Owner: Attack of The Redneck Mommy URL:http://theredneckmommy.com Join Date: Tue, 03 Apr 2007 20:36:25 -0500 Rating:0 Site Description: Just now figuring out why my fondness for Kraft dinner and my penchant for potty talk doesn't make me a candidate for mother of the year. Site statistics:Click here
It’s my Blog, I’ll Write What I want to… 2007-04-03 17:21:20 I am not a morning person. Besides waking up with breath so foul that even my dog buries his head in the covers to avoid having to inhale my scent, I am cranky, sore and tired. It comes with sleeping in a mattress that has seen better days. I have to be careful of where I sleep or I risk being impaled by a rogue spring. Of course, being shoved, scratched, and pawed at night does little to help restore my bright and shiney disposition. Nor does the occasional lick.
Which I might enjoy, if it was coming from my husband. However, my little rat of a dog is another story. I’ve decided Nixon, the World’s Greatest Dog, Ever. and I make mighty poor bedfellows. Especially when he manages to entangle a claw into the ole boob ring.
Which he did, again, last night.
F*#ker!
While nursing a sore nipple and a bad attitude I stumbled out of my lumpy bed and walked my aching ass to the coffee pot. I read somewhere that a shot of caffeine first thing in the morning is good for increasing t Read more:hellip
, Write
New Home 2007-04-02 16:18:30 Phew…You found me. I was starting to panic, thinking maybe I lost you. I am neurotic like that.
So, how do you like the new digs? Pretty snazzy, if I say so myself. Of course, I had nothing to do with it. Didn’t even pick the picture of me you see up in the corner. (And yes, that is me.) I merely handed over the hubby’s mastercard. I’m handy like that.
I’d like to thank Se7en from Blogs Gone Wild! for recreating my kick ass template for me. And tweaking it. And putting up with my whiney emails. And my drunken emails. And the emails in which I swore at him. Or hit on him. Ack. Hanging my head in shame.
But seriously, there is something sexy about a man who knows what he’s doing. This man rocks. He’s acquired a stalker admirer when he clicked on my email. Haha!
I’d also like to thank Tulip for holding my cyber hand and putting up with my whiney emails. And my drunken emails. And the emails in which I swore at her. Or hit on her. Ack. Ha Read more:New Home
Pass the Puns, Please 2007-04-01 19:50:03 It took me thirty minutes to get connected to Blogger this morning. Either my antiquated dial-up connection is overloaded, or my brain is still fuzzed by the large amount of tequila consumed Friday night in a rebellious I-am-more-than-a-mom-I-am-woman-hear-me-roar moment.
Oh, I roared. And now I whimper. Still. 36 hours later.
Was it worth it? Hell yes. I was able to see a whole different side of my closest cousin, and she is some wicked fun. Heavy emphasis on wicked.
To celebrate my first EVER tequila shooter (sad, it only took me 31 years to discover that particular pleasure), I proudly offer you this gourmet fromage.
Enjoy it with a dash of salt and be sure to suck on a lemon after. It will help to choke it down…
An enterprising journalist decided to get the scoop of the day by photographing the fearsome phantom that lived in the spooky old mansion house at the edge of town.
When he entered the house, armed with only his camera, the ghost descended upon him, moaning and waili Read more:Please
The Awful Truth 2007-03-29 15:53:00 Watching my children navigate the hallways of school has brought me back to my own days of algebra and bra snapping. (Or in my case, lack of bra snapping.) I love watching them suffer through the math tests and science quizzes. Er, I mean, nothing pleases me more as a mother than watching my children adeptly handle all that their teachers require of them. Yes, that’s better. He he. There is one major difference between my children and me as a school-aged child. They are decidedly cool, where I was the definition of geek. I was a runt; small and slow to hit puberty, and when I did, I was stuck in the ugly duckling phase while everyone else had already morphed into beautiful swans. I was always out of sync with my peers. I marched to the rhythm of my own invisible drum. Sadly, my drum banged at a different beat than all the others.
My kids, however, rock. And I proudly proclaim this. I have no shame. I beam with pride. Somehow, I managed to give birth to two of the cool kids. Read more:Truth
Danger 2007-03-27 17:37:00 ***Updated Below***
Generally, when my darling hubs is out of town, our only communication tends to be the brief phone calls that occur when I wake up in the morning and when he wakes up in the late afternoon. Our conversations tend to consist of “How did you sleep?”, “The kids are driving me batshit crazy!!!”, “Did you see that hot Asian chick again today?”, “How much did you spend on supper? You think we’re made of money????” and my personal favorite, “Do you miss me?”
(Of course I miss you, darling. What between cleaning up dog shit, chasing after your kids and the tracks they like to make when ever they come through the door, trying to decide what to feed those children so they don’t wilt away and ruin our chances at adopting a new one, keeping your family informed about your whereabouts, and generally just living the life of a single mother, I have nothing but time on my hands to jones for you, your smelly Read more:Danger
Boo’s Rebuttal 2007-04-04 17:19:28 So, apparently, I’ve painted my darling husband in a bad light. I mean, what is so bad about wanting to surf an internet dating site, have your wife provide you with a picture so you can post a profile and have all the crazy skanks toss their online panties at you?
I don’t know what I was thinking when I blogged about this yesterday. Silly me.
I would like to thank all of you who saw my side of this issue and agreed with me. We silly people find strength in numbers.
To the sole person out there who sided with my husband, who also happens to be my Piano man and a supposed best friend, I say to you “Harumph. Let’s just see what happens the next time the fat ugly chick comes up to me in the bar and asks if you are single. We’ll see how well I do as your wingman now, sugar.”
Since I believe in playing fair, and because my husband is coming home soon for the long weekend and I would actually like to have sex with somebody other than my little rabbit budd
A Basket Full of Moose Turds 2007-04-06 17:01:39 As a small child, I loved Easter. My family wasn’t particularly religious so my only obligation for this holiday was to create an Easter basket pretty enough and big enough to house my chocolate bunny and assorted treats the bunny would leave behind. Usually socks and a set of jacks. Sprinkled liberally with those foil-wrapped chocolate eggs that now remind me of the moose shit I have to clean off my lawn every damn week in the summer.
Yummy. You haven’t lived until you step into a pile of moose turds.
Things changed as I became an adult and a parent. Not only did the little foil-wrapped chocolates lose their appeal, but suddenly I was responsible for filling the Easter baskets, not just gnawing on the chocolate bunny. There was also the matter of me becoming a Christian and suddenly this holiday actually has a meaning beyond a little rabbit shitting out chocolate eggs for kids to eat.
Now Easter means dipping hardboiled eggs into the vinegary dye, after an Easter egg s Read more:Basket
, Turds
Sex, Drugs and The Wet Spot 2007-04-09 17:28:41 My husband has been working out of town for a year now. It wasn’t an easy transition for a woman who just lost her son four months prior and had never been a single parent. There were many days when I wondered if our family would survive Boo’s absences.
I discovered my kids are very resilient and absence really does make the heart grow fonder. I really do love my husband. I didn’t just stay married to him all those years because it was easy and he was cute. Who knew?
A year later, we have found our family groove. We function fairly cohesively when the daddy dude is gone, (providing I remember to order water and um, heat…) and when the hubs makes his mighty return, after a bump or two, it’s like he never left.
He’s been gone for three weeks and he will be gone again tomorrow night, trading in family and comfort for what ever hot little Asian chick he can find. (Not to mention, trolling on-line for some coffee buddies.) Family bonding is priority nu Read more:Drugs
Pass the Puns, Easter Style 2007-04-08 16:55:34 My husband hopped his way home this morning, bringing with him a basket full of goodies. Inside this basket was a cup of my very favorite coffee from the nearest Tim Horton’s, a slightly toasted blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese, and a brand spanking new digital slr camera, complete with lens and all the toys.
I love my Easter
bunny.
Unfortunately, his bunny didn’t think to buy an Easter present for her husband. She was too busy shopping at the last minute to fill her kiddies baskets while stuffing her face with an assortment of chocolate moose turds.
I will just have to thank my bunny by doing what rabbits do best. Fornicate. Happily. While staring at my shiny new camera.
However, being the thoughtful blogger I am, I did not forget my internet buddies. For you, I have found the finest cheese and I am here to serve it in a big shiny Easter basket.
Enjoy!
Whaddya get if you pour boiling water down a rabbit hole?
Hot cross bunnies. Read more:Style
Procrastination at It’s Finest 2007-04-10 16:38:37 Like the responsible parent I am, I’ve decided to wait until the last few hours before the government employee who is single-handily responsible for deciding on whether my husband and I are fit parents arrives at my house with her white gloves to start inspecting the premises, to actually get off my keister and start to clean.
I thrive under pressure. I have to sweep, mop, shove clothes under the bed, toys into closets and create a 12 page photo album (yep, pics of my family) all before the nice, underpaid-no-sense-of-humor-I’m-so-screwed lady arrives on my doorstep.
(I’m hoping the neighbor’s Rottweiler decides to stay home instead of perching his scary ass on my deck like my personal gargoyle because I forgot to warn her of his predilection for guarding my door instead of his owners abode.)
But before I start the mad scramble to get everything in order, like any good blogger, I had to check my email. And imagine my surprise when I discovered that I was nominat Read more:Procrastination
The Skinny 2007-04-12 16:33:47 This adoption process is sucking the life right out of me. It’s driving me to drink. Oh wait, the dog’s farting causes me to drink. Never mind. My point is, this is fucking emotionally draining, and being the moron I am, I didn’t expect this process to be so difficult.
The government employee who holds the fate of the free world in her hand or at least who is directly responsible for my future family size and how expensive my grocery bill will become turned out to be exactly what I feared. An old battle axe with no sense of humor. Lovely.
She was however, charmed by my husband. At that particular point I was glad somebody was because I certainly wasn’t. He suddenly developed a case of verbal diarrhea and ran off at the mouth. He tends to do that when he’s nervous. I tend to get annoyed by him when I’m nervous.
Oh yeah, we totally put up a united front. This woman kept shaking her head and writing down little notes while we tried to explain that we
A Promise is A Promise 2007-04-13 15:55:43 To celebrate the fact that I KICKED some grey-haired, balding, over-worked, underpaid civil servant battle axe’s ass, I’m going out tonight, with my girlfriends. The kids are being shuffled to the mother-in-laws and I’m putting on my dancing shoes.
It’s a full fledged girl night tonight, and this girl is going to re-examine her love of Jose Cuervo and his fine product.
This was in fact, my husband’s suggestion. And who am I to not listen to my husband, right? After all, I am nothing, if not a docile, loving, respectful wife who waits on her husband hand and foot and dotes on his every word. It would be wrong of me not to heed his suggestion.
BWHAHAHAHA!
The hubs phoned this morning to see what my day included and how I slept. (He’s thoughtful that way.)
I told him I slept fine, which is the truth. I had naughty dreams of the new James Bond doing naughty things to naughty me. I slept fine. Ahem. Turns out, the husband had a naughty dream of his own.
Pass the Puns, Please 2007-04-15 18:47:16 A few questions I wouldn’t mind receiving answers to on this fine Sunday morning:
Why, dammit, must my dog insist on sleeping with his ass in my nose every damn night?
And why, dammit, am I too stupid not to remember this as I give him his rawhide treat which gives him terrible gas?
Why does taking your children to an amusement park empty out your wallet faster than a tire deflating after running over a nail? (Which, yes I did this week too.)
Why, when flying through the air in a completely unsafe ride that you loved as a teenager, only makes you feel nauseous and worried about the safety of your children, who are also flying through the air with you?
Why, instead of capturing the glory of my fleeting youth at said amusement park I walked away aged, half crippled, broke, dizzy, exhausted and decidedly unyouthful?
And perhaps the biggest question of the day, why, when I see a tattoo parlor must I make an appointment to get inked again, knowing full well my darling husband is going Read more:Please
Birthday Delusions 2007-04-17 16:36:00 It is my darling husband’s birthday today. He is now 32 years old and in the prime of his life. As I like to remind him, it’s all down hill from here. (I’m supportive like that.) Today is the day where I should write loving words about the man I married, and thank his mother for getting busy oh so long ago.
But I did that last year. Go read it if you need a refresher on redneck romance.
This year, I’ve decided to cut the crap, eliminate the mush and get straight to the point.
Happy Birthday
Boo. I love you.
Since Boo is out of town, I’m not really busting a gut worrying about what to buy him for his birthday or whether my bush has been trimmed or the legs stripped of the small forest that likes to grow down there. All I really have to do is remember to phone him, sound sexy and talk dirty to him and I should have it made.
Got to love a birthday that easy.
So, first thing this morning, before even my morning java, (when my voice is at it’s thro Read more:Delusions
My Husband Is Willing to Sell My Soul 2007-04-16 17:16:04 I’m not a spring lover. Of all the seasons, spring is my least favorite. In my neck of the woods, it is an ugly time of the year. The trees are still dormant, resembling twigs, the grass is brown, the roads are muddy and you never know if it is going to rain or snow. (My sympathies to those who are experiencing Mother Nature’s wrath out east.)
There is one part of spring, however, that I enjoy. Soccer. Yes. I am indeed a soccer mom. Minus the minivan. I love getting out there with my latte in one hand and camera in the other and watching my children race all over the field trying to maim avoid the opponents who stand between them and the goal. And yes, you haven’t really lived until you stand nose to nose with a power hungry 16 year old referee (who keeps looking at your tits and blows the call), yelling about his lame ass skills as a referee until he takes one last glance at your chest and ejects you from the game.
And you have to do the walk of shame. In front Read more:Husband
, Willing
A Lasting Darkness 2007-04-23 16:57:51 When the power went out for two days last week, I was forced to not only live like a pioneer woman, bond with my children and eat nothing but dry cereal all day long (really, I am ASHAMED. The sugary goodness of the Fruit Loops call to me in times of crisis), but I was forced to reexamine my life and mull over the choices I have made. I had nothing better to do at the time, courtesy of the black out.
Since my son died 18 months ago, I have tried to fill my life up, tried to quiet the noise that rages inside my head during my waking hours. I knew I was doing this, but I seemed unable to stop. The pain was too great. The first four months after his passing, it simply hurt to breathe. I sat on the couch where him and I would snuggle and watch soap operas I mean, the birds outside our window and I would breathe him in, knowing how blessed my life was, how full. Suddenly, I was alone on this couch, and my life was obscenely hollow.
I knew that I was sinking deeper in my grief every day and Read more:Darkness
Illustrations of Parenting at it’s Finest 2007-04-24 16:38:35 Once upon a time, I went to an overpriced house of education, worked my little (yes, it WAS little) ass off and earned a degree in journalism. A degree I like to hang in my closet so that it may collect dust. Which is about the extent of how much I actually use said degree.
During my journey to become the world’s most useless journalist, I picked up a course (or four or five) in photography. Those courses taught me many things about the art of photography and the inner workings of a camera. What they didn’t teach me was the common sense not to take nude photos to give to your husband so he wouldn’t forget about you and then oneday threaten to post said photos on the internet to prove a lousy point.
I digress.
Because I have bought a camera or two in my time, and have taken a picture or two in my day, my friends and family often turn to me when buying a new camera. Which, of course amuses me to no end and feeds my God complex, but hey, who am I to refuse their plea Read more:Illustrations
, Parenting
Devil In A Blue Dress 2007-05-01 20:47:54 With the hubby out of town, hard at work to accomodate the lifestyle I have become accustomed to (snicker, I like to buy the REAL bologna, not that SPAM crap), our relationship has once again fallen to the mercy of telephone calls, dirty text messages and emails.
I’m not much of an email type of gal, and luckily for me, Boo’s not much of a reader. I spend so much of my day plugging away at my keyboard working blogging, that I don’t have much energy to muster up some clever love letter for my hubs.
We’ve tried the text messaging route before, but Boo is unable to navigate the line between naughty and playful to just down right skeevy and perverted. For example, last night I received this little gem:
Hey! Nice TITS! Call me. I’ve got something for you to suck on. xoxo your big bad boo
Yeah, nothing like a little creepy foreplay while I’m out on the soccer field with a bunch of nine year old boys who are pulling their jerseys over their heads and eati Read more:Devil
Bees 2007-05-03 16:58:46 As a parent, it is my responsibility to prepare my children for the world; to mold them into responsible adults. My husband and I do our very best to instill in them honor, values, dignity and a sense of pride for hard work accomplished. It sometimes feels like we are fighting a losing battle.
I’ve had more fun squeezing out nine pound babies with out any drugs than trying to get my darling children to make their damn beds on a daily basis.
Part of our process into whipping them into mature adults means doling out more responsibilities as they grow older. Fric and Frac now have a list of weekly chores they must finish, as well as their daily chores of making their beds, shoving their dirty laundry in their closets and half-assing their way through the nightly dishes.
Recently, amidst a chorus of complaints that the lunch I pack for them everyday is “too boring” (pack of ingrates…) I relinquished control of this simple chore as well. Now I simply supervise
Melon Balls and Rites Of Parenting 2007-05-02 16:39:24 Now that soccer season has descended upon us like winged bats from hell, my children have geared up and morphed into goal-hungry, shin-kicking, ball-busting little adversaries. I am bursting with maternal pride.
This year, my daughter was bumped up into a higher age category because, well let’s face it, she FUCKING rocks. Instead of playing with the 11 and 12 year olds, she is now competing with the 13 and 14 years olds. She is ten. And she is more than holding her own. She’s kicking some fourteen year old ass.
When the president of the minor soccer association ran this idea past me, I balked. I didn’t want her to be the token ten year old who turns into the bench warmer all so that she can soak up more skills during practice but then miss all the game experience. But he twisted my arm and bribed me with ice-cream. I sold my daughter for a scoop of mint chocolate chip heaven. I’m not proud of it, but them’s the facts.
My husband refuses to take Fric to Read more:Balls
, Parenting
, Rites
Shut up and Shoot Me…Please 2007-05-06 09:41:04 I am still fighting the plague. My nose won’t stop running and is now beginning to get all red and sore from the constant abuse of me honking into tissues that could be a whole lot softer.
Those myths about spunk, sperm, man gravy, sausage juice, semen, love batter, sex goo, life affirming essence, seed of lurve, penile discharge or what ever the hell you want to call it, curing all that ails you&hellip
;is shit.
I have carpet burn, lock jaw, and a sore throat.
Sorry honey, but your peckercillin, does not in fact, cure what ever ails me.
But it was a good try.
I suppose I shouldn’t bitch. I do, in fact, have new car keys.
(This would be one of the posts I sincerely hope no one in either Boo’s family or mine read…)
Ahem.
On to the pun. (Although, some might see the pun value in the cartoon…Again, hope the inlaws aren’t reading.)
Sign in a pet shop window: “Free legless parakeet. No perches necessary.”
Cut me some slack. I’m sic Read more:Please
, Shoot
A Bad Night, But a Good Morning 2007-05-05 01:58:30
The cost of two tickets to the blues legend, B.B. King: $140
The cost of accidentally flushing your car keys down the toilet: $0 and wounded pride.
The cost of calling a tow truck to pry open your car to fish out your wallet, phone and jacket: $48.00
The cost of having to listen to best friend, the Piano Man, laugh his ass off at your expense: $0 and wounded pride.
The cost of having to phone husband (long distance) and explain said dumbass move: $2.00
The cost of replacement keys and clicker: $121.00
The cost of sleeping on Piano Man’s couch because I was stranded: Never ending backpain.
The cost of waking up and prodding the Piano Man’s lazy ass out of bed to make me coffee: Totally worth being called a pain in his ass.
The cost of walking outside to find my car in Piano Man’s driveway with a new set of keys: Priceless
The cost of having a husband drive five hours and missing his sleep to fix my fuck-up and bring the Piano Man and I breakfast: Inval Read more:Good Morning
, Morning
, Night
Hallmark Pain 2007-05-07 18:20:51 With the excitement of Boo and my ten year anniversary barreling down upon us this week (hold all applause, I will be posting about that on THURSDAY), I have managed to overlook and forget about the upcoming Mother’s day celebration that is creeping upon us.
I’m not a fan of Mother’s day. Sure, I understand, even like the concept of mother’s day, but for those of us without mothers, or suffering with mommy issues, the day can just be a painful reminder of what is missing in our own lives.
While Mother’s day hasn’t always been easy for me, since the death of my youngest it is positively BRUTAL. Nothing says happy mother’s day quite like a granite marker in a quiet cemetery reminding you of the child you lost.
Mother’s aren’t supposed to lose their children. We are supposed to gestate them, birth them, love them, develop them, annoy them and then one day shove them out the door and hope all the love and strength and morality we have Read more:Hallmark
Ten Years of Wild Monkey Behaviour 2007-05-10 16:01:43 Ten years ago today, I was tossing my cookies, while holding back my veil trying not to splatter puke on it.
Not that the idea of marrying Boo was vomit inducing, far from it. But seeing as how we were rabbits back then whose sole purpose in life was um, procreating; your oldest son, approximately four gestational months old, was making my life difficult while your eight month old daughter was preventing me from actually sleeping (or eating anything other than dried cheerios.)
Last year, on our nine anniversary, while still reeling from our loss, I wrote pretty words of love for you. Of course, since then, I have pointed out to the world what an asshat you can be. I do on occasion, to prevent people from thinking you are a complete twit, point out some of your admirable qualities.
This year, I am taking a new direction. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. May you read these pictures and feel all of the love, joy, exasperation, happiness, annoyance, sadness, occasional Read more:Behaviour
, Years
Trapped in a Tin Can 2007-05-14 20:38:39 I am not an experienced traveller. The one and only time I have been on an airplane, I was five years old. It was a kindergarten fieldtrip. I have no recollection of the flight other than watching my mother turn green and being able to eat her apple turnover.
I was a little nervous about flying to see my husband. I didn’t want to make an ass of myself.
Turns out, I should have been born with wings. I LOVE flying. Ninety-nine percent of the experience thrilled me.
Except for my seat mates.
On the flight towards my darling Boo, I was seated next to a man. He smelled pleasant enough. He looked clean. But he had gas. Turns out he just had mexican food for lunch and it wasn’t sitting well with him. I knew I was in for a bumpy ride when he turned to me, apologized and asked if I had any Bean-o.
Flatulence at it’s finest. (I only wish I was making this up.)
Other than the odd odour emanating from the man next to me, the flight was intoxicating. I loved it. I loved bein
Recommend Site To A Friend
