Category Archives: Bad Mommy

Grandma Steals

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Every so often I get the purging bug.  I go through closets, drawers, storage and – dun, dun, dun – the playroom.  We try on clothes to see what’s now outgrown, we put game pieces back in their boxes, we find things that have gone missing.  And we get rid of the stuff we no longer need or use.  It is truly one of the most satisfying things I do.

For me, I’m sure the need to clear out stuff stems from growing up in a house that had a lot in it.  My mom always did and still has every nook and cranny in her house filled with things… things she once needed, things she needs now, things she may need in the future.  Having all of those things around made me feel cluttered and overwhelmed, so I went in the opposite direction when I set up my own home.  My closets are rarely filled to capacity.  I have dressers in this house that have some empty drawers.  I have a few empty hangers that have no clothes on them.  There is even some space in my garage.

Occasionally we will acquire more stuff and areas will become filled and I will eventually feel the need to clear more stuff out.  I have gone every route over the years to get rid of things… garage sales, consignment, online auctions and sales, bulky trash amnesty day, donations.  There are some great causes that will even send someone to my house to pick up that which I no longer want or need.  I love the feeling I get when I give away something that once served purpose in my life so that it may now serve a purpose for someone else.  I also love when I make 25 cents on a pair of pants that cost me 40 dollars.  I know you can’t hear it, but that last sentence was dripping with so much sarcasm that I have to wipe the rest off of my keyboard.  Still, getting rid of things I no longer need feels good to me.

Sometimes, though, the same can not be said for my kids.  When they were little, they wanted to keep every single thing that crossed the threshold.  Forever and ever and ever.  So I let them.  Fortunately, they quickly changed their minds once their rooms became unlivable amidst a sea of papers and projects and plastic crap.  And the purging gene was passed along the generations…

Yet every once in a while I have to clear out some things that take up a lot of space and that the kids haven’t touched or even thought about in over a year, except of course when they see it in the pile to be donated to Goodwill.  Then it becomes their “favorite toy ever” and they insist that they “play with it every single day.”  When I relent and let them have the thing back it almost always goes back to its job as a dust collector after just a few days.  It is complete B.S. and drives me bonkers, so I started clearing out many of those things when the kids were out of the house so I could do my job without tiny protesters shouting “bad mommy” jeers me.

For example, Kids D and E once had a Hot Wheels track that did not disassemble or break down in any way.  It was plastic and bulky and not even a very fun track.  They used it for a while and then it went off to a high shelf to suffer the shame of toys no longer loved (Shout Out! Toy Story movies) until I decided to get rid of it to make space for more plastic crap that was actually in active playroom rotation.  I made the rookie mistake of leaving the track, along with several other items to be donated, in a pile on my dining room table.  The boys saw it there when they came home from school and I was immediately barraged with cries of dissent.  But I held firm.  I was getting that track out of this house.

Actually, we made a sort of compromise.  Grandma and Grandpa happened to be visiting that weekend and Grandma was looking to add to her grandchildren’s playroom in West Virginia.  Now Grandma is also one to never get rid of things… she still has toys that Sheepdog and his sister played with as kids (both wonderfully sentimental yet yucky at the same time, as no amount of Clorox is going to get all the nasty off of that 25-year-old Barbie Dream House).  She indicated that she might like to have a Hot Wheels track so I said she could have ours and I reminded the boys that they could play with it whenever we went to visit.  They were mollified by that and then (as I predicted) it was out-of-sight-out-of-mind with the track.  They didn’t miss it for more than one minute as they happily played with the bajillion other toys that we own.

A fun little side note on how quickly kids forget things… the first time we went up to visit Sheepdog’s parents in West Virginia after I gave Grandma the track and she set up her new playroom, Kid D was wandering around their house after our very long drive, just kind of checking things out.  He was deciding what fun toys to play with first when he made a very concerned face and pulled me aside.  Then he whispered to me with all of the seriousness he could summon, “I think Grandma stole our hot wheels track.  I just saw it in her playroom.”

I reassured him that Grandma is not a thief and I reminded him that we gave her the track the last time she was at our house.  I think he believed me but then he added, “I’m gonna keep an eye on her just in case.  Next thing you know she’ll probably try to steal some kisses from me.”

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Summer Has Jumped the Shark (Week)

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Da……….dum, da………dum, da……..dum, da…….dum, da……dum, da…..dum, da….dum, da…dum, da..dum, da.dum, DAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Did I feel it?  Was I paying attention?  Do I remember what I was doing when I first felt that this summer could be O-V-E-R, dead and gone as far as I was concerned?

No, no and odds are either standing in the neighborhood pool making sure nobody was dropping a deuce near me or sitting inside my air-conditioned house because it was so hot I couldn’t even contemplate stepping outside to walk down to said pool (the pool water is now hovering near a lovely ninety degrees – refreshing!).  But I don’t really remember.  I just know that it has definitely happened.

I am sick of the unrelenting, unholy heat that qualifies it as child endangerment to send your kids outside even just to get the mail, let alone to play outside all day (you can drink from the hose and pee in the bushes!).  I am sick of my kids being in the house all day, every day.  I am sick of hearing them bicker with one another.  I am sick of hearing loud crashes, having a mini-heart attack, then hearing a (not really) reassuring “I’m/ He’s OK!”  I am sick of the middle-of-the-night thunderstorms that wake everybody in the house up with their thrashing winds and window-rattling thunder and bone-jarring lightning strikes, yet they don’t even cool anything off the next day.  I am sick of stepping on teeny, tiny Lego pieces that have been strewn about my house for months now.  I am sick of washing bathing suits and pool towels (well, let me be honest – I stopped washing towels around mid-July), and I am especially sick of trying to put those tiny little liners back into bikini tops after they fall out every single wash.  I am sick of reruns on TV, I am no longer friends with Netflix, I haven’t been able to find a great new book, and I am even a little bit sick of the internet.

Bruce: Hello. My name is Bruce. Anchor, Chum: Hello, Bruce. Bruce: It has been three weeks since my last fish, on my honor, or may I be chopped up and made into soup.

Then I stumbled upon Discovery Channel’s Shark Week Top 10 Shark Attack videos.  This stuff is SICK!  I mean I am scared to death to watch and have to pretend it is not real, yet I can’t stop looking at the ocean train wreck/ shark porn that is unfolding before my eyes.  Even the reenactments are realistic and as frightening as my imagination can handle.  Being a girl who loves the beach and ventures out into the waves on a regular basis, I have to know that there is always the possibility that a shark could be out there looking around for some num nums.  I just figure that it’s not going to happen to me.

According to the Top 10 Shark Attack videos, neither did those people.  Well, except the guys who jump into the water in aluminum cages simply because sharks are there and they want to film them/ study them/ get penciled into their dance cards.  I mean, thanks for all of the great up-close, color pictures of humans being shark brunch and all, but who does that?  Those dudes are loco.

I am simply amazed that people get back into the waters in those locations where shark attacks are prevalent.  I was really surprised to learn that the United States leads the world in shark attacks, with 36 in 2010.  Australia (which I would have guessed was the leader) only had 14 and South Africa had eight.  After looking into the numbers in more detail, I have decided that I will never go into Florida’s waters ever, ever again.  But I really didn’t like Florida all that much to begin with.

So I’m counting down the days until that big yellow bus pulls up to my driveway (one of the perks of having so many kids is that the bus stop unofficially relocated to our house).  Today marks eleven.  I can do anything for eleven more days, right?  I can put up with my kids as they are fighting and whining and circling around me, seemingly ready to attack at any minute.  I can even refrain from punching them in the nose (because that’s what I’d do if they were actual sharks).

Yep, Summer 2011 is almost over.  Then comes Fall, with school and alarm clocks and schedules and activities and sports and homework and projects and da……….dum, da………dum, da……..dum, da…….dum, da……dum, da…..dum, da….dum, da…dum, da..dum, da.dum, DAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

I Like Nice Boys and He Likes Dirty Girls

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

The idea of a list of celebrities that you can get with and it doesn’t count as cheating has been around for a while.  Friends covered it in “The One With Frank Jr.” wherein Ross eliminated Isabella Rossellini before he laminated his list… which he did just before he bumped into her at the coffee house.

Ross: Oh no, no, wait, wait! Isabella, don’t… don’t just dismiss this so fast. I mean, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
Isabella Rossellini: Yeah, for you.

The odds of us meeting and then hooking up with these celebrities are in the neighborhood of Slim and None.  That improbability is what makes the game safe for a happily married girl like me.  I don’t actually want to break up any families, starting with my own rather nice one.  But I do enjoy me some good-looking men, so I’m certainly up for playing.  Plus, it’s a great way to learn about people.

The kind of person that you are attracted to says a whole lot about you.  Are you drawn to bad boys?  Do you go for women with great personalities, regardless of their looks?  Are you drawn to rocket scientist types?  Does your ideal woman sport a sleeve of tattoos and a pierced anything?  Someone who is great with kids?  Mary Ann or Ginger?  Or are you looking for a big, strapping, manly man (who is perfectly good at expectorating)?

Sheepdog and I are always updating our lists.  Here’s my current one …

George Clooney

Ashton Kutcher (on the left)

Rob Lowe

Jimmy Marsden

Ben Affleck

That’s my list.  Obviously, I have a type.  And also I like men in their underpants.  For this purpose, I overlook their politics or their movie roles or their marital status, although I would like to point out that mine are all fairly well-behaved, nice, family men.  Kind of like Sheepdog, now that I think about it.

And speaking of Sheepdog, here’s his current list…

Minka Kelly

Blake Lively

Beyonce Knowles

Eva Mendes

Keira Knightley

Kind of not like me.  Dirty, dirty girls.  And that Beyonce scares me to death, frankly.  But this is his fantasy list, so go for it Sheepdog.

One last thing… this past Spring Jennifer Garner and her husband, Ben Affleck, were in Atlanta while she was filming a movie.  There were several sightings of each of them in Sheepdog’s office building in Buckhead, and rumor had it that they were working out at the fancy gym that is on the top floor.  Of course I took this opportunity to ride those elevators like it was my job in order to facilitate a chance encounter with someone who has been on my list for over a decade.  Sadly, it was not meant to be, because I never once saw him let alone got to tell him he was on my list.

Sheepdog quickly got sick of me showing up at his place of employment under the pretense that I missed him and wanted to take him to lunch.  He knew exactly what I was up to and called me out on it.

“So what?  You are riding on the elevator for like an hour (stalker), and Ben does happen to get on with you at some point.  What would you even say?”

I was not about to let him get the best of me.  So I said, “If Ben Affleck got on the elevator with me I would play it cool and very obviously and slowly look him up and down.  Then I would say loud enough for him to hear, ‘Very nice, but in my fantasy you were wearing one of those matching track suits, like in Good Will Hunting.'”

Then I would get off of the elevator and actually take Sheepdog to lunch.  Because I am a very lucky girl.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Ouch, That Burns or Why I’ll Never Wear a Low-Cut Dress to the Gun Club Again

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Sheepdog and I went on a date yesterday.  It was actually a double date with new friends, Fat Bastard (self-named, but he’s not even fat – he’s just old) and his Very Cool Wife.  We had talked about things that we have in common and settled on a casual dinner.  But first we decided to bond over shooting some guns.

Sheepdog is always up for a little target practice at the range.  He probably goes once a month to shoot and to grope the cool new merchandise on the shelves.  And by “grope” I do mean moan softly while he touches and fondles the guns inappropriately.  His latest obsession is an AR-15, which is a semi-automatic sport rifle that one would apparently use to shoot most kinds of varmints.  That man really loves guns.

Sheepdog's latest mistress

So our new friends are from the arctic tundra (or Wisconsin) where they apparently grow up with not much else to do but hunting and ice fishing.  The saying goes that the four major food groups there are cheese, beer, fish and venison.  And everybody from there either has a friend, relative or a pet named Brett.  Anyway, they were totally up for some fun with guns so we swung by their house and picked them up.

When we got out of the car there was some talk about me being too dressed up.  I kind of was, but you have to understand that I own sweatpants/ pajamas and I own dresses.  I have nothing in between.  So I had opted to wear a summer dress and (as a favor to Sheepdog) some high-heeled sandals.  We were going out to eat afterwards, so it wasn’t completely unreasonable that I would be in a dress.  It was just a little weird and out of place at the shooting range, but I certainly didn’t care.  Sheepdog, of course, thought it was hot and was all for it.

So we are at the gun club and we put on our eyes (protective glasses) and ears (Monster Beats by Dr. Dre headphones) and we pick out our target practice sheets.  Sheepdog gives us a little safety reminder class and he sets us up in Lane 10.  Very Cool Wife is up first and she shoots the Glock once to get a feel for it.  Then Mrs. Jack Bauer up and busts a cap or two (or fifteen) into the neck and torso of the terrorist holding an RPG.  She was completely bad ass.

By the time I was up I was still a little nervous, as it has been a while since I last went shooting.  I am a safety girl, so I asked Sheepdog to give me yet another rundown.  Soon I felt comfortable enough to shoot.  I like the standard black and white target dummy with a red “X” over his heart.  I shot the crap out of that thing.  I loved the power of the gun in my hands, even though I have never been able to get the grip just right.  I always end up with blood on my thumb from the recoil.  I didn’t empty the magazine, but I was satisfied for the moment and let Sheepdog finish that one out for me.

So the four of us rotated for a while and we each took turns with the different target sheets.  Bullet casings were flying left and right as they discharged.  We were trying shots with both of the guns that Sheepdog brought and we also experimented with distance shooting.  We were having a good time.  It was really fun.  And then…

I was shooting the Glock 9mm again (which is definitely my favorite handgun).  Now, everybody develops a certain stance when they are shooting.  Some people stand loosely and some are more rigid in the knees and elbows – there are dozens of variations.  I choose to stand with my legs apart and my arms fairly close together, while my elbows are a little relaxed.  Risking TMI, I will tell you that this actually causes my boobs to get pushed together, which is neither here nor there except that one of the bullet casings flew up into the air upon discharge and then promptly fell into my cleavage.

One minute I was thinking about protecting my family from bad guys, super proud that I was pumping lead into the target’s face, throat and heart, and the next minute my twins were screaming in pain from the burning hot shell casing that was trapped in between them.  My survival instincts were strong but I was still all Safety First, so I promptly placed the handgun on the counter facing downrange.  But let me tell you that my hands were fishing around for the hot metal in my bra toute de suite.

It hurt at the time, but fortunately my boobs are just fine.  The burn was very mild and almost completely unnoticeable by this morning.  And I got a lesson that I hope all of you will learn from as well… don’t ever wear a low-cut dress to the gun club.  There’s good reason why everyone else there is in crew neck t-shirts and jeans.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

I Suck at Coupons

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Coupons drive me crazy.  I love them because they are FREE MONEY!  They are the bane of my existence because I feel like I am burning the free money if I don’t use them.  One in particular has been weighing on me for weeks now.  It was for twenty dollars off of a two hundred-dollar order at my regular grocery store.

Now, with seven people in our house you would think that I could rack up a two hundred-dollar order without even trying.  Sure thing, especially if I build some storage shelves and stockpile, Extreme Couponer-style.  But I don’t buy stuff I don’t need.  And I don’t buy things just because they are on sale.  Plus, I have been trying to be extra frugal in my shopping when I can because – I don’t know if you’ve heard – there is a recession going on, and a third driver/ third car/ third gas tank and insurance costs are less than a year away for us, and college tuition is only three years away, and Good Lord these kids always seem to need new shoes.

… but back to my $20 off $200 coupon.  I didn’t use it.  Sob.

When it first came in the mail we were just about to leave on an extended trip.  So we were trying to eat the things that were already in the house and clear out the pantry.  “Waste not, want not” and such.  That trip ended up being almost a month.  When we returned I was planning to go to the grocery store for a big stock-up trip, but I was pouty because I wasn’t living at the beach anymore so I kept putting it off.  And we kept eating stale oyster crackers and almost expired soup.  And it was so flipping hot outside that I was not inspired to do anything.

Eventually I could not serve/ eat another packet of oatmeal or bag of frozen vegetables, so I went to the store.  There are two of the exact same chain grocery stores near my house.  They are about the same distance away in opposite directions.  One is really fancy and one is, um… not so much.  I always go to the Not So Much one because it is rarely crowded and they have basically the same things, so what if they get the hand-me-down rusty carts.  They know me and let me do my thing at the Not So Much (like bagging my own groceries – which is a form of packing, so I’m really good at it – it drives me insane when the idiots crush my groceries).  At the Fancy one they have kids with “Bagger” on their name tags (imprinted, not just written in Sharpie!), so you’d better not try filling your own bags at that one.

You just know that boy doesn't put the milk on top of the bread. You Go, Danny!

For some reason I chose to go to the Fancy store on this trip (probably delusion from all of the heat, but whatever).  They seem to have more of a produce selection and I was in the market for lots of fresh stuff.  I filled my cart with meat and chicken and fruits and vegetables and bread and eggs and cheese and milk and yogurt.  Wheat bread, cake mix, Coca-Cola, shaving cream (Sorry, that last stuff wasn’t on my real list – it was from a commercial from when I was a kid and I will never be able to recite a grocery list without adding them at the end for the rest of my life.  Excellent marketing job because I can still recite it when I often can’t even remember my own kids’ names – my guess is that it was an ad for Coke.  It’s a shame that stuff is poison and I just won’t buy it.).

So I go up to the checkout with a full cart and my Very Special Customer coupon.  Until that moment I had forgotten that they are so fast to check you out at Fancy – someone was even pulling stuff out of my cart and putting it on the belt while the checkout girl was scanning at lightning speed and the Bagging Team (seriously, there were TWO kids bagging my groceries!) was like Matrix-fast.  I was blown away so much that they disoriented me.  I was even a little dizzy when the cashier gave me my total and it was… $192.  Wait!  Nooooooooooooooooooo!  I can’t use my coupon unless the total is at least two hundred dollars.

I should have picked up another ginormous pack of toilet paper or some more lunchmeat.  I should have gotten more cereal.  Maybe I could just go grab something else right now.  But, no!  The Fancy store will not tolerate hold-ups in their lines.  They move you right along, almost forcefully so.  And there were at least three people in line behind me.  I guess I could have been, but I didn’t want to be “That Shopper.”  So I paid the bill and I left.  With my coupon still in hand.  Sigh.

I was kicking myself as I loaded the groceries into my car.  I continued all the way home.  And it has been on my mind ever since.

I should have planned better.  I should have bought one more this or a couple more of that.  If only they counted big bottles of wine towards the total.

That coupon has since expired.  I mourned it much more than I should have.  Because soon another one will come in the mail and I will start the whole process over again.  Damn coupons.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Tales from the Trip – Part One

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

First things first… I realize that I forgot to make a Harry Potter reference in Friday’s post.  I will make up for that by doing two today.  My only excuse is that I have a horrible short-term memory.  Seriously, you could tell me something today and I might forget by tonight (unless it is good gossip).  I can re-watch movies and re-read books and I get excited about the endings because I have forgotten what they are.  I am just special that way. 

So I was all mixed up about what day it was from being on vacation and the trip back and I almost posted yesterday.  Then I remembered that there is no post on Sundays.  BAM!

**************************************************************************************************

I survived packing day on Friday.  More importantly, everyone else survived the Master Packer and all the craziness that surrounds me.  My mother-in-law lovingly said I was actually more of a “Mother Packer,” which I thought was kind of sweet.  Either way… I got everything washed, gathered, packed and loaded just as a mega-storm bore down upon the eastern seaboard.

Rewind three hours.  Kid E decided to have a meltdown over nothing/ everything and no one but his Mommy could soothe him.  Unfortunately, my attention needed to be elsewhere.  So the background soundtrack for the Pack was a whiny and crying Kid E as a very sweet and helpful (although sadly ineffective) Kid B held him and tried to calm him down.  This as a news alert flashed across the television screen for a tornado warning in Atlantic County, which we get all the time in Georgia but they rarely see at the beach.  Next thing I realize, Kid D was crying inconsolably.  I went to him to see how I could shut him up calm him down and he explained through heaving chest and jagged sobs that “(he didn’t) want to die in a tornado.”   Me neither, pal.  So you gotta buck up and let mommy do her job.  I can barely do it with one kid’s screams echoing through the house, let alone two.  So, I refocus Kid D with a video game, reassure him that we will go down to the lower level of the house if a tornado does indeed come through and I plow ahead.

I had to load the truck in stages.  First, earlier in the day I attached the cargo roof bag and put all of the beach gear inside.  This had been done prior to the trip up by Sheepdog (who is at least five or even six inches taller than me – P.S. I think I am shrinking) and I had a hard time reaching the roof to put stuff in.  Sheepdog also had a helper (Kid A) and I was in the house taking care of the other kids.  I had no assistants (the girls were driving back from Hershey Park with my mom and dad), it was raining, and the boys yelled off of the deck that they “needed me for an emergency” about 14 times in a half-hour period.  But I got it done.  Check.

Then we had to load the way back of the truck with all of our stuff.  This took most of the day as I had to wash some stuff, direct the girls to pack their things, presume that Kid C would forget most of hers and compensate for that, pack all of the boys’ stuff and my own as well, plus all of the extras.  The storm started up again around dinnertime, so my dad suggested that I back the truck into the garage instead of loading it outside in a rainstorm.  I had to leave it sticking out about two feet so I would have room to attach the bike rack.  The rain kept coming and my dad started pacing in front of the truck because the crazy rain was coming down sideways (of course it was!) and all of his tools were getting wet.  He kept assuring me that it was “not a problem,” yet he was standing in front of the shelves trying to block the weather the entire time.  Then he hung up a towel.  And we still have Kid E throwing a tantrum-to-end-all-tantrums from above.  Awesome, right?  But I got it done.  And loaded.  And we didn’t have to leave anything behind (well, I almost had to leave Kid A’s guitar there – yes, she brought her guitar – but I was able to shift things around and make it all fit.  Check.

Those bikes did not stand a chance against my mad mexican wrestling skills

Finally I was putting the bike rack onto the trailer hitch.  But I couldn’t find the stupid effing cotter pin (it wasn’t actually an “effing” cotter pin until it started hiding from me, so once I found it in the glove box – smart planning on my part, right?  that’s how I compensate for the whole short-term memory loss thing –  the cotter pin and I became friends again).  I made my dad go upstairs because he was just stressing me out.  I wrestled (literally – at one point I was straddled on the bumper doing some Lucha libre moves in order to get the three bikes onto the rack).  But I got them on, strapped them in, and this job was done.  Check.

I was a sweaty mess.  My dad directed me as I backed the truck up so that he could shut the garage door for the night.  It fit by mere millimeters.  Good thing because I didn’t really want to leave the roof bag and the bikes out in a tornado and I don’t know if I could have watched while my dad nailed a tarp to the garage opening.  And trust me, this was surely his next step.

So I went in to diffuse Kid E’s meltdown (yes, he was still actively having one – he is quite tenacious), shower and go to bed.  I set the alarm for 3 a.m. and crashed.  Hard.

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I will continue with part two of this story in tomorrow’s post.  And, yes, I realize that I only included one Harry Potter reference today.  I got to writing and I forgot about it.  And I wasn’t about to rework the whole story.  Lesson of the Day:  If you drink too much in college you will forget stuff when you are old.

Look Out! I’m Packing

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

No, not a gun, which – let’s face it – should in fact scare the bejesus out of everyone who knows me.  There are certainly some days that I could be the poster child for road rage.  I wouldn’t shoot people, mind you, but I would sure as a Swiss watch shoot some tires that belong to the idiots, the texters and the people who can’t be bothered to thank me with a simple wave.  What has happened to manners on the road, people?  No, I am actually packing up to go back home to Atlanta.  But you should still be a little scared of me right now.

Much more apropos that this picture represent peace than that stupid Mercedes sign inside of a circle

You see, I am a Master Packer.  If there were a class in packing, I would have slept through every one then just showed up for the final gotten an A plus.  I would have a Ph.D. in Stowage.  Opportunus Plures res in vegrandis tractus.  I can pack so much into such little space that I often amaze myself.  And I don’t even need those SpaceBag things (while I must admit that they are quite amazing).  My mind just sees a big game of Tetris and I can turn things and flip them and make them fit into other things and then into whatever space I’m working with.  Or I’ll just throw it out/ not bring it with me.

But talent like this does not come without a price.  In the hours leading up to a Big Pack I can become distracted and sullen and moody.  My mind is working so hard to plan and calculate the puzzle that will soon lie before me that I have no time for common social mores, like feeding my hungry children (“Am I wearing a sign that says, ‘Carl’s Slave?'”) or not growling at people just because they have the nerve to speak to me.

I am busy doing laundry, finding duffel bags (they pack much better than inflexible suitcases), tracking lost items, planning for eventualities and random possibilities (do you think Mary Poppins’ bag got packed all by itself?), and re-assembling bike and roof racks.  And then I have to check the DVR to see if the season premiere of Flipping Out recorded yet (priorities!).  I love me some Jeff Lewis.  He always makes me feel better because at least I’m not as crazy as he is.  Plus, it was fantastically funny when he taught that 3-year-old girl to say her favorite drink was chardonnay.  Then I have to pack.  Dun dun dun.

Fortunately for those directly involved in the process, today is cloudy and not at all a good beach day.  Before this weather actually presented itself I had some crazy scheme planned that involved a final day on the beach followed by last-minute loads and loads of laundry and cleaning (and subsequent drying!) of beach gear prior to a late night packing session.  Right, because there is nothing less stressful than a Big Pack on a deadline. (guess what… I got that from my daddy too – heh, heh).

So today will be mildly taxing, but soon enough we will be on the road again.  I am hoping for a drive day that is free of incidents, whining (by me or the kids) and speeding tickets.  A girl can dream, can’t she?  And when we finally get back to Georgia I will open a big bottle of wine.  I am beginning to notice a trend here.

Wish me luck for tomorrow… (I really mean it, because that drive is going to be L-O-N-G)

Dear Mom and Dad,

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Sheepdog and I can’t thank you enough for letting us stay at your house while you are in Mexico.  We are having the best vacation family trip with the kids and we are so grateful to have such a fabulous place to stay while we are doing so many fun things in New Jersey.

We have been bringing taking great care of the house while you were gone too.  Sheepdog bought a new ceiling fan for the green guest room and he installed it the other day.  We are bringing in the mail every day and checking in with the builders on the front porch and landscaping projects as they progress.  It’s all good.

Please save us, Nanny Fabulous!

Except for your plants.  Despite my best efforts, they are not thriving.  I have managed to kill a few, and many of the rest go to the brink of death and then come back to life on a daily basis.  I have watered them every day like you said, plus I have been talking to them and visiting with them (mostly at the Point during cocktail hour), but I think they just miss you.  So come home soon.

Much Love,

Daughter A

How Sheepdog Kept His Daughter From Going Topless

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

We arrived on the beach the other day, with our small tribe of people and accompanying mountain of gear. No sooner had we staked claim to our parcel of sand and started to assemble our little beach village than Kid C announced to me that her bikini top was broken. Seriously broken… the plastic clasp had completely cracked in two, and the sides were not long enough to tie together.

Now with Kid C you never know if it just broke when we got onto the beach or if it was broken when she put it on earlier in the day and she got distracted by some confetti or a blue bird or a car alarm and forgot about it until just now when we can’t really do anything about it, but that issue is actually beside the point. Her top was busted and something needed to be done.

My solution was for Kid D to loan her his rash guard for the day. Unfortunately, his rash guard on this day was white and at least one season old (read: almost transparent even when dry – seriously, I don’t even know why he was wearing it). I immediately thought back to Spring Break 1989 and a particular wet t-shirt contest in Daytona Beach that I may or may not have participated in, and a shiver went through my entire body as I heard my mom saying, “I can’t wait until you have daughters. Payback is gonna be so fun to watch!”

Now Kid C may not technically require a top based upon her cup size, as she is a skinny 10-year-old girl who weighs less than 55 pounds soaking wet, but she is clearly a female and she can not go around all day with nothing covering her top half. We had several cotton shirt and/ or cover-up alternatives between the rest of us, but she is so tiny that even the smallest of them would fit like dresses instead of shirts, and they would not fare well in the surf. She would be uncomfortable and wet all day long (and she would surely not suffer in silence).

But fortunately for Kid C, Sheepdog was with us and he is awesome in these kinds of situations. He examined the broken plastic clasp, estimated the length of the straps, analyzed a few matrices and calculated a square root, all while referring to the Periodic Table of the Elements from memory (I really don’t know what he was doing, but he was a super smart person deep in thought… isn’t that the kind of stuff they do?). Then he reached into a magic bag of Sheepdog tricks and pulled out… TA DA!.. our car keys.

MacGyver has nothing on Sheepdog

In the very little time it took me to erect (heh, heh… I said “erect”) the tent and open a few beach chairs, Sheepdog had repaired Kid C’s bikini top using only a metal key ring. And in doing so he kept his daughter from going topless, at least for one more glorious day.

Amazing.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

The Very Hungry Mommy

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

By the light of the moon a sleeping Mommy lay in her bed.

One vacation morning the warm sun came up and – pop! – into her bed came very tiny and very hungry Kids A – E.

They started to whine for some food.

On Monday they ate through a bag of Twizzlers.  But they were still hungry.

On Tuesday they ate through two Primo pizzas.  But they were still hungry.

On Wednesday they ate through three boxes of Tastykakes.  But they were still hungry.

On Thursday they ate through four cheesesteaks.  But they were still hungry.

On Friday they ate through five Blizzards from Dairy Queen.  But they were still hungry.

On Saturday they ate through blue chips and guacamole, cupcakes with jimmies, salt water taffy, WaWa hoagies, a bag of pretzels, tacos, hamburgers, chili dogs and a blueberry pie.  That night they all had stomachaches!

Sunday comes afterwards.  They ate through one nice dinner that Mommy made from the South Beach Diet menu (pistachio-chicken salad) from whole food ingredients and after that they felt much better.

The kids weren’t hungry anymore and they were fine and still fit (because kids must have holes in their stomachs).  But not the Mommy.  Because she wasn’t a little Mommy anymore.  She was a big, fat Mommy.

So she put her skinny clothes away in a drawer and she stayed inside for almost 90 days.  And she pushed play on every one of those days and by the end…

She was a Super Fit P90X graduate!  The End.

This picture is from the summer of 2009. I do not look anything like this currently in the summer of 2011. In fact, I think I recently ate that very bikini and maybe even some of the children in this photo.

*********************************************************************************************************

I did, in fact, complete 60 of the prescribed 90 days of the super-hard P90X program two years ago.  The family photo above is my after picture.  I just got bored with it and did not keep it up.  And you don’t get to keep a super fit body without working at it every day (trust me – I’ve tested that theory).

The Beachbody people who produce the program are now talking up their new P90X2 DVDs, which are due out soon and I am getting excited about them.  But I haven’t worked out seriously in more then two months.  That fact, plus my very bad vacation eating habits have led to a plethora of mom tankinis, caftans and casual hiding behind towels and beach chairs and kids.

So I have decided to stop whining and covering up and I’m going to start working out and eating better.  I have a new friend who has decided to train for Savannah’s Rock-N-Roll Marathon in November (http://rfbr262.wordpress.com), and if an old man can do that then surely a spring chicken like me can do a few push and pull-ups.  Right?

And a very sincere and heartfelt shout out to Eric Carle for creating one of the best children’s books ever for me to parody in my story above.  The Very Hungry Caterpillar is a classic in our kids’ library right next to Goodnight Moon, Big Bird’s Very Busy Day and the newly minted Go The F**k to Sleep.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…