I’m always starving when I get there and I already know I like it so that’s what I order.  Fattening? Yes.  Bad for you? Absolutely.  But nothing stands between a hungry woman and her cravings.  Nothing.

2. I am the oldest of 4 siblings with the textbook Type-A personality that goes with it.  Type-A, bordering on OCD really.  Ok, ok.  My family would probably say OCD, but whatever.  From little things to big decisions, it’s hard for me to stray from my train of thought or way of doing things.  I got this definition from Wikipedia “Type A individual as ambitious, aggressive, business-like, controlling, highly competitive, impatient, preoccupied with his or her status, time-conscious, and tightly-wound. People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving “workaholics” who multi-task, push themselves with deadlines, and hate both delays and ambivalence.”  Yep – that’s me!

3. I hate going to the dentist.  I bring this up because I have an appointment on Wednesday that I’m dreading.  I don’t care if I’m going in for a cleaning or a root canal, I hate it.  It’s uncomfortable and I can’t stand the plastic mask they wear looking like they are going to mine for gold, not clean my teeth.

Weekend Wrap-Up: I Am Sick & Tired of Weekends!

Yes, you read it right…sick & tired. Uh-huh!

Weekends are exhausting…more so than my 9-5.  Constantly on the go.  Whether it’s running errands, attending an activity, or just doing housework – sometimes I can’t wait to get back to the office on Monday morning.

Honestly, I don’t know how you stay-at-home moms do it.  On the weekends kids have to be accounted for, fed, bathed, and entertained – all while doing whatever else needs to be done that weekend.  I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

Take this weekend for example:

Friday night – my brother and family stop by for dinner (and, yes, I cooked too) followed by a visit from my BFF and her family.  When did I rest?  I didn’t.

Saturday – up at 7am with Baby B.  Morning spent doing laundry, cleaning up the kitchen, and other housework/wifey/mommy duties.  Then – time to get ready for dinner to celebrate my sister’s birthday with family. (Olive Garden – YUM!)  But first, made a stop at BuyBuyBaby for some needed items.  By the time I got home, I was so spent that I fell asleep within an hour of being home.  Fed Baby and knocked out.  On the couch.  With Baby B in his swing. Ugh.  Resting? Not a chance.

Sunday – up at 7:30 with Baby B.  Errands and Costco and Target (had to pick up gift).   Back home to Baby. Fed, bathed, dressed and out the door for a birthday party.  More housework then time for bed. Time to relax? Barely.

See what I mean?  Tired.  Burned-out.  Just plain pooped.

Come Monday morning, I get to drive to the office and sit.  Eight hours of blissful rest.  No matter how busy my day is at work, it’s never as busy as my weekends.  And – I know what you’re thinking – spending time with family is so much more rewarding, stop making so many plans, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I know all this.  But I just have a busy life.  It is what it is.

But, that’s it!  No more jam-packed weekends!  A quick look at my calendar tells me I have no plans this weekend.  YESSS!  Think it’ll happen?  We’ll see…

I did manage to take this priceless pic at the birthday party though…my favorite boys.  Two peas in a pod. 

For Sale: Skinny Jeans

No, not the style “skinny jeans”.  But real, tangible skinny jeans.  Skinny shirts.  Skinny shorts.  Skinny dresses.  All clothes skinny.

Size 6-8 – Skinny clothes

Disillusioned mom of a 5-month old to unload all former, skinny-self clothing items.  Things that have been hanging in my closet for 14+ months.  Never to be worn again.  Taking up space – lots of space.

For that matter, why don’t you make an offer for the skinny shoes too?  Skinny heeled shoes.  Shoes too high, too uncomfortable, too fancy for me.  Bandolino’s don’t belong at the playground, in the mud.


Will settle for a trade – Size 10 and up.  Or baby items.  Or baby clothes.  Or a book.  Whatever, just take it.

This post was written for the online writer’s group, The Red Dress Club. The writing prompt for this week was to create a humorous Craig’s List type ad selling something after breaking up with someone or something.  I’m breaking up with all things skinny – or the idea that I will be.

About Baby B

When I first found out I was pregnant I was estatic, elated, sooooo happy!  Immediately I had visions of baby dresses, pigtails and dolls.  My daughter would soon be eleven so it had been a LONG time since I had a little peanut growing inside of me.

All doctor appointments went well and I couldn’t wait for the first images of my little girl.

Then, I heard those words.  “Congratulations!  You’re having a boy!”

Hold up.  A what?!?!  NOOOOOOO!  That can’t be right.  Check again, I’m having a girl. 

Nope.  Absolutely not.  Most definitely a boy.  In that moment all my dreams of finally having another little girl to play dress-up with were over.  In an instant.  I’m not proud to say that I was disappointed…a little.

No baby dresses.  No pigtails.  No dolls.

Instead, those images were replaced with baseballs, footballs, and blue.  Lots of blue.

What was I going to do?  I don’t know the first thing about sports.  I’m going to have to run?  Dribble a ball?  What was I going to do with a boy?

Then, my boy came.  Baby B.  Cutest. Baby. Ever.


Immediately, I was in love.  I wanted to eat his chubby cheeks.  He was beautiful.  Everything I never knew I always wanted.

Now, at five months (he will be on Wednesday) he is my world.  I love his screeches sounds, his face, his everything.  The way he looks at me with those adorable still-grey eyes that tell me that he loves me right back.  Baby B.  My son.

AND…he even looks like me!


When he was born I was convinced that I was merely an incubator…both of my kids resemble their fathers.  I was only necessary to bake ‘em for 9 months, I thought.  Then my dad sent me that photo and, FINALLY, I can see ME in Baby B.

Now I know exactly what I will do as he gets older.

Love him.  Always.

That’s all a child really needs anyway.

Rotisserie Magic!

So by now you all know that I am NOT the world’s best cook.  Not even close.

I know that.  Hey, I even accept it.

But that doesn’t mean my family is going to starve.  Night after night, I put something on the table.  One of my family’s favorites – TOSTADAS!

Mmm…yummy, right?

Not only do I “make” (I used that term extremely loosely…LOL) awesome tostadas, but it only takes me approximately 10 minutes – start to finish!  Doesn’t get any better than that.

First I start with a good, ‘ole rotisserie chicken and shred it.  (The ones at Costco/Sam’s Club are really tasty.)  Put all the chicken in a bowl.  Then heat up some refried beans and set out your toppings – lettuce, diced tomato, sour cream, shredded cheese, perhaps some salsa.  And…viola!  Dinner is served!

 Cheating, you say?  Totally.  But bellies are full and there are smiles on their faces.

 Best of all – the leftover chicken can be used to make, well…a whole lot.

 Add to soup – chicken sandwiches – quesadillas – tacos – add to a pasta dish.

 The possibilities are endless.

 So, I’m curious…do you do the same?  Or am I the only “cheater” amongst us?

I wrote this post for Mama Kat’s Writers Workshop in response to Prompt #5: Watcha’ cookin?  Share a recipe.  This is a recipe, right?

Do You Agree with this “Tough Love” Story?

I came across this story yesterday about a Florida mom who forced her son to stand on a street corner to display his poor GPA score (1.22).  Rhonda Holder says she has tried other methods to motivate her son, but nothing has worked so far.  She thinks that public humiliation will shame him into getting better grades.

Huh? Is she serious?!?!

Wait – it gets worse!  She plans to make him stand on the street every day until his grades improve.

Um, here’s a tip, lady – he won’t be learning anything standing on a street corner!  Find a tutor!!!

And she just might need one herself, too. She says, “He don’t like to get embarrassed.”

Some example there, Rhonda!  Not surprisingly, neither parent graduated from high school, nor obtained a G.E.D.

Further proof (IMHO) that change needs to start at home – and NOT on the street.  Poor kid is only likely to feel worse.